Grief hit me early when I lost my wife, Stacey, at just 34. She died in a sudden accident caused by a drunk driver while I was away on business. Her father called me with the devastating words, “She’s gone.” I rushed home, but the funeral had already passed. The house, filled with her memories, felt unbearable, and our son, Luke, was left confused, asking, “Why can’t Mommy come home?”
Desperate for relief, I took Luke on a beach trip. For a while, it seemed like we were healing, until Luke pointed at a woman by the water. “Look, Dad, Mom’s back!” The woman looked like Stacey, and when she turned, I realized it was her. She had faked her death.
