The Unseen Light

Title: The Unseen Light

Thomas had not prayed in years. Not since Emily’s funeral, when the priest’s words about “God’s plan” had tasted hollow as the hole in his chest. Now, hooked to IVs in a hospital bed that smelled of antiseptic and endings, he glared at the ceiling. The machines beeped steadily, a cold metronome counting down his final days. Cancer had won, but God? Thomas still seethed at the thought. If the Almighty had been worth his time, He’d have taken him first.

That night, sleep came like a thief.

He found himself in a meadow, the air golden with sunlight. Emily stood there, her hair tousled by a breeze that didn’t exist. She looked the same as the day she’d died—a year ago tomorrow—her smile both tender and reproachful. Behind her, his parents waited, their faces etched with the quiet sorrow of those who’d walked this earth longer than he had.

“You have days,” she said, stepping closer. Her hand, cool and solid, brushed his sleeve. “Why do you still turn away?”

“Why?” His voice cracked. “You know why. You were mine. And He—” He gestured to the sky, rage surging. “He let you suffer. Let me suffer. What kind of love does that?”

Emily’s eyes glistened. “You think love is about demands? Thomas… repent. While you still can.”

Her parents stepped forward, nodding. Together, they mouthed the words he’d forgotten in his grief: Seek Him. Now.

He woke gasping, sweat clinging to his skin. The dream clung to him, vivid and urgent. At sunrise, he called for the nurse. “Get the preacher,” he rasped. “I need to see the preacher.”

Pastor Elias arrived with a Bible under his arm and a gaze that saw through Thomas’s barriers. Without preamble, Thomas lashed out. “How could he take her? Emily was good. She prayed every night. I was the one who cursed His name!”

The pastor sat, fingers steepled. “We’re not bodies, Thomas. We’re souls in temporary homes. God doesn’t take—He calls. Emily’s ‘death’ was just her door opening. Ours comes when His story needs turning.”

Thomas gripped the bed rails. “Then… how do I die and see her? How do I know this isn’t a lie?”

The preacher leaned closer, voice low. “She told you, didn’t she? The same words I just did.”

The room stilled. A key clicked in Thomas’s chest. He buried his face in his hands, tears scalding his skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I called You cruel. I’m sorry I forgot You’re not a judge with a ledger… You’re a parent. And I was a child, screaming in the dark.”

His words hung, raw and small. Then, a breeze stirred the curtains—a warmth that had nothing to do with the season.

The next morning, Thomas’s children huddled at his bedside, their faces wet with tears. He looked at them, his strength a breath, and smiled. “Tell Mom… I’m sorry too.”

As the monitors flat lined, a glow flickered in the corner of the room—a soft, expanding light. From his body, a faint shimmer rose, tendrils of mist coalescing into the shape of a man. It hovered a moment, then turned toward the light, which now felt less like an ending and more like an invitation.

The children gasped as their father’s form dissolved into the dawn, a whisper of laughter trailing behind.

Emily, waiting on the other side for her love!