Ethan lingered silently, throat tight. He had never considered how much weight a small, forgotten bag could carry. But here, in this weathered home at the edge of town, he saw the truth: sometimes it wasn’t survival that mattered most, but remembrance.
In the days that followed, Ethan returned often. The old man welcomed him warmly, always with the photo placed nearby as though it were an honored guest. They shared tea in chipped cups, the man recounting fragments of a life interrupted by loss, and Ethan listening, learning, carrying those stories as if they belonged to him too.