Whitney visits her late husband’s grave every day, until one winter morning, she finds a shivering teenage girl there holding his photo. The girl’s search for truth collides with Whitney’s quiet grief, unearthing secrets, lost love, and a connection neither of them expected…The cold didn’t bother me anymore. Not really.After Lucas died, I started coming to the cemetery every morning, rain or shine, snow or sun. It became part of my day, as ordinary as brushing my teeth or feeding Russell the cat.It was… familiar, quiet, and something solid in a world that had tilted off balance.Three years in, I still brought the same things: fresh flowers if I could find them, a thermos of coffee, and whatever book I was pretending to read. I rarely made it past the first page.

Mostly, I sat cross-legged beside his headstone, gloved fingers brushing over the carved letters like they were Braille I hadn’t stopped learning.I knelt by the grave like I always did, brushing away the brittle leaves that had gathered at the base. The flowers I’d brought two days ago were still upright, though the tips had browned in the cold.”Morning, babe,” I murmured, tucking the stems tighter against the stone. I didn’t come for answers anymore, just the quiet.But the quiet wasn’t mine that morning.”I miss you,” I whispered. “Every single day, in ways I never say out loud.”And that was my routine.I never expected company.But that morning, I noticed something slumped beneath the trees. At first, I thought it was discarded clothes or maybe a forgotten blanket someone had left behind.A young girl, in a thin jacket, knees pulled to her chest, and her head resting against the tree like she’d fallen asleep sitting up. She looked about 14 years old.