There it sat. Quiet. Still. Nothing but bees drifting among the flowers atop the casket. The service was just as her father deserved. Friends. Family. Neighbors. Old coworkers. He kept his confidants close but built his community wide. Everyone belonged. Faces from every season of his life filled the chapel, each wanting to say goodbye.

The cemetery service was more intimate; reserved for his closest family and friends as a final chance to bid farewell. Among the mourners, one stood out. A stranger. With a weathered sketchbook balanced upon his knee, he danced his pencil across the page. Valeriya watched him. He never met her gaze. She searched her memory but found no recollection of him.

Who was this man? He did not participate. Simply drew. Her father would have welcomed him in, family or not. But was it fair to other guests? Valeriya would approach him following the burial.