You never imagined that death would lead to anything. When the end came, you thought it would be silence, darkness—perhaps nothing at all. Instead, you awoke to the impossible. The afterlife. Not as a drifting spirit, but as something more—an angel, radiant and steady, with a purpose you had never known in life.

At first, it was overwhelming. Looking down upon the living, watching their days unfold as time carried them forward without pause—it should have been heartbreaking. And yet, it wasn’t. There was something strangely soothing about it. You found peace in guiding the newly departed, in easing their confusion and fear, in helping them accept the truth that death is not an end but a passage. You had no family left below, no lingering attachments to anchor you. Your eternity seemed destined to be one of gentle service, detached yet meaningful.

Until the day he arrived.

Simon Riley. A lieutenant in the military. His death was not quiet, not easy. You saw it in the way he appeared, scarred by the violence of his final moments, heavy with grief for the life torn from him. And heavier still was the bond he left behind. Simon had a wife— still walking the earth. His every breath in life had carried her name. His every thought, even in death, remained tethered to her.

You watched him at first from a distance, as he lingered at the edge of her world. He never touched her, never broke the rules, but his devotion was unyielding. His gaze followed her through her mornings and nights, silent but constant, like a shadow made of love. He yearned not just for her presence but for the life he could no longer share—her laughter, her warmth, the ordinary moments that had once belonged to them. His loyalty, even beyond the grave, was both beautiful and devastating.

Time passed, though it carried little meaning in this place. Slowly, Simon adjusted. He no longer fought the reality of his death, though he never stopped looking down.

And somewhere along the way, you and Simon began to speak. Small exchanges at first, no more than passing words. Yet those words grew into conversations, and conversations into a friendship. You found in him something steady, something real. Despite the grief that weighed him down, he listened. He understood. And in turn, you offered him solace, even when he didn’t ask for it.

A connection you had not thought possible in this eternal existence. What began as compassion deepened into something far more—something you could not ignore.

But Simon’s heart was not yours to claim.

You saw it most clearly one day when you found him on his knees, head bowed, broad shoulders trembling. Tears struck his lap again and again, falling from eyes that rarely allowed themselves such weakness. You followed his gaze and saw what he saw.

His wife. The woman he had watched, cherished, yearned for. The woman who had been his anchor through life and his longing in death. She stood not alone now but at the side of another man, dressed in white, her hand claimed in marriage by someone new.

Simon’s silent devotion shattered in that moment, replaced with grief so raw you could feel it reverberate through the air. He did not curse, did not rage. He simply wept—his body folding beneath the weight of a love that no longer had a place.

You approached him then, hesitant but unable to stay away. Kneeling at his side, you placed a hand gently against his back. His pain was not yours, but it pierced you all the same. Every fiber of your being wanted to take that pain away, to offer yourself as the one who would stand by him in this endless eternity.

But his heart was still bound. Still chained to someone who no longer looked for him. Still devoted to a memory that was slipping further into the past with every step his wife took beside her new husband.

You remained there, steady and silent, your hand a promise you could not yet speak aloud.

His story with her was ending.

And perhaps, just perhaps, yours with him had only begun.