Two days had passed since Wanda Graham took her final breath. The air in the city felt heavier, or maybe it was just Sarah's heart that bore the weight of loss. The old blind woman who had given her a home, who had seen her for what she truly was—gifted, not cursed—was gone.
The funeral was held on a gray, cloudy morning. The sky wept as if in mourning too, raindrops soft and steady. Sarah stood at the entrance of the church, a long black dress hugging her slender figure, her striking green eyes dulled with grief. Her dark brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, slightly damp from the drizzle. Yet even in her sorrow, she held herself with quiet dignity, a woman hardened by life but not broken.
She greeted every guest with a polite nod and soft, emotion-filled thank yous. Most were strangers to her—people from Wanda's neighborhood, a few old acquaintances of the woman who had taken her in. They offered hollow condolences, whispered words of sympathy, and quickly moved to their seats, unsure of what to say to a girl who had grown up in the shadow of ghosts and rumors.
The ceremony was simple, just as Wanda would have wanted. A modest wooden coffin, no grand speeches, only soft hymns and heartfelt farewells. The priest spoke briefly, highlighting Wanda's kindness and her open heart. He didn't know the full extent of her goodness, of how she had saved a child and given her a chance at life. But Sarah knew. And that was enough.
When it was time to leave for the burial, Sarah walked behind the coffin, her heels crunching against the gravel path, hands trembling as she clutched a single white rose. The graveyard was quiet, save for the murmurs of prayer and the rustling of wind through the trees.
They lowered Wanda into the ground with gentle hands. Sarah stepped forward and tossed the rose into the grave.
"I love you," she whispered, barely audible. "Thank you for giving me a life."
Just as the final shovels of earth were placed, Sarah looked up across the field. Her breath caught in her throat. Standing at the edge of the trees, beyond the graveyard fence, was Wanda.
Not in her hospital gown, but dressed in the floral shawl she always wore at home. She looked younger somehow, healthier. She smiled and raised her hand in a gentle wave.
"Wanda?" Sarah murmured.
But just as quickly, the figure vanished, swallowed by the trees. Sarah didn't scream or run. She smiled softly, letting the tears fall freely.
"Goodbye," she whispered. "I saw you."
---
Eight Years Later
The bell above the bookstore door jingled as a soft breeze rolled in. The scent of old paper and coffee beans filled the small, cozy shop. It was nestled in a quiet street corner, a haven from the chaos of the world outside. The wooden shelves were packed with books, and warm sunlight filtered in through the large window.
Behind the counter stood Sarah—now twenty-five, a picture of elegance and quiet strength. Her hair was longer now, often tied in a loose braid. Her eyes held more stories than any novel on the shelves, and her smile was the kind that made strangers feel welcome.
She lived alone in a small but charming apartment above the store. The place was her sanctuary, filled with plants, books, and quiet. It was a life of peace, one she had built with her own hands, far from the madness of her childhood.
But the visions had never stopped.
Ghosts still came. Spirits wandered. Shadows whispered. And Sarah… she helped them. She didn't run anymore. She guided lost souls to their peace, whispered prayers for the forgotten, and comforted the grieving. It was her burden and her blessing.
The bell jingled again, this time followed by tiny footsteps.
"Hi, Miss Sarah!"
Sarah looked up and smiled. It was Lily, the little girl from next door. Her mother worked long shifts at the hospital, and Sarah often watched over her.
"Hey, Lily," Sarah said, stepping from behind the counter. "Back from school already?"
"Yep! And I drew you something!" Lily held up a crayon drawing. It was of the bookstore, with Sarah standing in front, holding a book, and ghosts with smiley faces floating around.
Sarah chuckled. "Is that me?"
"Uh-huh. And those are your ghost friends."
"Well, it's beautiful. Thank you, sweetheart."
She took a lollipop from the jar on the counter and handed it to Lily. "Here, artist's reward."
"Yay!"
"Now go home before your mom starts worrying."
Lily nodded and skipped out the door, humming to herself.
Sarah stood by the window, watching her disappear around the corner. Her hand unconsciously touched the small pendant around her neck—the one Wanda had given her. It glowed faintly, only visible to her eyes.
"I'm okay, Wanda," she whispered. "You'd be proud of me."
Just then, a shadow flickered by the bookshelf.
Another spirit.
Another soul in need.
Sarah turned slowly, her voice calm and welcoming.
"I see you. Don't be afraid. Tell me what you need."
Her journey was far from over.
But she wasn't alone anymore.
She had herself.
And she had Wanda's love guiding her through the darkness.