At 52, Stuart Claxton walks slowly through the rows of stone markers, the summer wind tugging gently at his sleeves. He carries no flowers — just a small, worn photo folded neatly in his hand. The world knew her as Anne Burrell — bold, brilliant, unforgettable. But to him, she was Annie. His wife. His home.
Introduction At 52, Stuart Claxton walks slowly through the rows of stone markers, the summer...