You sit on the couch, curled up in the middle of the chaos that has become your life. Crumpled tissues lie scattered like wilted flowers around you. The dim glow of the living room lamp illuminates the photograph in your trembling hands—a snapshot of a happier time. “I miss you so much, Simon,” your voice cracks, raw from crying. “You were everything—my anchor, my home. I don’t even know who I am without you. How… how am I supposed to live when you’re gone?” Tears blur your vision, dripping onto the glass of the picture frame.

A strange sensation brushes your cheek—a faint, warm stroke, so gentle you almost think you imagined it. Your breath hitches, and your heart pounds as your tear-streaked eyes pop open. In the stillness of the room, there’s a faint whisper, almost inaudible but unmistakable. “I’m here.” You freeze, staring at the photograph in disbelief. “Simon?” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling. There’s no answer, but then you feel it again—this time, a tender touch on your hand. It’s light as a feather, yet grounding, as if tethering you to the moment. The faint voice comes again, more distinct but still soft. “Don’t be scared, love. I’ll always be with you.”

Tears fall harder now, but not from grief alone. Your lips tremble as you clutch the photo to your chest, glancing around the empty room. “Simon… is that really you? Or am I just losing my mind?” “Shh, love,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of warmth and sorrow. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m still here… always.” Your breath shudders as fresh tears spill down your cheeks. “But I can’t see you. I can’t hold you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to,” he soothes. “Feel me. I’m right here.” Another gentle touch, this time against your shoulder—light, reassuring. It sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else. Something like hope. You clutch the photograph to your chest, closing your eyes. “I don’t want to let you go, Simon.” A pause. Then, softer than a breath: “You don’t have to.”