The morning sky over Bonham, Texas, was soft and pale, as if the light itself didn’t know how bright it was allowed to be.
Wind moved gently across the fields and through the trees, touching every house on the street where three brothers used to play.
On this day, the town woke up knowing it would have to say goodbye to three little boys who should still be here.
At the church, the parking lot filled slowly, not with noise, but with quiet footsteps and careful, hushed voices.
People who had watched the boys grow up walked toward the doors with red eyes and tissues clutched in their hands.
No one seemed to know where to look, because everywhere they looked, they saw the boys’ faces in their memories.
