The letters, the journal—they should have given him closure. Instead, they unraveled him.
Daniel didn't realize how long he had been sitting at the table until the light shifted, golden hues creeping in through the window. Outside, the world carried on, oblivious to the weight pressing down on him.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He needed air.
Grabbing his jacket, he stepped outside, the cool breeze biting against his skin. The town felt different, smaller somehow, like the past was pressing in on him from every direction.
He found himself walking without thinking, feet carrying him toward the cemetery at the edge of town. The place he had avoided since the funeral.
His mother's grave was exactly as he remembered—simple, understated. She had never liked extravagance. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat at the base, placed by someone who visited more often than he did.
Daniel hesitated before crouching down, fingers tracing the engraved letters of her name.
"I found them," he whispered. "Your letters. Dad's journal."
The wind stirred the trees, rustling leaves in response.
"I don't know what I expected. Maybe I thought it would make things easier. That I'd have some kind of answer." He swallowed. "But I don't. I just have more questions."
Silence.
Daniel closed his eyes, grounding himself in the stillness.
And then, barely above a whisper—"I miss you."
It wasn't profound. It wasn't poetic. It was just the truth.
And for now, that was enough.