When Ally learns of her daughter’s tragic passing, she’s swallowed by an unbearable grief. But one night, her young son, Ben, reveals something that shakes her to her core—his sister waves at him from the house across the street every evening. Could Emily still be alive, or is something far more sinister at play?
Five years ago, my life felt like a dream. My husband, Matt, and I had finally built the family we’d always longed for after years of heartbreak and failed attempts to conceive. When doctors told us I couldn’t carry a child, Matt held me and promised we’d find another way.
That’s when Emily came into our lives. She was seven, shy but full of hope, and from the moment we brought her home, it felt as though the universe had righted itself. She filled our house with joy, her laughter bouncing off the walls and her smile lighting up every corner.
A year later, life surprised us again—I was pregnant. Our son, Ben, was born, and Emily blossomed in her role as a big sister. She adored him, holding his tiny hand, singing him silly songs, and protecting him fiercely. Our house was alive with love, chaos, and contentment.
But happiness can be cruelly fleeting. Five years after Ben’s birth, tragedy struck. Emily was crossing the street on her way home from school when she was hit by a car. Matt called me, his voice shaking with anguish.
“She’s gone, Ally,” he sobbed. “Emily’s gone.”
The words shattered me. I plunged into a fog of despair, unable to function, barely existing. The funeral, the urn, the haunting emptiness—it all blurred together. Some nights, I could swear I heard her footsteps or her giggle in the hallway, but I knew grief plays cruel tricks.
Then, two weeks later, Ben came to me, his small voice breaking the silence. “Mommy,” he whispered, “sister waves goodnight to me from the house across the street.”
My heart ached. He missed her, just as I did. I dismissed it as a child’s imagination, a desperate wish to see his sister again. But his unwavering certainty unsettled me.
That night, Ben pointed to the window. “Look, Momma,” he said softly. My breath caught in my chest. Across the street, in the upstairs window of what I thought was an empty house, a shadowy figure waved—a wave I knew all too well. Emily’s wave.
I froze, unable to breathe. Panic coursed through me as I kissed Ben goodnight and told him I’d be right back. Throwing on a coat, I ran barefoot across the street and banged on the door.
When it opened, an elegant woman stood before me, her irritation barely concealed. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“My daughter,” I gasped. “I saw her in your window. Emily. Please, where is she?”
