The man watched the recording over and over, trying to find an answer, but he couldn’t understand. Why would a child take someone else’s flowers?

This tormented him the whole week.

And then the next Sunday he came again with a bouquet. Suddenly, he saw her — the same girl. She was standing at a neighboring grave, holding old, withered roses in her hands. The widower carefully approached:

— Little one… is it you who takes the flowers from this grave?

The child grew frightened, wanted to run, but he gently stopped her.

— Don’t be afraid, I’m not angry. Just tell me — why?

The girl lowered her head and whispered:

— My little brother is here. He died in the spring. Mom can’t buy flowers. But I don’t want him to lie here all alone… I thought the lady from the beautiful grave wouldn’t mind if I took her flowers.