Every evening at sunset, my son Max stood by the window, smiling and waving toward the backyard. At first, I thought it was just another childhood habit—until I checked the security camera.
My hands shook as I watched the footage. Near the old treehouse, a figure stood in the shadows. The height. The posture. Even the purple sweater. It looked exactly like our daughter, Ellie.
Ellie had been twelve when we lost her after months of illness and treatments filled with hope. Her death shattered our family. My husband buried himself in work. Max grew quiet. Our home lost its laughter.
When I asked Max who he was waving at, he answered simply, “Ellie. She comes every night.”
The camera confirmed someone was there.
The next evening, I followed him outside—and discovered the truth. The figure was Ava, Ellie’s best friend. She had promised Ellie she’d look after Max. She wore the sweater Ellie once gave her and came each night to wave back, so Max wouldn’t feel alone.
Now, we gather by the treehouse together. Max still waves at sunset—and now, I wave too, healing one evening at a time.
