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

On the morning of the funeral, he suddenly realized his phone was missing. He searched everywhere, asked family members, but no one knew anything. “I’m sure I left it somewhere,” he thought, and tried to focus on the ceremony. The coffin was sealed and taken to the cemetery. Despite his broken heart, he forced himself to stay strong for his daughter.

That night, when only he and his daughter remained in the cold house, he received a message from his own number:

“My 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.

He typed again, with trembling hands:
“Is it really you?”

The reply 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 kind and good-hearted, 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… within the same house.”

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

Then another message arrived:
“Open the wooden drawer… you’ll understand.”

He ran to the cabinet where he kept documents. He opened the drawer with trembling hands. Beneath 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 him 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. One last message lit up the screen:
“Take care of our daughter. Don’t let her be next.”

He 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 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 with the messages to the police. The investigation revealed the truth: his wife’s cousin had plotted everything 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.”