Ellen thought about reaching out to the police or the hospital, but stopped herself. What would she even say? “Someone’s leaving kindness on my son’s grave”? It sounded foolish. Yet each word on that paper pulsed through her mind—tender and heartbreakingly familiar. She pressed it to her chest, unable to let go.
The days that followed blurred together. Ellen moved through them as if underwater, every sound distant, every light dim. Her grief felt raw again, stripped of the dull armor time had built. Sometimes, when the house was quiet, she could still hear Sam’s laughter echoing faintly. It was half a memory, but always haunting.