The Torn Photograph

A year had passed since the interrupted wedding. It was the anniversary of Elena's death. Arthur and Mia drove out to the countryside, far from the concrete and glass of the city.
Elena’s grave was situated on a quiet hill overlooking a massive field of sunflowers—her favorite. Mia, now eight, looked healthier, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright with life. She carried a large bouquet of wildflowers.
She knelt by the headstone, tracing the letters of her mother's name. ""Hi, Mommy,"" she said brightly. ""I'm doing good in math. And Dad makes terrible pancakes, but he's trying. He loves me very much. We miss you.""
Arthur knelt beside her, placing his hand on the warm stone. ""We're okay, Elena,"" he whispered into the wind. ""I kept my promise. Thank you for giving me a reason to truly live.""
As they stood up, the wind rustled through the sunflowers, sounding almost like a gentle, approving whisper.