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.

“So she wasn’t Lily.”

I sat down beside him.

“No,” I said softly. “She wasn’t.”

He nodded once, staring at the broken stems.

I waited for him to cry.

I waited for him to fall apart.

Instead, after a long silence, he said, “We need to fix what he messed up.”

Planting Again

The next morning, Emily and her grandmother came to the farmhouse.

Emily apologized over continue reading …