I was eight months pregnant when my husband, Jeremy, died in a car accident. They told me it was bad — so bad that I shouldn’t see his body. I never got to say goodbye. Just a closed casket at the funeral, and that was it.
For two years, I tried to move forward for our daughter, Sophia. But the emptiness never really left.
Then, one afternoon, I put Sophia down for a nap in her bedroom and decided to read a book in the next room. The house was quiet. Peaceful.
Until I heard it.
A window shut. Then — Jeremy’s voice. Clear as day.
I froze. My heart pounded. It came from Sophia’s room.
Was he alive? Was I losing my mind?
I ran to her room, terrified of what I might find.

When I opened the door, I found Sophia standing up in her crib, gripping the rails with her tiny hands. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn’t crying. Instead, she babbled happily, “Da-da?” My heart clenched. There was nobody else in the room. The curtains were still. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioner. I rushed to the window to see if maybe someone was outside, calling to Sophia, but there was nobody there either.

Feeling my chest tighten, I picked Sophia up and held her close. I tried to slow my breathing. I reminded myself that I was tired. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Yet, that voice had been so clear. It sounded exactly like Jeremy, down to the soft tone he always used when he spoke to our unborn baby.

That evening, I convinced myself it was just my imagination. The stress of raising a child alone, along with my lingering grief, had probably made me hear something that wasn’t there. Still, the next day, I felt uneasy walking by Sophia’s room. I half-expected to hear Jeremy again.

And then it happened once more. This time, it was during lunchtime. I had just put Sophia in her high chair in the kitchen. She threw her spoon onto the floor, so I bent down to pick it up. Right then, I heard Jeremy’s voice coming from down the hall. It was just one word: “Hey.” My heart nearly stopped. I hurried to the hallway, but again, no one was there. Sophia let out a giggle behind me, oblivious to my panic.

The more it happened, the more I questioned everything. How could my husband’s voice still be in this house? Could there have been a mistake with the accident? I had never seen his body. Maybe it wasn’t really him who died. Maybe they identified him incorrectly. My mind raced with possibilities that I knew sounded crazy, but I couldn’t dismiss them.

I thought about going to the police or calling the hospital where they had taken Jeremy. But what would I say? “I’m hearing my dead husband’s voice”? They would think I needed therapy, not an investigation. Still, the idea that he might be alive somewhere haunted me. And if he was alive, why wouldn’t he just come home?

After a week of hearing Jeremy’s voice at odd times, I decided to check the baby monitor. I hadn’t used it much since Sophia started sleeping through the night. I plugged it in and placed the camera on the shelf in her room, facing the crib. That afternoon, I went about my chores, but every few minutes, I glanced at my phone to see what the monitor showed.

It was quiet for a while, just Sophia napping. Then, right around her usual wake-up time, the video started to flicker. I heard what sounded like soft static. My heart pounded. Slowly, through the crackling noise, a voice came through: “Sophia… Daddy loves you.” Chills ran down my arms. I stared at the screen, but the video feed showed only my sleeping daughter. There was no one else in the shot, yet Jeremy’s voice was as clear as if he were right there.

I rushed to her room again, flung the door open, and found—nothing. Sophia stirred, blinking awake, but no sign of anyone else. By this point, my nerves were frayed. I wasn’t sleeping well. I started having dreams about Jeremy, dreams where he told me he was okay, that he was just waiting for me somewhere. In these dreams, he always stood in the shadows so I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was real.

Finally, I told my sister, Lauren, what was happening. She came over right away. She sat me down in the living room and held my hands. “Are you sure you’re not under too much stress?” she asked gently. “Maybe you should see someone about your grief. You went through a lot, especially with the pregnancy and then losing Jeremy so suddenly.”

I wanted to protest, but part of me knew that I had never fully dealt with Jeremy’s death. I had kept my head down, focusing on Sophia, pushing away my sadness for her sake. Still, I couldn’t accept that all these voices were just in my head. They were too distinct, too real.

Lauren stayed the night, sleeping in the guest room, hoping she might hear something, too. Around midnight, I was awakened by a faint noise. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. I tiptoed down the hall and saw Lauren in the doorway of Sophia’s room. Her eyes were wide with shock. She said, “I heard it. It sounded like Jeremy calling Sophia’s name.”

She looked as scared as I felt. We flipped on the lights, but again, found nothing. It was just our sweet girl, sleeping peacefully. Knowing that Lauren had heard it as well was both comforting and terrifying. At least I knew I wasn’t imagining things. But if it wasn’t a dream or a trick of the mind, then what was it?

The next morning, Lauren suggested we do something bold: drive to the cemetery, to Jeremy’s grave. Maybe just seeing his final resting place would help me accept his death. Reluctantly, I agreed. We took Sophia, bought some flowers, and headed to the cemetery. Standing before his headstone, I felt numb. I knelt down and placed the flowers by his name. There was a small metal plaque near the base that read “Forever in Our Hearts.” I wanted to feel closure, but I only felt emptiness.

That night, I went through old photos of Jeremy, remembering the way he laughed, the way he would talk to my belly when I was pregnant, telling our baby stories about the adventures they’d have together. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized how much I still wanted that life, how much I wished the accident had never happened.

The next time I heard his voice, I took a deep breath and whispered, “Jeremy, if you’re here, please, give me a sign. Are you okay? Do you need something from me?” I don’t know what I expected—an answer, maybe. But all I heard was silence. And from that day on, the voice stopped. Maybe it was Jeremy’s way of letting me know he was at peace, or maybe it was my mind finally accepting reality.

I still think about those strange weeks, when both my sister and I heard Jeremy’s voice around Sophia. Sometimes, I wonder if it was just our love for him manifesting in a way we can’t explain. Other times, I like to believe he was checking in on us, making sure his little girl was safe. After all, the one thing Jeremy always cared about most was our family.

As the years go by, I hold onto the possibility that love is stronger than death, that maybe the bond between a father and his child can reach beyond the grave. I don’t have all the answers, and I might never know the truth. But I have Sophia, and in her smile, I see Jeremy’s warmth every single day. Maybe that’s enough.

So, here’s my question to you: if you heard the voice of someone you lost, would you try to investigate further, or would you accept it as a comforting sign from beyond?