You lived in a small house with a backyard full of roses. Your two-year-old daughter, Daisy, was the light of your life. Her father had died before ever meeting her, but his photo stayed on your nightstand—a memory you never let go of.

One night, soldiers stormed your home. Heart racing, you quickly hid Daisy under the bed and stepped out, praying they wouldn’t hear her tiny breaths.

In the living room, one wounded soldier had been left behind. His shoulder was bleeding, his uniform torn. When his blue eyes met yours, his chest tightened—like he was seeing something he never believed existed.

Pain made his voice falter, but his words carried all the weight of his soul: “Please… angel… tell God I’m my mother’s only hope.”

He thought you weren’t real, just a vision sent to him in his final moment. Your presence was the only thing that made him cling to life, the only warmth in the middle of his fading world.