The next day, I visited the cemetery where my grandfather was buried. I knelt and placed fresh flowers beside his simple headstone. “I don’t know what to do, Grandpa,” I whispered. “Part of me wants to go just to see the look on James’s face when he realizes what I’ve become. But another part…”

The wind rustled through the oak trees overhead. I remembered the last time I’d seen my grandfather alive, in his hospital room. He’d pressed a sealed envelope into my hand. “Open this when you’re ready to face them again,” he’d said.