Sir, that boy played ball with me yesterday — the child said to the millionaire.

Richard’s knees gave way, and he sank slowly to the cold stone bench near the grave. The boy’s words echoed inside him, louder than the church bells that tolled in the distance.

He wanted to ask so many things, but his throat burned, and no sound came out. Daniel stood quietly, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly back and forth as if he knew the man in front of him needed a moment to breathe.

Finally, Richard whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

— When was the last time you saw him?

— Yesterday morning, sir. We played catch behind the fountain. He said he had to go because his dad was waiting.

Richard’s blood ran cold.

He hadn’t been to the park since the funeral. He’d locked himself inside his office, hiding behind deals, meetings, and numbers that meant nothing anymore. Yet this boy spoke of Theo as if he were still there — alive, laughing, wearing that same blue cap.

The air around them grew heavy. A crow landed nearby, cawing sharply, breaking the unbearable silence.

— Show me — Richard said. — Take me to the place.

Daniel nodded and started walking toward the park that lay just beyond the iron cemetery gate. The millionaire followed, the gravel crunching under his polished shoes. Every step felt like walking through water, slow and unreal.

When they reached the fountain, Daniel stopped.

— Right here. He sat on that bench. He said the ball belonged to his dad, and he didn’t want to lose it.

Richard’s eyes fell on the ground — and there it was. A worn-out baseball, half-buried in dust. His heart stopped again.

He bent down, trembling, picked it up, and turned it in his hands. On one side, in faded blue ink, were the words written in Theo’s crooked handwriting: For Dad, the best teammate ever.

Richard pressed the ball to his chest, his eyes filling with tears.

— I thought they threw everything away — he murmured. — His things, his toys… everything.

Daniel looked at him, then at the ball.

— Maybe he wanted you to find it. He said he missed you.

Richard stared at the boy, his face pale as paper.

— What else did he tell you?

Daniel hesitated, biting his lip. Then he took a deep breath.

— He said he forgave you. That you worked too hard because you loved him. And that you shouldn’t feel guilty anymore.

Richard dropped to his knees, unable to hold back the sobs that tore through him. Years of silence, regret, and anger spilled out like water breaking through a dam.

When he finally looked up, Daniel was gone. The park was empty, quiet, almost unreal.

Only the ball remained in his hands — warm now, as if touched by sunlight.

He closed his eyes and smiled through the tears.

For the first time in years, the weight on his chest lifted. He didn’t need proof. He didn’t need to understand how or why.

Somewhere beyond that quiet sky, his boy was smiling.

Richard stood, wiped his face, and looked toward the rising sun.

— Thank you, son — he whispered. — I heard you.

Then he walked away from the park, holding the baseball close to his heart — finally ready to live again.