“Dad, I saw Mom at school today. He told me not to go home with you anymore.” The next day, I picked up my son early… And what I saw left me in shock.

“Dad, I saw Mom at school today…”

I’m Raj, a widower for three years. My wife, Anjali, passed away in a tragic road accident, leaving me and our son Aarav, who just turned six.

Since the day Anjali left us, I have been raising Aarav alone, playing the role of father and mother. Life hasn’t been easy, but Aarav’s innocent smile is the only force that keeps me going.

As usual, I dropped Aarav off at his preschool that day and picked him up in the afternoon. On the way back, he clung tightly to me on the bike. Once at home, he suddenly pointed to the photo of Anjali hanging in the living room and said, in a voice too serious for his age:

“Dad, I saw mom at the school gate today. He told me he wouldn’t go home with you anymore.”

I froze.

My heart tightened in my chest. I assumed that I simply missed her very much and had imagined it. I ruffled her hair, forcing a small smile:

“Mom’s in heaven now, honey. You must have seen it in a dream.”

But something in Aarav’s eyes, so clear, so sincere, disturbed me. It didn’t look like I was lying. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing Anjali’s face in my mind: gentle, kind, always putting Aarav above herself.

His words haunted me. The next day, I took half a day off from work and arrived at school early to see for myself.

I waited quietly near the school gate, mingling with the other parents. Aarav was inside, happily playing with his teammates.

And then… I saw it.

A woman approached the door. She wore a white salwar kameez, her long black hair fluttering softly behind her. Her slender figure, her elegant way of walking… everything was identical to Anjali.

My heart raced.

She stood there in silence, looking at Aarav with eyes full of tenderness… and sadness.

I moved closer, trying to see his face more clearly, but he was wearing a mask. Only his eyes were visible, eyes that felt heartbreakingly familiar.

Yelled:

“¿Anjali?”

She turned sharply. For a brief moment, our eyes met… and I knew. I had seen those eyes a thousand times before.

But before he could say another word, she quickly turned around, walking at a brisk pace toward the edge of the street. Just then, a city bus passed between us. I ran to catch up with her, but by the time the bus pulled away, she was gone.

I stood there, incredulous, my thoughts spinning.
Was it really her? Or just someone who looked like her?

Back home, I gently asked Aarav again about the woman he saw.
He said:

“I was standing at the school gate. He waved at me and said, ‘I just wanted to see you, but I can’t stay.'”

Those words gave me chills.

I searched through old documents, going through everything about the accident. Police reports, hospital records… everything confirmed that Anjali died at the scene. There was no doubt.

But then, why did Aarav see it? And who was the woman in the school?

I needed answers. I went back to school and asked to review the security camera footage.

And there it was… in the video.

A woman standing at the school gate, watching Aarav from a distance. The camera couldn’t capture his full face because of the mask, but his body language, his posture… everything made my hands tremble.

I contacted a friend of mine at the local police and asked for help in identifying the woman.

A few days later, he called me, his voice cautious:

“Raj… her name is Meera. She is Anjali’s cousin. He has just returned to India after living abroad for many years.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I contacted Meera and asked to meet.

When we finally met face to face, she broke down in tears.
He admitted everything.

She and Anjali had been incredibly close growing up. After Anjali’s death, Meera was devastated. She couldn’t bear the loss and moved abroad to escape the pain.

She recently returned to India and couldn’t resist the urge to see Aarav, the boy her late cousin had adored. But I was afraid. Afraid to face me. Fear of causing pain. So he stood in the shadows, hoping to see Aarav from a distance.

What I didn’t expect… it was that Aarav mistook her for her mother.

I stood there, speechless. Part of me was shocked, but another part felt a strange sense of peace. Meera wasn’t Anjali, but in her presence, there was something of Anjali that was still alive.

I invited her to visit us.
Aarav was excited to see her again, running into her arms with joy.

As I watched them laugh together, my eyes fell on Anjali’s photograph hanging on the wall. I whispered silently:

“I’ll take care of him, love. I promise. You can rest in peace now.”