The child remained still for a long moment, his ear pressed against his mother’s cold coffin.

In the church, everyone held their breath. Even the candles seemed to flicker more gently, as if not to disturb this fragile moment.

Then, slowly, he straightened up. His little fingers trembled, but his eyes… his eyes seemed bigger, deeper than ever. He scanned the congregation with his gaze, as if seeking permission to speak.

— Mom just told me something… he murmured.

A shiver ran through the pews. Some leaned forward to hear better. The priest stepped toward him.

— She told me she’s just behind me… and that she’s holding my hand.

Sobs intensified among the congregation. Silent tears slid down the wrinkled cheeks of an elderly woman in the front row. A man clenched his handkerchief until it crumpled.

The little boy continued, his voice trembling:
— She says I shouldn’t be afraid. That every time the wind blows gently on my face, it’s her coming to say hello.

He then looked up at the stained glass windows. A beam of light passed through one, flooding his face with golden clarity. Some saw it as a sign, others turned away, overwhelmed by emotion.

— She also told me… He hesitated, lowered his head, then lifted his gaze, filled with a strange certainty.
— …that one day, when I smell her scent again, it will be the moment for me to find her.

The entire church seemed suspended on his words. One could have heard a pin drop on the stone floor.

The priest, his voice trembling, asked:
— And… what does she want you to do until then?

The child offered a fragile smile.

— Laugh. Play. Love. And tell others that she is always there, even when we think she’s gone.

A light draft swept through the church, making the candle flames dance. The boy turned his head slightly, as if still listening. Then he stepped back a few paces, never taking his eyes off the coffin.

Among the pews, the tears had changed. They were no longer just tears of grief, but also of hope. The idea that, perhaps, bonds of love survive everything… even death.

Finally, the little boy returned to his seat, holding in his hand a small crumpled handkerchief he had slipped from the coffin.
No one knew when he had taken it. But everyone noticed that he held it close to him like a treasure.

And in the regained silence, each person felt deep inside that something powerful had just happened.