Sarah explained that twenty years earlier, I had helped a struggling single mother named Rebecca. Her daughter Emily had been seriously ill, and I had often visited them, bringing meals and keeping the little girl company. Before Emily passed away, she had told her mother that she wanted to comfort people whenever they felt frightened or alone.
Sarah remembered that Rebecca had kept a photograph of me and occasionally told Emily stories about my kindness. But there was something Sarah couldn’t explain. How could a girl who had died twenty years earlier appear beside my hospital bed? I looked toward the empty chair. For the first time, I wondered whether I would ever understand.
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