On the 15th of every month, I visit Danny’s grave.
It was our wedding anniversary date, and after he passed away, it became my day to sit with him, talk to him, and remember the life we built together.
My daughter Alice often insists on driving me.
That morning, she stood at the door holding her car keys.
“Mom, are you ready?” she asked gently.
She has her father’s eyes—warm brown with tiny golden flecks that appear when sunlight hits them.
“Just grabbing my sweater,” I replied.
When we arrived at the cemetery, Alice squeezed my shoulder.
“I’ll wait in the car if you want some time alone.”
“That would be nice, sweetheart.”
Continue on the next page:
