That’s why what happened last Sunday shattered me so badly.

The apartment next door had been empty for months. Around noon, I heard voices in the hallway and looked through the peephole out of curiosity.

A woman around my age was carrying moving boxes while a little girl danced around her holding a stuffed rabbit.

Then a man stepped into view.

At first my brain refused to process what I was seeing.

Because it was Ron.

Not similar. Not close. Ron.

Same dark hair. Same shoulders. Same tired eyes. Even the way he adjusted his grip on the box was identical.

I physically stumbled backward.

My first thought was that grief had finally broken my mind. I actually remember laughing nervously to myself because it felt impossible.

I waited another few minutes before opening my door again.

The little girl was tugging on the man’s sleeve while he unlocked the apartment.

“Katie,” he said softly, lifting her into his arms. “Come on, bug. Let’s go home.”

Katie.

My heart nearly stopped.

That was my name.

Suddenly every hair on my body stood up.

Then he reached for the doorknob, and I saw it clearly.

Two missing fingers on his left hand.

Ron lost those fingers in a bike accident when he was a kid. I used to trace the scars when we watched TV together. There was no mistaking it.

My chest tightened so fast I couldn’t breathe.

Before I could think better of it, I stepped into the hallway.

“Ron?”

The word barely came out.

He froze instantly.

Slowly, he turned around.

I have never seen fear hit someone’s face so fast.

The woman beside him looked confused. The little girl tightened her grip around his neck.

And Ron — my dead husband — stared at me like he’d seen a ghost.

I started shaking.

“No,” I whispered. “No, this isn’t possible.”

For several seconds nobody spoke.

Then the woman frowned. “Excuse me… do you know my husband?”

Husband.

The word hit me like another car crash.

Ron swallowed hard before finally speaking.

“Katie…” he said quietly.

Hearing my name in his voice after three years nearly destroyed me.

The woman looked between us nervously. “What’s going on?”

I couldn’t stop staring at him. “You died.”