“Lily,” she whispered, and her face lit up with a smile so bright it physically hurt to look at.

For the next hour, I wasn’t a ghost. I was a dad. I pushed her wheelchair, my hand feeling strange and heavy on the grips. Ethan, after a moment of confusion, ran alongside. “Why are you pushing her, Dad?” he asked.

“It’s her birthday, buddy. And I’m her… I’m her friend. For today.”

We got ice cream. She got strawberry, Ethan got chocolate, and I got vanilla. Sarah’s favorite. The lump in my throat was so big I could barely swallow. We sat on the grass, the three of us, and Lily told Ethan about her school. He showed her his favorite monster truck.

Then we went to the duck pond. Lily threw pieces of her cone into the water, her laugh tentative, like a rusty hinge.