My Son Died, but My 5-Year-Old Daughter Said She Saw Him in the Neighbor’s Window – When I Knocked at Their Door, I Couldn’t Believe My Eyes

Some mornings, I can barely drag myself out of bed. On other days, I force myself to smile, to cook breakfast, and to act like I’m still a whole person.

My husband Ethan tries to stay strong for us, though I see the cracks in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking. He works longer hours now, and when he comes home, he holds our daughter just a little tighter than before.

He doesn’t talk about Lucas, but I hear the silence where his laughter used to be.

And then there’s Ella… my bright, curious little girl. She’s only five, too young to understand death, but old enough to feel the emptiness it leaves behind. She still asks about her brother sometimes.

“Is Lucas with the angels, Mommy?” she’ll whisper before bed.

“They’re taking care of him,” I always tell her.

“He’s safe now.”

But even as I say it, I can barely breathe through the ache.

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