Grief clung to Marta like a second skin—tight, heavy, impossible to remove.

Three months had passed since Alejandro, the man she had loved more than life itself, collapsed and died from what doctors labeled a sudden heart attack. No warning. No chance to say goodbye. Since that day, she drifted through existence like a ghost, wandering the vast mansion that now felt less like a home and more like a tomb.

Mornings no longer carried the scent of his coffee or the warmth of his gentle kisses. Silence ruled the house. But nights were worse. Every evening, she lay on their enormous bed and instinctively reached to her left—only to meet the cruel coldness of untouched sheets.

That Tuesday, the sky hung low and gray, threatening rain, mirroring the storm inside her chest. Marta finally found the strength to do what she had avoided for weeks: visit Alejandro’s grave. She wrapped herself in a black wool coat, picked up a bouquet of white lilies—his favorite, despite his jokes that they looked like farewell flowers—and left the house, her steps slow and exhausted.

Crossing the cemetery gates, grief tightened her throat. Though the coroner ruled Alejandro’s death natural, something deep inside her refused to believe it. He had been healthy. Strong. Full of life. Yes, there had been tension at home—his relationship with Sebastián, his nineteen-year-old son, had deteriorated into constant arguments fueled by money problems and resentment. But death? So sudden? So final?

When she reached the grave, her legs nearly gave out. Seeing her own name engraved beside his felt like a cruel joke. She knelt, carefully arranged the lilies, and let her tears fall freely.

“Why did you leave me?” she whispered, her hands shaking against the cold stone. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

That was when she sensed movement.

Marta felt a presence to her right. She looked up and saw a young girl approaching—no older than twelve. Her dark skin contrasted with the pale sky, her black hair pulled into a messy bun, loose strands dancing in the wind. Her clothes were thin, worn, inadequate for the cold.

Marta wiped her tears, embarrassed, and frowned. The girl didn’t look curious or playful. Her expression was serious—unnervingly so.

She stopped a short distance away and raised her arm, pointing behind Marta.

“Ma’am,” the girl said calmly, “your husband needs to speak with you. He says it’s urgent.”

Time stopped.

Marta’s breath caught. For a second, she thought grief had finally shattered her mind. But the air suddenly felt heavy, charged, unnaturally cold. Slowly, she turned—fear and hope warring inside her.

And there he was.

Alejandro stood a few steps away, no longer flesh and blood, but a translucent figure wrapped in pale light. His familiar features were unmistakable—his broad shoulders, his eyes filled with sorrow and urgency.

Marta screamed and fell backward onto the grass.

“Alejandro… is it really you?” she sobbed.

He reached for her, but his hand dissolved into light before touching her. His voice echoed directly inside her mind.

Marta… my love… I wasn’t killed by a heart attack.

Her head shook violently.

They murdered me, he continued. You must find the truth. Look in the office. Please… only then can I rest.

And then he was gone—fading like smoke into the cold morning air.

Marta sat frozen, gasping. Hallucination or nightmare? Before she could decide, a small hand touched her shoulder.

The girl was still there.

“He was telling the truth,” she said quietly. “His spirit can’t move on unless justice is done.”

“How can you see him?” Marta whispered.

“I see what others refuse to,” the girl replied. “And I’ll help you. We have to go to your house. Now.”

Guided by instinct and desperation, Marta took the girl’s hand.

Back at the mansion, Camila—she finally gave her name—moved through the house as if guided by something unseen.

“The office,” she said.

Inside, Camila paused at the bookshelf. “There’s something hidden.”

Marta remembered too late. She pressed a concealed panel. The shelf shifted, revealing a safe.

Inside was a sealed envelope.

Modified Will – To be opened only in the event of my death.

Her hands trembled as she read. Alejandro had disinherited Sebastián. He detailed theft, gambling debts, and threats against his life. He planned to finalize it the day after his death.

“I knew it,” Marta whispered.

A voice interrupted.

“What’s going on here?”

Sebastián stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on the document.

“You poisoned him,” Marta said, her grief transforming into fury.

“He left me no choice!” Sebastián screamed. “He was going to take everything!”

He pulled out a gun.

Marta reached for the phone—but Camila moved faster.

With shocking strength, the girl struck Sebastián’s arm with a bronze statuette. The gun fired into the ceiling. Marta grabbed it, aiming with shaking hands.

Sirens wailed.

Sebastián was arrested moments later.

When the house fell silent again, it felt clean—for the first time in months.

Camila explained everything.

Alejandro had saved her life a year earlier, paying for her cancer treatment anonymously.

“He protected me,” Camila said. “So I protected you.”

The next day, they returned to the cemetery.

“Justice is done,” Marta whispered.

A warm breeze carried the scent of lilies. For just a moment, she felt peace.

As they walked away hand in hand, Marta understood something vital:

Love doesn’t end with death.

Sometimes, it transforms—and continues its work through those left behind.