A month passed. The cemetery returned to its steady rhythm.
Thomas continued his work, while Lily remained his constant companion. But he thought often about school. He started setting aside whatever coins he could spare, determined to buy her what she needed: notebooks, shoes, a coat, a backpack.
Then one afternoon, someone knocked on the guardhouse door. Thomas was sh0cked—he rarely had visitors. When he opened the door, he found a well-dressed woman in an elegant coat, her eyes shining with quiet gratitude.
“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked gently.
He blinked. It was her. The woman he had almost buried.
“My name’s Claire,” she said with a warm smile. “And I came to thank you—and your granddaughter.”
“She’s not my granddaughter,” Thomas shouted.
They sat together, sipping tea from mismatched mugs. Claire told him everything: the betrayal, the forged d.eath, the greedy relatives, and how fate—or perhaps Lily—had saved her life. Thomas, in turn, told her about the girl who had become his family.
