…standing a few feet away from the grave.
At first, I thought grief had finally broken me. The shape looked exactly like him—same height, same posture, even the way he tilted his head slightly to the side. My breath caught in my throat. The officer was still talking, but his voice faded into nothing.
“Daniel?” I whispered.
The figure didn’t answer. It just stood there, half-hidden by the dim light and the shadows of the trees. My heart pounded as I stepped closer, my legs trembling beneath me. Six months of sleeping beside that grave, talking to the stone, begging for one more moment—and now this?
“Ma’am, you need to leave,” the officer said again, firmer this time.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
I moved closer until the light finally touched the figure’s face—and everything shattered. It wasn’t Daniel. It was a man who looked eerily like him, but older, worn, and confused.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He explained he visited the cemetery every night too. He had lost someone as well.
In that moment, something shifted inside me. The grave wasn’t where Daniel lived anymore. And maybe… neither did my life.
For the first time in months, I stood up and walked away.
