My Eight-Year-Old Kept Vanishing in His Treehouse for Hours – Until I Heard a Voice That Sounded Like My Late Husband
Then I heard Josh.
I grabbed my shoes and went outside. The grass was damp. Lantern light flickered through the treehouse window like a small heartbeat. I was halfway to the ladder when I heard Sean’s voice, soft and cracked.
“Dad, I miss you so much,” he said. “I really, really need you.”
I froze with one hand on the ladder rail.
Then I heard Josh.
Not a memory. Not an echo. Josh’s voice—clear, steady, close.
The treehouse was warmer than it should’ve been.
“I miss you too, buddy,” it said. “I’m right here.”
My stomach turned over. I swallowed hard and climbed, hands moving like they belonged to someone else.
“Mom!” Sean barked when my head rose above the floor. His cheeks were wet. “Stop! You’re not allowed!”
“I’m your mother,” I said. “Move.”
He spread his arms. “It’s boys-only. Dad said—”
“Sean.” My voice snapped. “I heard that. I heard him.”
It was coming from inside the treehouse.
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