One day, Noah approached Richard shyly.
“Grandpa?”
Richard nearly dropped the book he was holding. “Yes?”
“Can we go to see Dad together? At the cemetery?”
Richard paused, heart thudding. “Of course, Noah.”
That Sunday, they went—Clara, Noah, and Richard—together. Noah brought a drawing: the three of them standing under a blooming tree, with Leo smiling beside them, glowing.
At the grave, Noah knelt and placed the drawing by the lilies.
“Hi, Dad,” he whispered. “I have a grandpa now. He’s nice. I think you’d like him. I hope you’re proud of me.”
Clara wept quietly, running her hand over the granite stone. “I wish I could’ve told you… about Noah. I wish you could’ve met him.”
Richard stood silently, then bent to place his hand on the grave.
“Leo,” he said softly. “I failed you in life. But I will not fail your son.”
A breeze stirred the lilies. The three stood quietly, a strange peace beginning to settle around them.
