As the evening sky turned pink above the water, Daniel walked toward the maple tree and touched its trunk.
“Grandma loved this view,” he said.
“She did.”
“I forgot who I was for a while.”
I joined him beneath the branches.
“People do.”
He looked at me.
“Do they come back?”
“Sometimes,” I replied. “If they stop blaming the people who waited for them.”
His eyes filled, but he smiled.
Behind us, the porch light glowed warmly against the house.
The repaired boards remained firm beneath our feet.
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