My First Love Died on My 17th Birthday — Thirty Years Later, a Young Woman Who Looked Exactly Like Her Appeared at My Door

piece of paper.

“A location.”

The hill overlooked the river.

A narrow path wound through old pine trees.

At the top stood a small stone plaque.

No name.

No inscription.

Just one date.

My birthday.

Our birthday, Lily used to call it.

Because she claimed partial ownership of the day.

Ashley stood beside me.

“She came here every year.”

The wind moved through the trees.continue reading …