“I wanted to thank you,” the woman said. “If it wasn’t for you, we’d never have known. We’d have spent our whole lives thinking she just walked away.” “I didn’t do much. I just found the bags.” “You didn’t stop. You dug, you asked questions, you took a risk.”
“Most people would have just handed it to the cops and walked away. But you…” She trailed off. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small bouquet. “Mums. They’re hardy.” She gestured to the stone. “May I?” “Of course.”
The woman laid the flowers at the base of the monument. She stood there for a moment, head bowed. Then she turned back to Alex. “My name is Gail. Gail Bell.”
“Alex.” “I know. Everyone knows.” She paused. “The families… we’re planning to put up a memorial in the town square. For all fourteen of them. So people remember. So it never happens again.” “That’s a good idea.”
“The town council fought us at first. Said we shouldn’t dwell on the past. That the town had suffered enough. But we pushed. We got the signatures. It’ll be dedicated in the spring.” Alex nodded.
“Come to the dedication,” Gail said. “You should be there.” She walked away. Alex was alone again. He looked at his sister’s photo. The young, vibrant face, the wide smile. She was 22 in that picture.
Just 22. Her whole life ahead of her. “Justice was served, Mary,” he said quietly. “Just like you would have wanted. He’s paying for it. And you’re remembered. All of you.”
The wind rustled the oak leaves. Yellow leaves swirled in the air, landing on the grass and the gray granite. Alex pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He watched the smoke drift into the cold autumn sky. For the first time in twenty years, he felt something like peace. The memorial was dedicated in May 2025. Fourteen names on black granite.
Fourteen photos. And the inscription: “In Memory of the Innocent. 1991-2019. Never Forgotten.” The whole town showed up. There were speeches and flowers. Alex stood at the back and watched.
Mrs. Gable, the old neighbor, shuffled over to him. “We made it,” she said. “There is justice in this world. It’s slow, but it’s there.” “It is,” Alex agreed. “What now, Alex?” He shrugged.
“Keep living. Keep working. Keep remembering.” Mrs. Gable nodded. “That’s right. Memory for the gone, life for the living. Mary would want you to be happy.” Alex looked at the memorial, at his sister’s face among the others. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”
He turned and walked away. There was a new day ahead, a new life, and for the first time in two decades—hope.
