The mill became more than work; it became memory. He could feel the presence of his family in the rhythm of its gears, the splash of water against the wheel, the smell of flour in the air. The wheel kept turning, and Sam kept moving, because stopping meant facing the silence that had claimed everything he loved.

He never remarried. He never brought another life into his house. The walls remained filled with echoes, the empty chairs a constant reminder of the family he lost.