For months, I wondered who kept leaving flowers on my husband’s grave. Every time I visited, there they were—fresh, beautiful, perfectly arranged.
I asked the groundskeeper, and he told me a man came every Friday. When I finally saw who it was, my world turned upside down.
It was Matt, my son-in-law.
That evening, over dinner, he broke down. The night Tom died, he had been rushing to help Matt, who was drowning in shame and alcohol. A drunk driver took Tom’s life—but Matt had carried the blame alone for years.
He visited the grave every week, leaving the same flowers Tom used to give me, whispering his regrets and his gratitude.
Hearing the truth was painful, but it also brought us closer. Tom’s final act was one of sacrifice—and in the end, it taught us all about forgiveness.
