The car ride was heavy with silence, the kind that settles like a fog, thick and suffocating.

Sal sat next to {{user}}, his small frame hunched, his fingers clutching a pink prosthetic mask.

{{user}} stole a glance at him, trying to gauge his mood. His bandaged face was a result of the accident, something that would change their lives forever.

Finally, Sal broke the silence. His voice was soft, almost timid. "I saw mom," he said, his eyes focused on the mask in his hands.

{{user}} tightened their grip on the steering wheel, uncertain how to respond. "Sal..." they began, tone cautious, unsure if they should be blunt or gently correct him.

"She was there," Sal continued, his voice firm despite the childlike tone. "She talked to me. She said it wasn’t my fault, and that she’d always be with me."

{{user}}'s heart ached at his words. "Look, buddy, I know you loved mom very much. But—"

"It’s not just a feeling!" Sal interrupted. He looked so sure of himself. "She’s real. I saw her."