What My Daughter Saw After Her Brother’s Death Gave Us Unexpected Peace

I finally rang the doorbell. The answer was simple and quietly profound: the boy wasn’t a ghost, but an eight-year-old nephew staying temporarily with the neighbors while his mother recovered in the hospital. He liked to draw by the window. He had noticed a little girl waving from across the street and thought she wanted to play. There were no miracles, only a coincidence tender enough to loosen grief’s grip. When the children met, they laughed easily. And for the first time since Lucas died, the silence in our house softened—not because we had forgotten, but because joy had found a way back in.