The newly widowed husband sat dazed at the altar, his eyes red from crying. His wife had died suddenly of a heart attack. Amid the grief and chaos of the funeral, he took care of everything: welcoming visitors, organizing arrangements, preparing for the burial. He could barely cope with his own exhaustion.

On the morning of the funeral, she suddenly realized her phone was missing. She searched everywhere, asked family members, but no one knew anything. “I’m sure I left it somewhere,” she thought, and tried to focus on the ceremony. The coffin was sealed and taken to the cemetery. Even with her heartbroken, she forced herself to stay strong for her daughter.

That night, when only he and the girl were left in the cold house, he received a message from his own number:

“Love, I’m still here. Don’t let them fool you.”

He froze, cold sweat running down his back. Then he remembered: perhaps he had dropped his phone inside the coffin, at that moment when he bent down to see his wife for the last time, just before it was sealed.

But who could have sent that message? His wife was dead, there was no doubt about it: the doctor had confirmed it, and the death certificate was signed.

Trembling, he wrote back:
“Is it really you?”

The response came immediately:
“Believe me. I didn’t die of a heart attack. I was poisoned.”

The man felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. His wife, so good, how could anyone want to harm her?

He asked again, with sweaty hands:
“Who did it?”

The message appeared on the screen, brief and chilling:
“A relative… inside the same house.”

He looked around at the empty room, the flickering candle on the altar. His daughter was sleeping in the bedroom. Who could have done that? Her brother-in-law? A relative greedy for the inheritance?

Then another message arrived:
“Open the wooden box… you will understand.”

He ran to the cabinet where he kept documents. He opened the drawer with trembling hands. Under some papers, he found a bottle of pills, the label torn off, and only a few white pills inside.

He remembered the previous night: his wife’s cousin had brought her a glass of warm milk. She drank it… and less than an hour later, the crisis that ended her life began.

The man collapsed, drenched in sweat. A final message lit up the screen:
“Take care of our daughter. Don’t let her be next.”

She knelt on the floor, clutching the phone, tears spilling out. Outside, the wind whistled through the cracks in the window, and the candle flame flickered as if someone invisible were standing there.

Deep in his heart, he knew his wife was guiding him from beyond the grave.

At dawn, he took the jar and the phone containing the messages to the police. The investigation revealed the truth: his wife’s cousin had plotted the whole thing out of greed for the inheritance.

On the day of the trial, he stood with his daughter at the entrance to the courthouse. The sky was blue, with white clouds floating gently, as if someone were smiling down from above.

He whispered to the wind,
“I will raise our daughter, I will walk the rest of the way for you.”

And in his heart he heard her voice, clear and loving:
“I am still here, forever.”