The next photograph landed at my feet.
It was the one I had found the day before.
But something had changed.
Clara was no longer holding my hand.
She was standing beneath the apple tree.
Smiling.
And beside her stood Daniel.
Both of them were looking toward the camera.
Toward us.
On the back, new words had appeared.
THANK YOU FOR REMEMBERING.
My mother stared at the message.
"I don't understand."
My grandmother did.
She walked toward the window.
"For forty years, Clara has been trying to make us remember what happened."
"What happened?" I asked.
Grandmother looked at my mother.
"Your grandfather lied."
My mother went pale.
"About Clara?"
"About Daniel."
She shook her head.
"Your grandfather knew Daniel wasn't haunting the family."
"Then why did he blame Clara?"
"Because he was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
Grandmother's eyes filled with tears.
"The truth."
She explained that Daniel had not died because of Clara.
He had drowned near the river while trying to rescue her.
Clara had followed him there after he appeared to her near the apple tree.
When Daniel disappeared beneath the water, Clara tried to save him.
She couldn't.
She returned home terrified.
Her father blamed her.
He told everyone that Clara had caused Daniel's death.
Then, unable to live with what he had done, he tried to erase Clara from the family's memory.
But Clara had never wanted revenge.
She wanted someone to remember that Daniel had died trying to save her.
"And the photographs?" I asked.
Grandmother looked at Clara's picture.
"I think she used them because that was the only way she could reach us."
My mother began to cry.
"I forgot her."
"You were six," Grandmother said.
"But she remembered me."
A child's laughter came from outside.
We all turned.
Clara stood beneath the apple tree.
Daniel was beside her.
They looked peaceful.
My mother walked downstairs.
We followed her into the garden.
She approached the tree slowly.
"Clara."
The girl looked at her.
My mother reached out.
"I remember you."
Clara smiled.
Then she looked at me.
For a moment, I felt something warm touch my hand.
Like the hand of a child.
Then the feeling disappeared.
Clara and Daniel began to fade.
Their figures became transparent in the moonlight.
My mother whispered:
"I'm sorry."
Clara smiled again.
Then they were gone.
The garden became silent.
For the first time in forty years, there were no footsteps in the house.
No laughter in the attic.
No unexplained photographs.
Just silence.
Peaceful silence.
The next morning, we buried the wooden box beneath the apple tree.
My grandmother placed Clara's photograph inside it.
My mother placed Daniel's photograph beside hers.
And I placed the photograph of the three of us on top.
Before closing the box, I looked at Clara one last time.
She wasn't frightening anymore.
She looked like what she had always been.
A little girl who had simply wanted someone to remember her.
We covered the box with earth.
Then my grandmother smiled.
"She's gone."
"How do you know?"
She pointed toward the tree.
The old apple tree was covered in white blossoms.
And beneath it were two sets of small footprints.
They led away from the tree.
Toward the woods.