\nThe weight of grief never truly lifts. It\u2019s been five years since I lost my wife, Winter, but the pain still feels fresh.\n
Our daughter, Eliza, was just 13 when it happened. Now 18, she\u2019s grown into a young woman who carries her mother\u2019s absence like a silent shadow.\n
I stared at the calendar, the circled date mocking me.\n
Another year has gone by, and another anniversary was approaching. The pit in my stomach deepened as I called out to Eliza.\n
\u201cI\u2019m heading to the cemetery, dear.\u201d\n
\n
Eliza appeared in the doorway, indifference cloaking her eyes. \u201cIt\u2019s that time again, isn\u2019t it, Dad?\u201d\n
I nodded, unable to find the words. What could I say? That I was sorry? That I missed her mother too? Instead, I grabbed my keys and headed out, leaving the silence to fill the space between us.\n
The florist\u2019s shop was a burst of color and fragrance. I approached the counter, my steps heavy.\n
\u201cThe usual, Mr. Ben?\u201d the florist asked, her smile sympathetic.\n
\u201cWhite roses. Just like always.\u201d\n
As she wrapped the bouquet, I couldn\u2019t help but remember the first time I\u2019d bought Winter flowers. It was our third date, and I\u2019d been so nervous I\u2019d nearly dropped them.\n
She\u2019d laughed, her eyes sparkling, and said, \u201cBen, you\u2019re adorable when you\u2019re flustered.\u201d\n
The memory faded as the florist handed me the roses. \u201cHere you go, Mr. Ben. I\u2019m sure she\u2019d love them.\u201d\n
\u201cThanks. I hope so.\u201d\n
The cemetery was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I made my way to Winter\u2019s grave, each step feeling heavier than the last.\n
The black marble headstone came into view, her name etched in gold letters that seemed to shimmer in the weak sunlight.\n
I knelt and placed the roses carefully against the stone. A pang of grief pierced my chest as my fingers traced the letters of her name.\n
\u201cI miss you, Winter. God, I miss you so much.\u201d\n
The wind picked up, sending a chill down my spine. For a moment, I could almost imagine it was her touch, her way of telling me she was still here.\n
But the cold reality settled in quickly. She was gone, and no amount of wishing would bring her back.\n
I stood up, brushing dirt from my knees. \u201cI\u2019ll be back next year, love. I promise.\u201d\n
As I walked away, I couldn\u2019t shake the feeling that something was different this time. But I pushed the thought aside, chalking it up to the ever-present grief playing tricks on my mind.\n
The house was quiet when I returned. I headed to the kitchen, desperately in need of a strong cup of coffee.\n
That\u2019s when I saw them.\n
On the kitchen table, in a crystal vase I didn\u2019t recognize, stood the same roses I had just left at Winter\u2019s grave.\n
My heart began to race, pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I stumbled forward, my hands shaking as I reached out to touch the petals. They were real, impossibly real.\n
\u201cWhat the hell? Eliza!\u201d I called out, my voice echoing through the empty house. \u201cEliza, are you here?\u201d\n
I turned around, my eyes never leaving the roses. They were exactly the same as the ones I\u2019d bought, with the same slight imperfections and the same dewdrops clinging to the petals.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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