My name is Alex, and I’m 45 years old, living alone in a small house in the suburbs. My wife, Sarah, passed away five years ago from a sudden illness.
Since the day she left, I’ve become withdrawn, finding solace only in my solitude. Every month, I would visit Sarah’s grave at the cemetery, light a candle for her, and tell her about the little things that happened in my life.
That day, as always, I brought a bouquet of white daisies, Sarah’s favorite flower, to the cemetery. But as I was placing the flowers down, I was startled by a faint groan coming from beside me. I turned and saw a young, beautiful woman with a large baby bump, huddled on the ground right next to my wife’s headstone. She was wearing a thin dress, her hair was disheveled, and her face was pale, yet she possessed a beauty that made it hard to look away.
I approached her and asked, “Ma’am, are you alright? Why are you lying here?” The young woman opened her eyes, her voice weak: “I… I was abandoned… I have nowhere to go… so hungry…” Looking at her, I couldn’t bring myself to leave her there. Despite being strangers, I decided to take her home, thinking I could at least offer her a meal and a temporary place to rest.
The young woman introduced herself as Hailey, 25 years old, and told me she had been abandoned by her boyfriend when she became pregnant. Her family had also disowned her, leaving her with nowhere to turn. Hearing her story, I felt deep sympathy and decided to let Hailey stay at my house. I took care of her like a brother, cooking meals, buying her clothes, and even preparing baby supplies for the child she was expecting. Hailey was very quiet and well-behaved, but she always looked at me with grateful eyes.
A month passed, and Hailey grew stronger day by day, her baby bump also growing larger. I began to get used to her presence in the house, and the feeling of loneliness lessened somewhat. But that morning, when I woke up, I was shocked to find Hailey gone. The house was empty, and her belongings had vanished. On the table, there was only a small note, the handwriting shaky: “Thank you, Alex, for helping me. But I can’t stay. Please don’t look for me.”
Confused, I ran around the neighborhood asking if anyone knew Hailey, but no one recognized her. Finally, I decided to return to the cemetery, the place where I had first met her. When I arrived, I froze in disbelief at what I saw: on the headstone right next to my wife’s grave, where Hailey had been lying, the name “Hailey Marie Johnson, born 1999, died 2020” was engraved. Below the inscription was a photograph – it was the face of Hailey, the woman I had taken care of for the past month.
It turned out that Hailey had passed away five years ago, around the same time as my wife. People recounted that Hailey had been pregnant but was abandoned by her boyfriend and rejected by her family. She had taken her own life right there in the cemetery, carrying her pain and her unborn child with her. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the days Hailey had stayed at my house: she never ate the food I cooked, never looked in a mirror, and every night, I would hear faint sobbing coming from her room.
I knelt down before Hailey’s grave, tears streaming down my face. It turned out I had been caring for a spirit. Perhaps Hailey had only wanted to find a little warmth, a little love that she had never experienced when she was alive. And I, too, had found a brief moment of solace in my loneliness, even if it was just for a fleeting month.