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.

The truth came out fast.

A man had taken Emily’s photograph the week before. He’d told her grandmother it was for a local sunflower festival flyer.

He’d asked Emily to stand near the flowers.

To hold one.

To look sad.

Then the grandmother said his name.

Vince.

The Name We Knew

My breath caught.

Vince.

My cousin.

He’d been seventeen when Lily disappeared. Old continue reading …