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He's been there for at least a year now. He spends most of his day looking longingly at that photo. It's a photo of his wife. He's sitting at the site of her death.
She was beautiful, smart, kind, but she had a huge temper. She'd yell at most other people for the tiniest reason and she could reduce even the bravest of men to shambles with her fury. Even then, it didn't matter to him. He loved her and he had the patience of a saint. It was their anniversary that night, ten happy years of being together. The accident was on the front page. A drunk driver crashed into their car. He escaped miraculously unharmed while his wife died near instantly from the impact with the streetlamp. He loved her like no other. He was a wreck at the funeral. They had to practically tear him from the coffin when it was lowered. He's had so many offers but to each he'd say he refused to marry. At least not until his promise with his beloved was fulfilled.
It's unhealthy. He keeps sitting on that spot, telling me that he's not going to move, that he's staying. He still can't let go. He needs to go back. The company needs him. The stock's dropped thirty percent since he left. He still won't listen to me. He still stays, claiming she'd come back. He promised her an anniversary like no other, he says. She promised the same, he says. It was one thing in common we had, he says. That they'd never break a promise.
He stands up and smiles. He walks up to me with a smile and tears in his eyes. I think he's just lost his mind. He looks like he's about to break down. He tells me he's ready to go back. He grabs my hand and reassures me that he is right in his mind. He is ready to go back. We head to the parking lot to grab the car. Before we go, I take one last look at the corner.
It is imperceptible from under the glow of the streetlamp and even from far away you'd barely see it. It would probably only be by being close to the corner that anyone would see it clearly. The shadow of a woman waving goodbye.