Thirty Years Too Late
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Summary
On the day of Claire Brooks, my wife's funeral, a grieving stranger arrived carrying white lilies. After placing them beside her portrait, he walked straight toward me.
"I've envied you for thirty years," he said.
Confused, I frowned as his eyes lingered on her photograph.
"For thirty years, she gave me everything—her love, her time, her money. She never held anything back."
He paused before looking at me with quiet resentment. "The only thing she forbade was letting you know I existed."
My heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"
