Even after all this time, seeing his son’s name carved into stone still tightened something deep inside Richard’s chest. Daniel had been only twenty-six when the accident happened on that terrible rainy night—a slippery road, a truck driver who missed the red light, and a phone call that arrived at two in the morning. Richard still remembered the unbearable silence that followed after the doctor quietly said, “We did everything we could.”
Since that night, the large Whitmore house that once echoed with Daniel’s laughter had felt impossibly empty.
Richard knelt down to place the lilies beside the grave, but before he could set them down, he suddenly noticed something that made him pause.
Someone else was already there.
A young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, was sitting on the grass in front of the headstone. Her long brown hair fell forward as she leaned toward the grave, quietly crying in a way that suggested deep, personal grief.For illustrative purposes only
Richard frowned slightly, surprised by the sight. Very few people still visited Daniel’s grave these days, and most of his son’s friends had slowly moved on with their lives. Yet this girl looked as though she had lost someone incredibly important to her.
He stepped a little closer and spoke gently.
“Excuse me.”
The girl startled and quickly wiped the tears from her face.
“Oh—I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to disturb anything.”
Richard studied her more carefully. There was something about her face that seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t immediately place it.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
The girl hesitated for a moment before answering.
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