It began as an ordinary morning—quiet, gray, and filled with the kind of melancholy that lingers long after loss. I had gone to the cemetery, as I often did, to visit my father’s grave. Six months had passed since his death, yet the pain still sat heavy in my chest. I stood beneath the towering oaks, the scent of damp soil in the air, and whispered my usual goodbye. “I miss you, Dad.” As I turned to leave, I noticed a frail woman standing alone near a freshly dug grave. She was elderly, blind, dressed in a black dress too...
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