A Grieving Millionaire Visited His Daughters’ Graves Every Saturday — Until a Poor Little Girl Pointed at the Headstones and Whispered, “Sir… They Live on My Street.”
The Ritual That Held a Broken Father Together Every Saturday morning, as the sun rose over the red sand and clear skies of Phoenix, Michael Rowan walked through the gates of Greenwood Hill Cemetery carrying a bouquet of white lilies. He had done it for exactly two years—seven hundred and thirty days of repeating the same steps,…