The rain had been falling for hours, a relentless, gray curtain that washed over the city streets and turned them slick and shiny under the dim glow of streetlights. I held my umbrella loosely, its fabric battered and wet, as I followed the narrow path leading up to the cemetery.

My boots sank slightly into the mud with each step. Tonight was the anniversary of Clara’s death, and I had promised myself I would come, even though the grief still weighed me down like a stone in my chest.

My wife’s grave lay at the far end of the cemetery, in a quiet corner surrounded by weeping willows. Each year I came here, placing fresh flowers in the cracked vase, whispering things I could never say aloud when she was alive.

Tonight, as I approached, the wind tore at my coat, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and fallen leaves. I felt the familiar hollow ache settle in my chest. Clara had been gone for five years, and yet I could still remember the curve of her smile, the warmth of her hand in mine, the way she laughed at the smallest, most mundane things.

I knelt by the grave and pressed my hand to the cold headstone. “Clara,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I miss you every day. I don’t know how to go on without you.”

The rain blurred my vision, turning the etched letters into watery smudges, but I did not care. I stayed there for a long time, letting the sky cry with me, the silence of the cemetery broken only by distant thunder and the soft splash of raindrops.

Then I heard it.

A footstep—soft, hesitant, and uneven on the muddy ground. I looked up, startled. The cemetery was supposed to be empty this late at night. Through the downpour, I could just make out a small figure approaching.

He was drenched from head to toe, his clothes sticking to his thin frame, hair plastered to his forehead. He was a child—or at least, he looked no older than sixteen—but there was something in his eyes that made my blood run cold: a mixture of desperation, fear, and a strange familiarity, as if he had been following me without my knowing.

“Sir,” the boy said, his voice barely audible over the rain. “Sir… I need to talk to you.”

I frowned, shivering, both from the cold and from a strange sense of unease. “Who are you?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though my gut twisted in warning.

The boy stepped closer, his eyes locked on me. “I know what you think,” he said. “I know you think your wife is gone.” His words were hesitant, almost afraid. “But… she’s still alive.”

I laughed—or tried to—but it came out as a strangled cough. “What?” I said. “That’s… that’s impossible. Clara… she’s dead. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy shook his head, stepping closer despite the mud sucking at his shoes. “I saw her,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “I saw her last week. She’s… she’s been hiding. She’s alive.”

I felt something inside me shatter. My knees buckled, and I sank into the wet ground beside the grave. The flowers I had brought toppled into the mud, petals plastered against the wet earth.

My mind raced, my heart pounding in my chest. Memories of the funeral, the grief, the endless nights of mourning—all of it came crashing back, and now it seemed… meaningless.

“Stop,” I said, my voice cracking. “You’re lying. You’re some street kid trying to torment me. My wife is… she’s dead. She died in my arms. I watched her go.”

But the boy shook his head again. “I swear it,” he said. “She’s alive. She went away… she had to leave. There were people after her. She asked me to find you if she couldn’t come back herself. She… she wanted you to know she’s okay.”

Tears ran freely down my face, mixing with the rain, blurring the world around me. I felt the ground beneath me tilt, as if the entire universe had shifted and I was powerless to stop it. Every certainty I had about life, about love, about death, crumbled in that single, drenched moment.

“Why now?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Why after all this time?”

The boy looked down at his soaked shoes, his expression guilty but earnest. “She wanted to make sure you were still… surviving. She didn’t want you to give up.”