Each year, my son planted sunflowers in memory of his twin sister who passed away—then one morning, we discovered them all cut down, with a white box left behind.

one.

Except one tall stalk standing alone in the center of the patch.

It swayed gently in the morning air, alone among the broken stems.

Hanging from it by a white ribbon was a small white box.

Patrick’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Mom…”

My hands shook as I untied the ribbon. I opened the box slowly, already dreading what might be inside.

Then continue reading …