Spring came quietly that year, as if the earth itself was tiptoeing in reverence.
The first crocuses pushed through the frosty soil beneath the old oak tree where Emma and Asher's stones rested. A soft breeze carried the scent of fresh rain and blooming life across the hill behind their home—a place now known simply as "the garden."
It had been Max's idea. After the funeral, he and his siblings began clearing the wild patch of land near the gravesite, turning it into something beautiful—something alive. June brought seeds from her own garden, Maggie planted lavender for peace, and Jack built a small wooden bench so visitors could sit and remember.
They called it *Emma & Asher's Garden*.
Each morning, one of them would visit. Sometimes they came alone. Sometimes together. They'd sit on the bench, talk to their parents, or just listen to the silence. It became a ritual—a way to stay connected, to honor the past, and to find comfort in the present.
Over time, others joined them.
Neighbors brought flowers. Friends left notes tucked into the cracks of the gravestones. Children who had grown up playing at Emma and Asher's house came with their own children, pointing at the names carved in stone and whispering stories passed down through the years.
One afternoon, Max sat alone on the bench, holding an old photo album. He flipped through the pages—pictures of birthdays, holidays, summer barbecues, and quiet moments. His parents laughing by the fireplace. Emma teaching him how to ride a bike. Asher fixing the porch swing after a storm. Every image a piece of history, every memory a thread in the tapestry of love.
He smiled through tears.
"You raised us well," he whispered to the wind.
Later that week, June brought her youngest granddaughter, Lily, who was only four. She knelt beside the stones and placed a daisy between them.
"Who's this?" Lily asked, tracing the letters on the stones.
"They were my mom and dad," June said gently. "Your great-grandparents."
"What were they like?"
June looked toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set in golden splendor.
"They were kind," she said. "And brave. And they loved each other more than anything. They taught us how to live with joy, even when things were hard."
Lily nodded solemnly, then pointed at the flame still burning inside the lantern beside the stones.
"It's still lit," she said.
June smiled. "Yes. Just like their love."
As the seasons passed, the garden grew—more flowers, more benches, more memories. People came not just to mourn, but to celebrate. To reflect. To be reminded that love doesn't end with death—it grows, spreads, and touches new lives.
And always, in the center of it all, burned the eternal flame.
A beacon. A promise. A reminder.
Emma and Asher were gone—but never truly gone.
Their love lived on.
In every laugh shared among family.
In every act of kindness.
In every heart that chose to love boldly, live fully, and leave the world better than they found it.
And so, the flame burned on.
Forever.