That Friday, when the next bouquet arrived, Helen decided she wanted to talk to the boy. She sat by the window from before dawn, waiting. Sure enough, around 6:15 a.m., she saw him approach, clutching another bunch of yellow roses.
She quietly opened the door before he could turn away.
“Oh!” Miles startled, nearly dropping the flowers.
“I’m sorry to frighten you,” Helen said gently. “You’re the one who’s been leaving these, aren’t you?”
The boy hesitated, eyes darting toward the street. Then he nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Helen smiled softly. “They’re beautiful. But why me?”
Miles looked down. “Because of Mr. Parker.”
Helen’s heart stuttered. “You knew my husband?”
Miles nodded. “I used to see him at the park. He’d sit by the fountain and feed the birds. One day, I was having a bad time—skipped school, didn’t want to go home—and he sat down next to me. He didn’t say much, just handed me a sandwich and said, ‘You look like you could use this more than the pigeons.’”
Helen smiled faintly, tears stinging her eyes. That was so like Peter.
“He started talking to me after that,” Miles continued. “He told me about you and how much he loved you. He said yellow roses were your favorite. When I heard he passed away… I just wanted to do something. I saved up from my job at the grocery store and started leaving the flowers every week. I didn’t think you’d find out.”
For a long moment, Helen couldn’t speak.
She finally said, “That was very kind of you, dear. You’ve brought me so much comfort. Peter would be so touched to know you remembered him.”
Miles looked relieved. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”
When Laura and David heard the story later that day, both were stunned—and deeply moved.
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