I didn’t believe in ghosts until the morning I saw my husband’s face in the grocery store.
I’m Dorothy, I’m 78 years old, and I’ve been widowed for three years now.
My Edward died suddenly. The doctor said it was his heart, that it had been quick and painless. As if that made it easier.
We’d been married 55 years.
I’ve been widowed for three years now.
He snored, and he left his socks on the bathroom floor. He argued about things that didn’t matter and went silent when they did.
He annoyed me so much, but I loved him fiercely. He was mine, you know? And I was his.
That’s what I told myself every morning when I woke up to silence so thick it felt like drowning.
Everything I thought I knew about my marriage started unravelling on a bitterly cold morning in January.
He annoyed me so much, but I loved him fiercely.
I stood in front of my refrigerator, staring at empty shelves.
When had I last gone shopping? Thursday? Last week?
Time moved differently now. Some days stretched on forever, but others disappeared before I could catch them.
I drove to the store, grabbed a cart, and started down the produce aisle.
Then I heard it.
Time moved differently now.
A man’s voice, soft and strained, coming from somewhere nearby.
“I’m sorry, Mark. Daddy promises I’ll get you chocolates next time.”
I stopped walking. My hands went still on the cart handle.
“No, Daddy!” A child’s voice, high and breaking with tears. “You said Mommy would come back! How long is she with the angel?”
Something inside my chest twisted hard.
My hands went still on the cart handle.
I should have minded my own business like a sensible person, but I edged around the corner of the aisle instead, my cart wheels squeaking.
A man knelt on the linoleum floor in front of three children: two boys and a girl, between four and eight years old.
The youngest one had tears streaming down his face.
I should have minded my own business.
The man pulled him close, one hand on the back of his head.
“I know, buddy,” he whispered. “I know it’s hard.”
That’s when it hit me.
The way he set his jaw and the shape of his eyes, the way he listened to that little boy like nothing else in the world mattered.
Edward. He looked like Edward.
That’s when it hit me.
He stood up slowly, adjusting the toddler on his hip. The older boy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The girl held onto her father’s jacket with both fists.
“Come on,” the man said gently. “Let’s finish up so we can get home.”
I should have gone back to my shopping, my empty house, and my quiet life.
Instead, I pushed my cart forward and followed them.
I should have gone back to my shopping.
What was I doing? I didn’t know.
Maybe I just wanted to watch someone else’s family for a little while.
I trailed behind them through the aisles, grabbing some basic items at random while keeping my distance, watching the way he talked to his children.
They headed toward the registers.
I joined the queue right behind them.
I trailed behind them through the aisles.
The cashier scanned their groceries — milk, pasta, store-brand cereal. Nothing fancy.
The man pulled out his wallet and counted bills. His face dropped.
“I’m short $5.”
The cashier waited.
The children shifted on their feet.
The man’s ears turned red.
The man pulled out his wallet and counted bills.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Can you take off the milk?”
“It’s fine, let me cover it.”
I stepped forward and slid my card across the scanner before he could argue.
He looked up at me, startled. “You don’t have to do that.”
I was going to tell him that I did it to help, not because I felt obliged, but the words died in my throat the moment I got a better look at him.
I stepped forward and slid my card across the scanner.
He had a birthmark on his lip just like Edward’s! Exactly like Edward’s.
The store sounds faded. All I could see was that mark, that face, those eyes.
“Thank you,” the man said.
He was talking, but I could barely hear him over the rushing in my ears.
“My name is Charles. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Really, I—”
All I could see was that mark, that face, those eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look pale.”
“Fine,” I lied. “Just fine.”
He studied me for a moment longer, concern creasing his forehead. Then he gathered his bags and herded the children toward the exit.
“I’d best go,” he said. “The kids are waiting.”
I watched him walk across the parking lot with the kids in tow and leave.
He gathered his bags and herded the children toward the exit.
Could Edward have had a son I never knew?
The thought was absurd. Impossible. But that birthmark… that face.
I stood there in the checkout line, trembling, while the cashier asked if I was ready.
I went home and paced the living room. I opened photo albums I’d kept in boxes since the funeral.
There was Edward at 30, at 40, at 55, the year we renewed our vows.
The thought was absurd.
I traced my finger over his face, over that birthmark I’d kissed a thousand times.
What if?
No. It couldn’t be.
But what if?
I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that man’s face.
The next morning, I went back to the store.
No. It couldn’t be.
I hadn’t expected him to be there again, but the store was a starting point.
He’d left the store on foot the previous day, so he had to live in this area. I drove through the neighborhood, scanning sidewalks and bus stops.
One hour became two. I should go home, make lunch, watch television, do something normal instead of hunting for a stranger.
Then I saw him.
I drove through the neighborhood, scanning sidewalks and bus stops.
He was getting off a bus three streets over, the children trailing behind him like ducklings.
I followed at a distance.
They walked six blocks to a small house with peeling paint and a chain-link fence. Charles unlocked the front door and ushered the children inside.
I parked across the street.
I followed at a distance.
What was I doing? Stalking a stranger because he looked like my dead husband?
I was losing my mind. Three years of loneliness had finally broken something inside me, but I couldn’t leave until I knew why he looked so much like Edward.
I’m not sure how long I sat there trying to work up my courage, but finally, I climbed out of the car.
I walked up to the front door and knocked.
I couldn’t leave until I knew why he looked so much like Edward.
The door opened.
Charles looked at me, and recognition flickered across his face.
“You’re the woman from the store… why are you here?” he asked cautiously.
“Charles, you look exactly like my husband.”
I blurted out the words as I held out the photograph I’d brought of Edward at 35. Charles looked at it and went pale.
Recognition flickered across his face.
He took the photo with trembling fingers.
“I think you should come inside.”
The house was modest, clean, but worn. Toys lined the hallway, and crayon drawings covered the refrigerator.
The children peeked around the corner of the kitchen, watching us with wide eyes.
“Go play in your room,” he told them gently. “I need to talk to this lady.”
He took the photo with trembling fingers.
They disappeared, but I could hear them whispering.
Charles sat down on the couch. I took the chair across from him. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
He stared at Edward’s photograph as if it might burn him.
“This man… You say he was your husband?”
I nodded.
He stared at Edward’s photograph as if it might burn him.
“This man ruined my mother’s life.”
“What?” I couldn’t imagine Edward being malicious toward anyone.
“Her name was Lillian.” He stared at me like he expected a reaction.
But the name meant nothing to me.
“She met Edward years ago. Before I was born.” He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“This man ruined my mother’s life.”
“They fell in love. He tricked her, she told me, because he never told her he was married. She thought he’d leave you when she told him she was pregnant. Instead, he said he couldn’t be part of my life.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The walls seemed to press in.
“But I’m not sure how much of that is true. Mom didn’t always see things clearly. Here’s what I do know.”
Charles’s voice was steady, but his hands weren’t.
The walls seemed to press in.
“She took me to his workplace sometimes,” he continued. “We’d wait outside. I remember them arguing on the sidewalk. He’d say he’d already paid her, that he couldn’t give her more.”
“Paid her? Like child support?”
Charles shrugged.
“Sometimes he’d talk to me…” he smiled faintly. “Ask me how school was, what I wanted for my birthday.”
“I remember them arguing on the sidewalk.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them away.
“I thought he was just a nice man, until I was older.” Charles set the photograph on the coffee table between us.
“When I was 16, she told me Edward was my father, but he couldn’t be with us because of you; that you wouldn’t let him go because you were punishing him.”
I shook my head. “I never knew. He never said anything. If I had…”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done, actually,” I continued. “Divorced him, maybe.”
Charles nodded. “I always suspected Mom’s version of the truth was skewed by her bitterness.”
Silence filled the room. Heavy and absolute. Somewhere in the house, one of the children laughed.
The sound felt impossibly far away.
“Where does this leave us?” I asked.
Silence filled the room.
Charles stood slowly. “You know the truth now, but you don’t owe us anything. You go back to your life, and I go back to mine.”
He said it like it was simple, but the words didn’t sit well with me.
“I can’t do that.” I stood too, even though my legs felt like water. “My marriage wasn’t what I thought it was. That hurts, but this changes everything.”
He said it like it was simple, but the words didn’t sit well with me.
“I don’t want to pretend you don’t exist,” I said. “And I don’t want to spend what time I have left alone.”
Charles stared at me like he didn’t dare to believe he was hearing me right.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I still cook a big dinner every Sunday, but there are never enough people to eat it all. Maybe you can help me with that.”
“I don’t want to pretend you don’t exist.”
The following Sunday, I cooked dinner.
I waited anxiously, not certain Charles and the kids would show, but they did.
We ate at the dining room table, which I hadn’t used in years. The children were quiet at first, uncertain, but gradually they warmed up.
Charles barely spoke. He watched his children and me, like he was trying to figure out if this was real.
I waited anxiously, not certain Charles and the kids would show.
They left around eight.
“Thank you,” Charles said. “For everything.”
“Next Sunday?” I asked.
He smiled. “Next Sunday.”
I watched them drive away.
“Next Sunday.”
Edward was gone. His mistakes were his own.
But Charles was here, those children were here, and I was here, still breathing, still capable of more than grief.
I didn’t know what came next. Maybe more Sunday dinners. Maybe something resembling family.
Maybe just less silence.
I didn’t know what came next.
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