When my five-year-old daughter pointed at the pale-yellow house across the street and said she saw her brother smiling from its window, my heart broke open again. We lost Lucas only a month ago — eight years old, full of life, gone in a moment. Grief has been a quiet shadow in our home since then.
At first, I thought her imagination was trying to bring him back. But one morning, I looked too — and for a split second, I saw a little boy who looked just like him. My heart didn’t know what to believe.
I eventually knocked on that door. The boy we saw wasn’t Lucas — it was our neighbor’s nephew, visiting while his mom recovered. He simply reminded us of the love we lost.
My daughter didn’t see a ghost… she saw hope.
And strangely, meeting that little boy didn’t reopen the wound — it helped us begin to heal. Love doesn’t disappear. Sometimes it just returns in new faces, helping us find our way back to the world.
