The first time I noticed the tiny blue sneakers near Paul’s grave, I assumed it was a mistake. Surely, someone had left them on the wrong headstone. Perhaps a grieving parent, lost in the fog of mourning, had misplaced them. I knew well how grief can cloud the mind.

After Paul’s tragic car accident, I had buried myself in making jars of homemade jam—an odd distraction since neither of us particularly cared for it. It was just something to do, a way to keep my hands busy and my mind from the heavy sadness that had consumed me. Paul was gone, and I was alone, trying to make sense of a life without him.

The shoes, though, were puzzling. After placing my usual lilies by the grave and whispering a few words to Paul, I moved the sneakers aside and left. I didn’t think much of them at first, but when I returned a week later, there was another pair—this time, red rain boots. My unease grew. Who was leaving these shoes? Paul and I had no children, so why were they there?

Each time I visited, a new pair appeared—shoes in different colors and sizes. The more I saw, the more frustrated I became. These shoes seemed to mock the life Paul and I never had. My visits grew less frequent, yet the shoes continued to accumulate. One day, there were six pairs, neatly arranged at the base of the headstone.

Frustrated and angry, I arrived early one cold morning, determined to confront whoever was doing this. To my surprise, I saw her—Maya, Paul’s former secretary. She was placing yet another pair of shoes, small brown sandals, at Paul’s grave.

I called out to her, and she turned, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. Slowly, she explained. The shoes belonged to Oliver—Paul’s son, the child I never knew existed. Maya had kept their relationship a secret, but after Paul’s death, she didn’t know how to help Oliver feel connected to his father. So, each time Oliver outgrew a pair of shoes, she brought them to Paul’s grave.

In that moment, the shoes were no longer symbols of betrayal, but of a little boy’s love for the father he lost. Despite the pain, I told Maya to continue bringing the shoes. Oliver deserved to know his father, even if it was through small tokens like these.