Driving away, she felt foolish, like a child writing to ghosts. Still, the question hummed in her head. That night she imagined someone finding it, pausing, reading, and deciding what to do. Would they answer? Or had she just scared off the one gentle presence left in Sam’s absence?
A week passed. Each day, she debated returning, afraid of both possibilities: that the note was gone, or still there, untouched. When she finally gathered courage, the grave was unchanged. The flowers had wilted, and the note remained folded, damp from rain. Nothing had moved.