On Irene's second birthday, it rained heavily.

Leroy bought a beautiful bouquet of white roses and some of Irene's favorite food.

But he arrived late.

Someone was there earlier.

The rain poured relentlessly that day.

The person on the steps stood for a long time, soaked, staring blankly at the gravestone.

Leroy didn't want to go over.

He loathed Charles.

But that person's feet seemed rooted at the grave.

For four or five hours.

The roses in his hand wilted.

The cemetery guard struck up a conversation.

Pointing at the black figure in the rain, he whispered,

“That man comes often, stands for a long time each visit, no one...