A Stranger Left Flowers at My Husbands Grave Every Week, When I Finally Discovered Who, I Was Left Speechless
Every 15th of the month, I visit my husband’s grave. It’s become a quiet ritual—just me, the wind through the trees, and thirty-five years of memories echoing in silence. A year has passed since he died, and though the sharpness of grief has softened, its weight never fully lifts. I no longer cry like I…