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Hands

 I had been by her side throughout our lives. Now, as a husband confined to a wheelchair, I could do little more than watch as she faded away. It was a dark, stormy night, and the rain had been falling since morning. It was past 11:00 PM, and we had finished dinner hours ago. She had been bedridden for over a month, her voice and memory fading. I would read to her, turn off the lights, and retire to my room.

That night, I had a premonition that this was it. She closed her eyes, and I knew she was leaving me forever. A power outage plunged the house into darkness. Alone, I cried and called out her name. Helpless, I waited for the morning, death at my side.

As I wept uncontrollably, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulders. It was eerily familiar, like the comforting touch of her hands when I was frustrated. Fear gripped me, and I searched for a candle or torch. To my astonishment, my wheelchair began to move, guiding me to light a candle. I scanned the room, but there was no one there except my deceased wife in the next room. For a moment, I hoped she had somehow come back to life.

The next morning, I had dozed off, and neighbors began to arrive after the storm. I noticed something on her hands: the threads from my shawl, which I had been wearing in my wheelchair. In that moment, I knew she had been with me all night, even after she had passed away.


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More JustUtter:

https://www.justutter.com/2024/12/death-stories-woman-in-red.html
https://www.innocentthoughts.com/p/collection-of-short-stories.html
https://www.innocentthoughts.com/2016/09/friendly-addiction.html



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