I turn toward him, and he raises his gaze to me. “The name is here.” Only then does it dawn on me he is looking at the word spelled on it, and I nod, deciding to keep to myself that I write the name from time to time whenever I see it washing away. The eyes of the boy always haunted me, and I thought he’d be sad if he ever came back here and not see his mom’s name on it. “At least she lives on here,” he says before coming closer to me, and I wince when a hard gust of wind sends me back a few steps. If it weren’t for his hand gripping my elbow, I’d have probably fallen on my behind. “And you’re
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