Each Week, I Discovered Children’s Gloves on My Father’s Grave — Until One Day, I Encountered a Teenager There
It wasn’t the first time I visited my father’s grave, but something about that day felt different. The air was cooler, silence heavier. It was a month since his death, a month of restless nights and regretful thoughts. When I stood there, he stared at a simple tombstone, I felt the weight of all unresolved …