Chapter 2: What the Note Said
He didn't move for a long moment.
Then he walked closer, slowly, like he wasn't sure what he was looking at.
It was a framed photograph.
My husband and me, standing right there in that garden, the year we planted it.
Red and yellow flowers all around us.
Both of us smiling.
Beside the photo was a single crushed flower from the bed he had torn through.
And a handwritten note.
He picked it up and read it.
I watched from my window.
His expression changed.
A few minutes later, his father came outside.
The boy showed him the note.
The father read it, looked toward my house, then looked back at his son.
"What did you do?" I heard him say.
"It was just a lawn, Dad.
I barely—"
"That's not what this says."
The father folded the note carefully and put it in his pocket.
Then he walked straight to my front door and knocked.
I opened it.
He didn't look like a man used to apologizing.
But something in his face had shifted.
"Ma'am," he said quietly.
"Can I ask — what was in that note?"
I looked past him at his son, still standing by the motorcycle.
"Read it again," I said.
"All of it this time."
---
What was written in that note — and why did the father's face go pale when he finished reading it?
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