The day I lost my husband, Jeremy, was the day my world fell apart. His laughter, his warmth, his love—it was all gone in an instant. A tragic car accident took him from me, leaving me with a pain so deep it felt like it would never heal. What made it even harder was not being able to see him one last time, to say goodbye.
Two years have passed since that day, and while life has moved forward, the ache of his absence remains. I’ve held onto the memories—his voice, his smile, the way he made me feel safe. But one afternoon, something happened that I still can’t fully explain. I was going about my day when I heard it—a voice that sounded just like Jeremy’s. It came from our daughter Sophia’s room, whispering, “I love you forever.” My heart stopped. Could it really be him?
The accident happened so suddenly. I was eight months pregnant, busy preparing for Sophia’s arrival, when the phone rang. It was Officer Reynolds, delivering the news that changed everything. Jeremy was gone. The home we had built together felt empty without him, and the closed casket at his funeral left me with so many unanswered questions.
But that whisper—that moment when I felt his presence again—brought me a strange sense of comfort. It reminded me that love doesn’t end with death. Even in the darkest moments, it finds a way to reach us, to remind us that we’re not alone.
