That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. Lying there, I thought of Lucas’s pain and Elena’s quiet loyalty by his side.

The next day, I went to buy new sheets and helped Elena wash the old ones. Every morning, I woke up early to be with them, to support them, to stay by their side.

One morning, as we were changing the sheets together, I held her in my arms:
— “Thank you, Elena… for the love you give my son. For staying. For your choice, even knowing you would lose him.”

Three months later, Lucas passed away peacefully in his sleep. Elena held his hand, whispering “I love you” until his last breath.

No pain, no struggle. Just peace. And a gentle smile on his face.

Since that day, Elena never left.

She never went back to her parents.

 

She never remarried.

She stayed with me, modestly helping run our small grocery store.

She became like my own daughter.

Today, two years later, when people ask:

— “Why does Elena still live with you?”

I smile and reply:

— “Because she wasn’t just my son’s wife… she also became my daughter. And this house will always be hers.”