“I know,” she interrupted gently, placing her small hands on my cheeks. “I just want to wait on the porch. Just in case.”
How do you argue with that kind of pure, unfiltered hope? You don’t.

You just let it happen and prepare yourself for the inevitable crash.

So, she went outside, and I stayed inside. I stood in the shadows of the living room, looking through the sheer curtains. I watched the neighborhood change from the golden hour of late afternoon to the deep blues and purples of dusk. Every time a car drove past, Sarah would sit up a little straighter, her eyes locked on the street, only to slump slightly when it kept going. I was agonizing over the right time to go out there. Ten more minutes? Twenty? How long do you let a child wait for a ghost before it becomes cruel?

Then, a black car pulled up to our curb.
It wasn’t a neighborhood car. It was sleek, spotless, and entirely unfamiliar. I immediately stiffened, stepping closer to the window. My hand gripped the fabric of the curtain. I watched as the driver’s side door opened.
A young man stepped out. Even in the fading light, there was no mistaking the uniform. He was a Marine Corporal, dressed immaculately in his full Dress Blues. The brass buttons caught the glow of the streetlamp, and his white cover was perfectly positioned. In his hand, he carried a vibrant, fresh bouquet of flowers.

My mind raced. Who was this? Why was a Marine at our house? Steve was Army, and the military had concluded all their official business with our family long ago. I watched, paralyzed by confusion, as the young man walked up our driveway.

His posture was rigid, his steps measured, but as he got closer to the porch, I could see a deep, heavy nervousness in his face. He wasn’t much older than a kid himself, maybe early twenties, but his eyes carried a weight that aged him.
I finally snapped out of my shock, rushed to the front door, and cracked it open just enough to hear. I was ready to intervene, but I stopped when I saw the Corporal sink down onto one knee right in front of the porch steps. He was now eye-level with my daughter, who was looking at him with wide, curious eyes.