I thought I had buried her… Then I saw her again—alive.

I never imagined that at thirty-four, I’d already be a widower. Left alone with my young son, Luka, after losing my wife, Stacy—or at least, I thought I had.

The last image I have of her is the way she kissed me goodbye, her hair smelling of lavender, whispering, “We’ll meet again soon.” Then a phone call changed everything.

I was in Seattle for a business meeting when my phone rang. It was Stacy’s father.

“Abraham… there’s been an accident. Stacy… she’s dead.”

The words didn’t make sense. We had just spoken the night before. How could this be true?

“A drunk driver… it happened this morning,” he added.

The world seemed to disappear. The next thing I remember was walking through the door of our house. It was empty. The funeral had been held without me. I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. Her mother only said:

“We couldn’t wait. This was better.”

I didn’t argue. Grief had paralyzed me. I let everything happen around me. That night, I held Luka in my arms, and through his sobs, he asked:

“When is Mommy coming home?”

“She can’t, sweetie… But she loves you. So much.”

“Can’t we call her?”

“Mommy is with the angels now,” I whispered.

The days dragged on. Two months later, her clothes still hung in the closet, and her favorite mug still sat by the sink. The house had become a living monument. Luka grew quieter, eating less, sitting at the breakfast table like he wasn’t really here.

That’s when I decided we needed to break free from the suffocating silence.

“How about a beach trip?” I asked him, forcing a smile.

His eyes lit up.

“Are we going to build sandcastles?”

“Whatever size you want!”

The hotel was simple, but it faced the sea. For days, we played, swam, and laughed. Luka’s laughter was the first sound that broke through the walls of grief in my heart.

Then came the third day.

I was sitting under a beach umbrella when Luka came running toward me.

“Dad! Look! Mommy’s back!”

At first, I smiled. Maybe he was imagining things or mistook someone for her. But then I saw her.

She was standing there, facing away from us. The same posture, the same hair. And when she turned around…

The world stopped.

It was Stacy.

She laughed, holding the arm of a man I didn’t recognize. She looked at me. Stiffened. Then turned away quickly and disappeared into the crowd.

“Mommy!” Luka shouted. “Why didn’t she come over?”

I pulled him close.

“Let’s go, champ. We’re leaving.”

“But Dad, that was her! You saw her too! Why didn’t she say hello?”

I had no answer. Because what I saw defied every expectation I had. And what I learned afterward… was even more painful than hearing about her death.