Every Sunday, My Daughter Left a Painted Rock on Her Late Father’s Grave – One Morning, Every Rock Was Gone Except One, with a Tiny Brass Key and a Folded Note Hidden Beneath It

Priya, my closest friend.

“Don’t go,” she said before I finished explaining. “Megan, listen to me. Do not go there alone.”

“I have to.”

“You do not have to do anything. That note is threatening. That could be anyone. That could be someone dangerous.”

“I hate this plan.”

“Priya, whoever wrote this took Chloe’s rocks. Every single one. If I don’t go, I’ll continue reading …