At first, everything seemed normal. Lucas was polite, though a bit shy around me. I did my best to be patient, knowing it would take time for him to adjust to the idea of me being in their lives.
But one night, as I tucked Lucas into bed, he said something that sent a shiver down my spine.
“My real mom still lives here,” he whispered, his wide eyes unblinking as they stared into mine.
I laughed nervously. “Oh, sweetie, that’s just not possible. Your mom is in heaven now, isn’t she?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.
I chalked it up to Lucas missing Irene. It made sense that a child his age might create stories to comfort himself. But then the strange things began happening.
It started small. Picture frames would be tilted slightly, despite me being meticulous about keeping the house tidy. Lucas’s toys, which I always made sure to put away at night, would end up scattered across the living room by morning. Ben joked that I was “losing it,” but I knew I wasn’t imagining these things.
Then there were the whispers.
Late at night, when the house was silent, I’d hear faint murmurs coming from Lucas’s room. At first, I thought he was talking to himself in his sleep. But one night, as I pressed my ear to the door, I realized he wasn’t alone.
I burst into the room, flicking on the light, but there was no one there. Lucas sat up in bed, startled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.
“Who were you talking to?” I demanded, my heart racing.
“No one,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Just Mommy.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
The final straw came a week later. I was cleaning out a closet in the basement when I found a dusty box labeled “Irene’s things.” Inside were letters, photos, and keepsakes. Among them was a diary.
I hesitated, feeling like I was invading her privacy, but something compelled me to open it. As I flipped through the pages, one entry caught my eye:
“Lucas keeps saying he sees someone at night. He calls her the ‘shiny lady.’ At first, I thought it was an imaginary friend, but now… I’m not so sure. Last night, I heard her too.”
My blood ran cold.
That night, I told Ben everything. He was skeptical but agreed to humor me. We set up a baby monitor in Lucas’s room with both audio and video capabilities.
At 3 a.m., we were jolted awake by a strange, static-filled noise coming from the monitor. As we watched the screen, a faint figure appeared near Lucas’s bed. It was blurry, but unmistakably a woman.
Ben grabbed my hand, his face pale. “Irene?” he whispered.
The figure turned toward the camera, and for a split second, we saw her face.
It was her.
And then she was gone.
We haven’t seen Irene since that night, but the air in the house feels lighter now. Lucas doesn’t whisper about his “real mom” anymore, and the strange occurrences have stopped.
Maybe she just needed us to know she was still there, watching over her son.
Maybe now, she’s at peace.
