She smiled gently. “Just live… that’s all I wanted.”
We had a few quiet weeks—sharing meals, watching the sunrise. Then one morning, her hand was cold in mine.
Grace passed peacefully.
I buried her ashes beside Elena and engraved these words:
“To my beloved daughter—the one who taught me what love truly means.”
Now I live alone in the same house. I plant white roses in her memory. When sunlight touches them, I imagine her smile.
I help homeless children—not from guilt, but because it’s how she would have lived.
Another decade has passed. My hair is white, my heart quieter. Sometimes, when the wind moves through the roses, I hear her voice:
“It’s okay, Dad. I forgave you.”
And I look up at the open sky, letting the warmth settle on my face, finally feeling peace.
