On the day he shipped out, he had left the bicycle out leaning against a tree, forgotten. She made a promise to herself that he would find the house just as he left it, so she kept it where it was, taking care to secure it properly and protect it from the weather.
When he never came home, she left the bicycle where it was, the dangling thread of a promise broken by war.
A tree knows nothing of grief, but it still embraced the bicycle, growing slowly around it and keeping the mother’s promise long after she passed away.

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