A week ago, we lost our daughter Emily. She was hit by a car on her way home from school. I fell into deep grief. My husband and our 5-year-old son, Ben, were all I had left.

One day, Ben came to me and whispered, “Mommy, Emily waves to me every night from that house.”

My heart ached. He must be imagining her, missing his sister too much. I pulled him into my arms, smoothing his soft hair. “Sweetheart, Emily isn’t here anymore. But she’ll always be in our hearts.”

Ben shook his head. “No, Mommy. She’s real. She stands in the upstairs window of that house across the street.”

Chills crawled down my spine. The house he was pointing to had been empty for months. The owners moved out, and no one new had moved in.

I decided to stay in Ben’s room that night to comfort him.

At exactly 9 p.m., Ben sat up, eyes wide with excitement. “Look, Mommy!”

I followed his finger, prepared to explain that there was nothing there. But when my gaze settled on the upstairs window of the empty house, my breath caught in my throat.

A shadow moved behind the curtain.

Not just any shadow. A small figure. A girl.

My stomach twisted. “It must be the wind,” I whispered, barely convincing myself. But the air outside was still. The curtain fluttered, and the figure behind it took a step forward.

Ben giggled softly. “She’s waving at me.”

Tears pricked my eyes. This wasn’t possible. Emily was gone. My daughter was gone.

I had to know the truth. The next day, while my husband was at work, I took Ben by the hand and walked across the street. My fingers trembled as I knocked on the door. No answer. I tried the handle. It turned easily.

The house smelled of dust and abandonment. Sunlight filtered through dirty windows, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. I swallowed hard and climbed the stairs, my heartbeat a hammer against my ribs.

Ben tugged at my hand. “She’s upstairs.”

We reached the second floor, and I saw the room. The window where Emily’s shadow had appeared.

The door creaked as I pushed it open.

The room was empty. No furniture. No people. Just dust swirling in the air.

But then—

The closet door rattled.

A shiver ran down my spine. I stepped forward, my breath shallow. Slowly, I reached for the handle and pulled it open.

Inside, there was nothing but a small, dusty mirror propped against the wall.

Ben gasped. “Mommy, look!”

I turned to see my own reflection in the mirror—but I wasn’t alone.

Standing behind me was Emily, her eyes wide, her lips moving soundlessly.

I spun around, but the room was empty. Only silence greeted me.

Ben smiled. “She says she’s okay. She wanted to say goodbye.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I clutched my son. “Goodbye, my sweet girl,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, the shadow in the mirror faded. The house grew still again.

That night, Ben didn’t see Emily wave. And somehow, I knew she had finally found peace.