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Pathways of the Past

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"I miss you, Dad," she echoed silently to herself as she sat on the park bench that bore his name. Amalia was still processing her grief.

It had been three months since his passing, yet the ache hadn’t dulled. She had spent countless afternoons here just as they used to. Amalia felt memories hovering around her, like a warm, gentle light pulling her in. She could still see him sitting beside her, a twinkle in his eye, telling her about the world as if it were something magical.

Today, the bench felt colder. The leaves rustled softly in the autumn breeze, their whispery sound tugging at her heart. Amalia closed her eyes, hoping to hear his voice, but she could only catch the distant laughter of children playing. She opened her eyes and looked up, watching a single leaf flutter down to rest on the bench beside her. It was bright and golden, a burst of color against the fading world around it.

With a sigh, she reached out and touched the leaf. Amalia brushed her fingers against its crisp edges. If only he were here, she thought. He would know just what to say to make her feel whole again.

In her pocket, her fingers brushed the smooth silver edge of an old compass he used to carry, something he’d given her just before he passed. "So you’ll always find your way," he’d said with a smile. She clutched it now, holding on as if it were an anchor, grounding her to him and the memory of their days together.

Suddenly, a gentle breeze swept through the park, lifting her hair and swirling leaves around her. For a fleeting moment, it felt like he was there. A comforting presence was enfolding her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let herself imagine him by her side once more.

When she opened her eyes, she felt a surprising sense of calm. The grief was still there, but it didn’t feel as dense. Instead, it was softened by the warmth of love that would always be with her a compass guiding her forward, just as he had always done.

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