The husband, recently widowed, sat dazed at the altar, his eyes red from crying. His wife had died unexpectedly of a heart attack.
Amid the pain and chaos of the funeral, he took care of everything: welcoming the visitors, arranging the formalities, and the funeral.
On the morning of the funeral, he suddenly realized his cell phone was missing. He searched everywhere, asked his relatives, but no one knew anything.
“I must have left it somewhere,” he thought, trying to concentrate on the ceremony.
The coffin was sealed and taken to the cemetery. Heartbroken, he forced himself to stay strong—for his daughter’s sake.
That night, when only he and the girl remained in the cold house, he received a message from his own number:
“Darling, I’m still here. Don’t be fooled.”
He froze, cold sweat running down his back. Then he remembered: Perhaps he had dropped the cell phone into the coffin, the moment he bent over his wife one last time—just before it was sealed.
But… who could have sent that message? His wife was dead, there was no doubt about it: the doctor had confirmed it, the death certificate had been signed.
Trembling, he wrote back:
— “Is it really you?”
The reply came immediately:
“Believe me. I didn’t die of a heart attack. I was poisoned.”
The ground seemed to give way beneath the man’s feet. His wife, so kind—how could anyone wish her harm?
He asked again, his hands sweating:
— “Who was it?”
The short, chilling message appeared on the screen:
“A relative… in the same house.”
He looked around, into the empty living room, at the flickering candle on the altar. His daughter was asleep in the next room. Who could it have been? His brother-in-law? A greedy relative with an eye on the inheritance?
Then another message came:
“Open the wooden drawer… then you’ll understand.”
He ran to the cabinet where he kept the documents. With trembling hands, he pulled open the drawer. Under some papers, he found a small bottle of pills, the label torn off, containing only a few white pills.
He remembered the previous night: His wife’s cousin had brought her a glass of warm milk. She drank it… and less than an hour later, the crisis that ended her life began.
The man collapsed, drenched in sweat. The screen lit up one last time:
“Protect our daughter. Don’t let her be next.”
He knelt on the floor, clutching his phone, tears streaming. Outside, the wind whistled through the cracks in the window, and the candle flame flickered as if someone unseen were present.
Deep in his heart, he knew his wife was guiding him from beyond the grave.
At daybreak, he took the bottle and the phone with the messages to the police station. The investigation revealed the truth: His wife’s cousin had orchestrated the whole thing out of greed for the inheritance.
On the day of the trial, he stood with his daughter in front of the courthouse. The sky was blue, white clouds drifted gently by, as if someone were smiling from above.
He whispered into the wind:
— “I will raise our daughter, I will walk the rest of the way for you.”
And in his heart, he heard her voice, clear and loving:
“I’m still here—forever.”
