The day I went to visit my wife’s grave like I did every year, I found a barefoot child lying on the headstone, clutching her photo. He whispered, ‘Sorry, Mom’… and I realized my wife had been hiding a secret from me our entire marriage.

David reached out slowly, gesturing toward the photograph. The boy hesitated only a moment before handing it over, watching David’s face closely as if studying every reaction for danger.

“Where did you get this?” David asked, unable to hide the strain in his voice.

“She gave it to me,” the boy answered. “She said I should keep it safe.”

David closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “Lucinda is gone,” he said, each word heavy with meaning. “She died years ago.”

The boy nodded, his expression solemn. “I know. That is why I come here.”

A long silence settled between them, broken only by the rustling of leaves overhead. David removed his coat and gently wrapped it around the child’s shoulders, feeling how thin and cold he was. The boy stiffened at first, then relaxed slightly, as though unused to warmth being offered without condition.

“My name is David,” he said quietly. “What is yours?”

“Aaron,” the boy replied after a pause.

“How long have you been here, Aaron?”

The boy shrugged. “Since last night, I think.”

David helped him to his feet, supporting him carefully. “We cannot stay here. You are freezing.”