“Daniel used his last breath trying to reach me.”
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“I didn’t come here for them,” he said, breaking the silence. “The people who raised me are my parents. I came to meet you, and to be here for you today.”
I nodded. I believed him completely. But I wasn’t sure I could’ve explained why, except that something about the way Ben said it reminded me so specifically of Daniel that my heart ached.
“There’s somewhere we need to go. But we need to stop on the way.”
Ben followed me without asking where.
“The people who raised me are my parents.”
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I stopped at the bakery on the street and bought a birthday cake.
A simple one, round and white, with blue lettering across the top. The woman behind the counter asked whose birthday it was.
“My brother’s. We’re… triplets.”
“Happy birthday!” she smiled, placing a candle on the cake before ringing us up.
The cemetery where Daniel is buried is 20 minutes from my parents’ house, on a hill that gets the full force of the December wind.
The woman behind the counter asked whose birthday it was.
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We found the graves in the fading afternoon light. Daniel’s headstone first, a simple gray marker with his name and the dates. And beside it, close enough to touch, a smaller stone. Buddy. Our golden retriever, who made it out of the fire that night and lived three more years before passing away quietly from old age.
My parents had buried him beside Daniel because that had seemed like the only right thing, and for once I was grateful they’d done it.
I set the birthday cake on top of Daniel’s headstone. Ben stood beside me and looked at both markers for a long time without speaking.
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