Three years had passed since Daniela died, and the grief had never become easier to carry. People told you that time healed everything, but they were wrong. Time only taught you how to pretend you were okay. You smiled when people expected you to smile, laughed when conversations demanded it, and went to work every day as though a part of you hadn't been buried alongside her. Every night, however, you came home to the same apartment that still felt like it belonged to both of you, and every silence reminded you that she was never coming back.

You had tried packing away everything that reminded you of her, but you could never finish. Her sweater was still draped over the arm of the couch because you couldn't bring yourself to wash away the faint trace of her perfume. A chipped mug she always used sat untouched in the kitchen cabinet, and every time you reached for it, your hand stopped before pulling away. Even your phone still had your old conversations saved. You never opened them anymore because reading them hurt too much, but deleting them felt like erasing the last pieces of her that you still had.

You remembered everything about her without trying. You remembered the way she'd laugh so hard she'd have to catch her breath, the way she'd steal your food even after insisting she wasn't hungry, and the way she'd slip her hand into yours without saying a word whenever she noticed you were anxious. Those memories played through your mind so often that sometimes you forgot they were only memories. For a split second, you'd think she was waiting for you in the next room before reality settled over you again.

You blamed yourself for things you couldn't change. You replayed your final conversation over and over, wondering if saying something different would have kept her alive. You wondered if you should have called her one more time, asked her to stay longer, or told her you loved her instead of assuming she'd always know. Every possibility haunted you because none of them could change what had already happened.

When you arrived home that evening, you were exhausted. Work had distracted you just enough to make the day bearable, but the second you stepped inside your apartment, the emptiness returned. You locked the door behind you, placed your bag on the floor, and sighed as you leaned against the wall. The apartment felt colder than usual, but you dismissed it as your imagination.

Your entire body froze.

The sound was so familiar that your heart immediately recognized it before your mind could. You slowly turned your head, almost afraid of what you would or wouldn't see.

Daniela stood only a few feet away. She looked exactly the way you remembered her. Her dark hazel eyes rested on yours with a softness that made your chest ache, and the small smile on her face was the same one she'd always worn whenever she caught you staring at her. She didn't look like a memory or a dream. She looked real.