Devastated After Burying My Wife, I Took My Son on Vacation – My Blood Ran Cold When He Said, ‘Dad, Look, Mom’s Back!’
Grief is a cruel companion. It lingers in the quiet moments, in the empty spaces where laughter once lived. After my wife, Emily, lost her battle with cancer, I was drowning in it. But I wasn’t the only one—our six-year-old son, Liam, had lost his mother, and I had to be strong for him.
In an attempt to bring some light back into our lives, I booked a trip to a secluded cabin near a lake—a place Emily had always loved. I thought the fresh air and the stillness of nature might help us heal.
The first few days were quiet. Liam would ask about his mom, and I’d fight back tears, doing my best to explain something that even I couldn’t fully comprehend. He would sometimes talk to her as if she were still there, whispering to the wind. I told myself it was just his way of coping.
Then, on the third night, something happened that I still can’t explain.
Liam and I were sitting on the cabin’s porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink—Emily’s favorite colors. He had been unusually quiet, playing with the edge of his blanket. Then, suddenly, he gasped.
“Dad, look!” His little hand shot out, pointing toward the edge of the woods. “Mom’s back!”
My stomach dropped.
I turned my head slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. At first, I saw nothing but trees and shadows stretching across the ground. But then—movement.
A figure stood at the treeline.
Tall. Slender. Familiar.
It was impossible. My mind rebelled against the sight. Emily was gone—I had buried her with my own hands, stood by her grave, felt the cold emptiness of the casket beneath my touch. But standing there, shrouded in the dim light, was a woman who looked just like her.
I couldn’t breathe. My hands went numb.
Liam jumped off his chair, ready to run toward the figure. I instinctively grabbed him, pulling him close. “No,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Stay here.”
The figure didn’t move. She just stood there, watching.
“Mom?” Liam called out again, his voice laced with innocent hope.
And then—she stepped forward.
The porch light flickered. A gust of wind rushed past us, rustling the trees. I could feel it, deep in my bones—something was terribly wrong.
My breath hitched as the figure took another step, and for the first time, I saw her face clearly.
It was Emily.
Or something that looked like her.
But the eyes—they weren’t hers. They were dark, hollow, empty.
I clutched Liam tighter, forcing myself to move. “Inside. Now.”
Liam protested, but I didn’t stop until the door was locked behind us. My hands shook as I pulled the curtains closed. Outside, the wind howled.
Then—three soft knocks at the door.
“Let me in,” a voice whispered.
A voice that sounded just like Emily’s.
