Michael’s body trembled slightly. He let go of the teddy bear. His lips parted.
Then, clear and steady, he said:
“She’s still here.”
Everyone froze.
Clara’s eyes widened. Her knees nearly gave out.
Michael looked up at her with eyes that shimmered, not with fear—but wonder. He reached out and took her hand.
“She’s holding my hand, Mommy. I felt her.”
The priest’s voice faltered. A leaf tumbled across the grass. All eyes turned to the boy who had not spoken in two years.
“I heard her,” Michael whispered. “She said… I don’t need to be afraid anymore.”
Clara sank to her knees and pulled him into her arms, sobbing—this time not from grief, but from awe.
There, at the edge of sorrow, something extraordinary had broken through.
