At the bottom of the box was a small yellow shirt, scorched at one sleeve.
I took it home.
A week later, we returned to the clearing. Tom and Lily were with us, but they were talking to each other.
The headstone was waiting.
I knelt and placed the card at its base.
“Dad? Are we visiting your brother?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” I said. “His name was Caleb.”
“I wish I could’ve met him,” Ryan said, leaning against me.
Brandy sniffed the card.
“Me too, son. Me too.”
The breeze rustled through the trees.
I glanced at Tom and wondered, just for a moment, if he was the one who’d written the note.
Maybe giving me away was his way of keeping me alive… or giving me a chance at life without tragedy.
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