My surviving twin son planted lilies every year for the sister he lost at birth—on their 15th birthday, we found every flower cut down and a black box in the middle.

My son, Logan, was born twelve minutes before his twin sister, Lily.

He came home from the hospital.

She didn't.

I was told Lily had stopped breathing shortly after birth.

I was weak, medicated, and barely conscious when it happened, and by the time I was well enough to understand anything, everything had already been handled.

As Logan grew older, I never hid the fact that he'd had a twin.

When he was five, he asked me something I'll never forget.

"Mom, if Lily can't have birthdays with us, can we grow her flowers instead?"

That afternoon, we planted a white lily beside our porch.

Every birthday after that, Logan planted another.

Soon one flower became a whole beautiful patch he called "Lily's garden." He watered it himself, pulled every weed, and wouldn't let anyone cut a single bloom.

Except on their birthday.

Every year, Logan chose one lily and carried it to his sister's grave.

Yesterday, my boy turned fifteen.

I woke before seven to a scream from outside.

By the time I reached the porch, Logan was standing barefoot in the grass, completely still.

Every lily was gone.

Someone had cut them cleanly at the stems and scattered the flowers across the lawn.

"Mom..."

His voice broke.

"Who would do this to her?"

Then I spotted something among the severed white flowers.

A black box.