When I reviewed the security footage, my hands trembled. Max stood at the window, gently waving toward the backyard like he had every evening. Then, near the old treehouse, a figure appeared in the shadows—a silhouette that resembled our daughter, Ellie. My heart tightened with a mix of fear and longing. I watched again and again, unable to look away.
We once had a joyful, ordinary life—Richard, our daughter Ellie, our son Max, and me. Ellie was 12, full of curiosity, and Max followed her everywhere. Then she became unwell, and after months of treatments filled with hope and courage, we lot her. Grief changed everything—Richard buried himself in work, Max grew quiet, and I struggled to keep going. The house no longer echoed with Ellie’s laughter.
I first noticed Max waving at the backyard at sunset, smiling softly as if greeting someone familiar. When I asked, he simply said, “Ellie.” He insisted she visited each night near the treehouse they once shared as their “magic place.” The footage confirmed someone was there—same height, same posture, wearing Ellie’s favorite purple sweater. The moment felt unreal and deeply emotional.
The next evening, I followed Max outside and discovered the truth. The figure was Ava, Ellie’s best friend, who had been secretly visiting to comfort Max, honoring a promise she made to Ellie. She wore the sweater Ellie had gifted her and waved back to remind Max he wasn’t alone. Since then, our family gathers by the treehouse each evening, sharing memories, healing slowly. Max still waves at sunset—and now, I gently wave too.