At first, people thought it was strange. Every day, a man walked to the cemetery, lay himself across his mother’s grave, and stayed there for hours—sometimes all night. Passersby whispered, some with pity, others with judgment. Sleeping on a grave seemed unnatural, even alarming.
But for him, it was devotion. The stone marker wasn’t just marble and earth—it was the last doorway to her warmth, the final place he could feel close. Rain, wind, or bitter cold didn’t deter him. He curled on the ground, closed his eyes, and let the silence of the cemetery carry him to a place where his mother still whispered comfort.
When questioned, his answer was simple: “I promised her I’d never leave her side.”
Then, one morning, something extraordinary happened. As dawn stretched across the sky, the air felt different—charged with a strange energy. When he turned to the tombstone, he froze. The grave glowed softly, bathed in gentle light, the grass shimmering with dew, a faint hum stirring through the air. For the first time in months, he felt her presence—not a memory, but real.
Tears prickled his eyes, and a sudden calm washed over him. He felt peace, as though she were saying, “It’s all right. You can live now.”
The cliffhanger: would this miraculous morning change the way he faced life, grief, and the world beyond the cemetery?
