We walked together up the grassy slope for a while.

  “It was about six months later when I learned of her passing.

  Contagious disease victims are cremated without anyone present, to prevent infection.”

  “I see... that sounds really lonely.”

  “Yeah.

  Most patients had their remains returned to their families.

  But Mary... she didn’t have anyone to claim her.

  She was buried on the hill beside the ward.”

  The wind spread out around us.

  The grass whispered, insects sang faintly in the distance.

  Even further off, the waves murmured.

  “...There. See that?”

  Grandpa pointed ahead.

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  We stopped walking.

  Silence settled over the hill.

  A bird called briefly from somewhere.

  In the clearing stood the remains of the hospital—now just a husk.

  Beside it, on a small hill with a view of the sea… a field of flowers.

  Tiny blue blossoms, delicate and quietly vivid.

  “Natsu planted them,” Grandpa said softly.

  “Flax.

  Tough, resilient… grows in adversity.

  But still, it blooms these small, gentle flowers.”

  The wind swept across the hill between his words.

  “The flower’s meaning is…”

  “Thank you for your kindness.”

  For a moment, I could’ve sworn I heard Grandma’s voice.

  The wind picked up, the grass rustled louder.

  I knelt at the hill, and placed the flowers gently on the ground.

  Thank you.

  I whispered it, again and again, inside my heart.

  …The tears wouldn’t stop.

  Even Grandpa was quietly wiping his eyes.

  “Dr. Mary,”

  he said, facing the small stone marker at the top of the hill.

  “…Today, I’ve brought you the child who will carry on your will.

  His name is Kenji. Please… guide him.”

  He laid the bouquet down, pressed his hands together, and bowed deeply.

  “Natsu is doing well.

  But… she’s grown old too.

  As have I.

  We’ll be with you soon.

  Please wait for us, just a little longer.”

  I stood there in silence, listening.

  And inside me, something finally took shape.

  So this… this is why they told me to become a doctor.

  The wind blew.

  The flax flowers shimmered softly in the breeze.

  I turned to the grave and spoke quietly.

  “Dr. Mary…

  Thank you for saving Grandma’s life.”

  I didn’t bother to wipe the tears that streamed down my face.

  “I will become a doctor.

  Like you—

  Someone who walks with their patients.

  Who refuses to let them give up on living.”

  The wind swept across the hill once more.

  Her voice didn’t come back.

  But somehow… it felt like she was pushing me forward.

  A gentle breeze danced through the early summer hill.

  And all around us, the flax flowers swayed—

  softly, and surely.