Seeing that I was leaving my in-laws’ house empty-handed, my father-in-law asked me to take a trash bag. When I reached the gate and opened it, I felt a lump in my throat and my hands began to tremble as I saw…

“I’m leaving,” I said quietly.

No one answered.

I turned and walked toward the gate.

My hand had just touched the latch when a rough voice stopped me.

“Emma.”

I froze.

It was my father-in-law, George.

In five years, he had always been the quiet one. He spoke little, stayed out of things, usually sitting in the yard reading or tending his plants.

Sometimes I wondered if he even noticed anything.

I turned back.

He stood near the porch, holding a black trash bag.

After a moment, he said, “Since you’re leaving… could you throw this out at the corner?”

He lifted it slightly. “Just trash.”

It caught me off guard, but I nodded.

“Of course.”

I took the bag.

It was strangely light.

Too light.

I gave him a small nod and walked away.

The gate shut behind me with a sharp clang.