Alex looked around, expecting someone to jump out laughing, a phone recording the moment. No one. Just the restless city and this child standing calmly in front of him.
“I don’t believe in that stuff,” he muttered, already shifting to leave.
But she had begun.
“Heavenly Father… please take care of this man who smiles with his mouth but not with his heart. He lost someone he loves very much. He thinks it was his fault. Please help him forgive himself.”
Alex’s smirk vanished.
What kind of child says that?
Then she continued, softly, clearly:
“And please watch over Emily… the one he still talks to at night when no one can hear.”
The world seemed to tilt.
Emily.
No one spoke that name. Not in years. Not since the accident. Not since the hospital hallway and the silence that followed.
Alex’s breath hitched. He grabbed a nearby streetlight to steady himself.
“How do you know that name?” His voice cracked in a way it hadn’t in over a decade.
The girl opened her eyes and studied him as if surprised.
“Sometimes when you pray,” she said simply, “God tells you the right words. Your face is wet.”
He touched his cheek. Tears. He hadn’t even felt them fall.
“What’s your name?” he asked hoarsely.