She walked toward the grave, the rose in her hand. She looked tired, her shoulders slumped with a weight that looked too heavy to carry. As she knelt to place the flower, Mary couldn’t hold back anymore. She stepped out from behind the shed.
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“Noah?” Mary’s voice cracked across the silent lawn.
The woman froze. She didn’t run. She slowly stood up and took off the sunglasses. It was their daughter. Noah had run away as a rebellious teenager, cutting all contact. She looked older now, worn down by life, but her eyes were the same.
“I didn’t know if I was allowed to come,” Noah whispered, her voice trembling. “I heard about Michael… I just wanted to say goodbye. I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”
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