When an old stranger pointed at David’s children on the playground and said, “These kids are not yours,” He thought the man was crazy — until the truth behind his grief and a single photograph turned David’s world upside down.
The second anniversary of my wife’s death, Emma, was supposed to be quiet.
I had planned it the same way I had the year before — a calm morning, a slow walk to Maplewood Park, and an hour or two on the old wooden bench next to the sandpit. That bench had been Emma’s favorite place to sit while our twin daughters played.
She said the sun hit it perfectly, warm but never too harsh.