Grief has a way of playing tricks on the mind. But this? This was real. Kelly knew her husband’s voice. And she had just heard it—coming from her daughter’s room. A chill crept down her spine. Jeremy had been gone for two years. So who—or what—was speaking in his voice? Then she stepped inside… and froze.
I’m Kelly. I’m 30, and my life has been a whirlwind of love and loss. My husband, Jeremy, died in a car accident two years ago. At the time, I was eight months pregnant with our daughter, Sophia.
I remember the moment like it just happened. One second, I was painting delicate flowers on the nursery walls, dreaming of the future. The next, my phone rang, and my world collapsed.
They told me Jeremy had been in an accident. It was bad—so bad they advised me not to see his body. I never got to say goodbye. Just a closed casket at his funeral, and then… nothing.
Two years passed. I did my best to push forward, to be strong for Sophia. But the emptiness? It never really went away.
And then, two days ago, something happened that shook me to my core.
It was a quiet afternoon. I had just put Sophia down for her nap and curled up on the couch with a book. The house was still. Peaceful.
Until I heard it.
A window shutting.
It wasn’t loud—just enough to make me glance up. Probably just the wind, I told myself.
Then, my blood ran cold.
Because I heard Jeremy’s voice.
“I love you forever.”
I swear, every muscle in my body locked up.
This wasn’t a memory echoing in my head. This wasn’t wishful thinking. It was real. Clear as day.
My breath hitched. My heart pounded.
No. No, no, no. This was impossible. Jeremy was gone.
But then I heard it again.
“I love you forever.”
It was coming from Sophia’s room.
I bolted from the couch. My mind spiraled—was someone in there? Was I losing my grip on reality?
Was Jeremy alive?
I sprinted down the hallway and flung open Sophia’s door.
She was sound asleep in her crib, her tiny fingers wrapped around a stuffed bear. The room was just as I had left it. No open windows. No shadows lurking in the corner. Nothing out of place.
But then—again.
“I love you forever.”
I swore my heart stopped.
“Jeremy?” My voice broke. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Please… I can’t… I can’t handle this…”
I scanned the room, desperate for an answer, my gaze finally settling on Sophia. She shifted in her sleep, hugging the bear closer.
“Dada,” she murmured softly. And just like that, my heart shattered all over again.
And then, it clicked.
The bear.
I dropped to my knees beside her crib, my hands trembling as I reached for it. Pressed the fabric.
“I love you forever.”
Jeremy’s voice.
“Oh, God.” My chest tightened as I clutched the bear to me.
I didn’t remember buying this. Had someone given it to her?
Then, a memory surfaced. Sophia’s second birthday. A gift from my mother-in-law, Gloria.
At the time, I had barely looked at it. Just another stuffed animal.
But now? Now I needed answers.
I grabbed my phone and dialed. Gloria picked up on the second ring.
“Did you know this thing plays Jeremy’s voice?” My grip on the bear tightened.
Silence.
Then, after a long pause, she spoke. “Oh… did it finally play?”
A chill ran down my spine. “Finally? What do you mean finally?”
Her voice wavered. “Kelly, please. Just let me explain.”
Gloria arrived an hour later, shifting nervously as she stood in my doorway.
“I just… I thought it would help,” she said softly.
“Help who?”
She let out a slow breath. “Sophia. And you.”
“Kelly, every time Sophia asks about her daddy… every time I see you struggling to find the words… it breaks my heart.”
“And you don’t think this broke mine?” My voice cracked. “Hearing his voice out of nowhere like that?”
She looked down. “After Jeremy died, I kept thinking about how Sophia would never know her father’s voice. So I took a recording from your wedding video. You remember his vows?”
“I love you forever.”
“I had it sewn into the bear before her birthday,” she admitted. “I wanted her to have a piece of him. To know he’s always with her.”
I exhaled shakily. She had meant well. I knew that. But it didn’t make the moment any less overwhelming.
That night, I sat in Sophia’s room, watching her sleep. The bear rested in my lap. My fingers traced its soft fabric as I gazed at my daughter—the child Jeremy never got to meet.
I missed him.
For so long, I had felt like I had lost everything. But here, in my daughter’s tiny arms, was a piece of him.
Leaning down, I kissed Sophia’s forehead.
The grief still lingered. It always would.
But for the first time in a long, long time… I didn’t feel so alone.
