My Son Died, but My 5-Year-Old Daughter Said She Saw Him in the Neighbor’s Window – When I Knocked at Their Door, I Couldn’t Believe My Eyes

“Yes, sweetheart,” I said, crouching to her level. “His name is Noah. He’s our neighbor’s nephew.”

Her face lit up. “He looks like Lucas, doesn’t he?”

I hesitated, tears stinging my eyes. “He does,” I whispered. “A lot like him.”

That night, when Ella looked out the window again, she didn’t seem afraid or confused. She just smiled and said, “He’s not waving anymore, Mommy. He’s drawing.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Maybe he’s drawing you,” I said softly.

And for the first time since Lucas died, the silence in our house didn’t feel so empty.

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling while the house breathed quietly around me. The ache that used to feel sharp had softened into something else. Like a bruise I could finally touch without flinching.

In the morning, I made pancakes, and for the first time in weeks, Ella actually ate more than two bites. She hummed to herself between spoonfuls, and I realized how long it had been since I’d heard her make any kind of sound that wasn’t a sigh or a question about her brother.

“Mommy,” she said suddenly, “can I go see the boy in the window?”

I looked out at the pale-yellow house. “Maybe later, sweetheart. Let’s see if he’s outside first.”

After breakfast, we stepped onto the porch. The air smelled of cut grass and spring rain. Across the street, the front door opened, and a small boy came out holding a sketchbook. He was slender, quiet-looking, with sandy hair that stuck up at the crown.

My heart twisted. He really did look like Lucas.

Ella gasped and clutched my hand.

“That’s him!” she whispered. “That’s the boy!”