October 14th was the day of the crash. The day a distracted truck driver had run a red light on Highway 9, killing twenty-one-year-old Emma instantly. He set the stone down with trembling fingers and noticed a small piece of folded red paper tucked beneath the stem of the lilies. It was an intricate, fragile paper heart. The dampness of the grass had softened its edges.
With careful fingers, Daniel unfolded it, expecting a name or a message. The inside was entirely blank. “Did you find something?” Daniel jumped, spinning around. Sylvia was walking up the gravel lane carrying hedge shears. “No,” Daniel said, holding up the paper heart and stone. “No name. Were you here earlier?” Sylvia shook her head.