Every Sunday, Margaret visited her late son Daniel’s grave, carrying his favorite pastry—apple turnovers. It had been two years since she lost him, yet this small ritual made her feel close to him. She would sit by his headstone, tell him about her week, and leave the pastry as if he were still there to enjoy it.
One chilly autumn morning, Margaret followed her routine, placing the warm pastry on his grave. She wiped away a tear, whispered, “I miss you, my boy,” and slowly walked away.
When she returned later that afternoon, something unusual caught her eye. The pastry was gone. In its place was a small folded note. With trembling hands, she opened it and read the simple words: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded. Who could have left this? Was someone else visiting Daniel’s grave? Confused yet curious, she decided to return the next day, hiding behind a nearby tree to observe.
To her surprise, she saw a young boy, no older than ten, approach the grave. He hesitated before kneeling down and gently placing his hand on the headstone. Tears welled in Margaret’s eyes as she stepped forward.
“Did you know my son?” she asked softly.
The boy looked up, startled, then nodded. “He helped me once,” he whispered. “When I was scared on my first day of school, he gave me an apple turnover and told me everything would be okay.”
Margaret felt a lump in her throat. Even in death, Daniel’s kindness lived on. She knelt beside the boy, offering him another pastry.
“Then let’s share one,” she said with a smile.
At that moment, Margaret realized that love never truly fades—it finds ways to come back.
