Days passed, filled with the routine of mourning and sorting through family matters. Yet, Ben’s strange story lingered in my mind, like a whisper that refused to fade.
A week later, while Arthur and I were sifting through old family photos, we came across one that made us pause. His father stood beside a woman neither of us recognized. She wore a long, flowing dress and large sunglasses that concealed her eyes. Her smile was polite, distant—and somehow unsettling.
“That’s odd,” Arthur murmured. “I don’t remember her.”
I leaned closer. The image sent an inexplicable chill through me. “Do you think that could be the woman Ben saw?” I asked quietly.
Arthur hesitated before nodding. “It’s possible. There were a lot of people at the reception I didn’t know.”
We decided to show Ben the photo. As soon as he saw it, his reaction was instant. His eyes widened, and his finger shot toward the woman. “That’s her!” he cried. “That’s the lady with the spiders!”
Arthur and I exchanged a long, silent look. The air between us felt heavy, charged with questions neither of us could answer.
Who was this woman? And what had our son really seen that day beneath the tablecloth—something imagined, or something we were never meant to understand?
From that moment, the memory lingered, reshaping how we saw the world around us. It was a mystery left unsolved, a haunting detail that forever blurred the line between imagination and the unknown.
