But the most important ritual became Sunday. Each week he went to the cemetery and brought red roses — the very ones she had adored in her lifetime. He placed them at the grave and sat there for a long time, as if speaking to her.

However, three weeks in a row he noticed something strange: the flowers he brought for his wife disappeared. Not wilted, not thrown away — just gone.

In despair, he went to the cemetery guard:

— Tell me, haven’t you seen who is taking the flowers from this grave?

The old man shrugged: