The widower noticed that all the flowers he left on his wife’s grave were disappearing. He decided to set up a camera to uncover the truth—and was horrified by what he saw.

Six months had already passed since the widower lost his wife. His life no longer had meaning. Every morning, he woke up in an empty apartment where everything reminded him of her—her cup in the kitchen, her scarf hanging by the door, her perfume still lingering in the air.

But the most important ritual was on Sundays. Each week, he went to the cemetery with a bouquet of red roses—the flowers she had loved most in life. He placed them on her grave and sat there for a long time, as if speaking to her.

However, for three weeks in a row, he noticed something strange: the flowers he left kept disappearing. They weren’t withered or thrown away—just gone.

Desperate, he turned to the cemetery caretaker.

“Tell me, haven’t you seen who takes the flowers from this grave?”

The old man shrugged.

“I haven’t seen anyone. And it’s not my business. If you want to know, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

The widower realized he would have to act alone. He bought a small camera and installed it near the grave. That evening, he reviewed the footage—and froze in horror.

On the screen appeared a little girl, no more than eight years old. She walked up to the grave, took the bouquet, and quickly ran off. But where she went—and why—the camera couldn’t show.

The man watched the recording again and again, searching for an answer. He couldn’t understand. Why would a child take flowers that didn’t belong to her?

The question tormented him all week.

The following Sunday, he returned with another bouquet. Suddenly, he saw her—the same little girl. She was standing by a nearby grave, holding a bunch of withered roses in her hands. The widower approached carefully.

“Little one… was it you who took the flowers from this grave?”

Startled, the girl tried to run, but he gently stopped her.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not angry. Just tell me—why?”

The child lowered her head and whispered:

“This is my little brother. He died in the spring. Mama can’t afford flowers. But I don’t want him to be all alone… I thought the lady in the beautiful grave wouldn’t be upset if I took her flowers.”

The widower’s heart ached. He stood in silence for a long time, not knowing what to say.

The next time, he brought two bouquets—one for his wife, and one for the boy. And when the little girl saw this, her eyes lit up with joy.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, clutching the flowers to her chest. “Now he’ll never be alone again.”