Every June 4th, a white rose mysteriously appeared on my father’s grave. For ten years, my family speculated — was it from a lover, a hidden child, or a friend? This year, I decided to find out. I hid at the cemetery and saw an older man, Raul, place the rose and whisper over my father’s grave. When I approached him, he revealed my father had once saved his life.

Years ago, Raul had been homeless and tried to steal from my father’s hardware store. Instead of turning him in, my father offered him a job. That moment changed Raul’s life. My father gave him work, food, and shelter, telling him, “White roses mean new beginnings.” After my father died, Raul honored him every year with a single rose on his grave.

I invited Raul into my family, and he quickly became part of our lives. Later, his estranged daughter reached out, leading to an emotional reunion with his grandson. Sadly, Raul passed away six months later. We buried him next to my father, completing a circle of redemption and love.

At his funeral, we learned Raul had quietly helped countless others, becoming a beacon of hope just like my father had been for him. In his final letter, Raul asked us to “keep it going.” Now, every June 4th, we place two roses on the graves — one for my father and one for Raul, symbols of second chances and lasting kindness.