Alexander’s wife passed away in the hospital during childbirth on a cold December day. The doctors did everything they could, but they were unable to save her. Left behind were their newborn son and an unbearable void that nothing could fill. Everything that connected Alexander to his past seemed to fade away a little more each day, like snow melting under the spring sun.

A year passed. During that time, he learned how to live again. Without her. He learned how to wake up early to make breakfast for his son, how to work while carrying a heavy, invisible weight on his heart, how to hold back tears whenever the boy asked about his mother. The only thing that gave him strength was the unconditional love he felt for the little boy who now meant everything to him.

One frosty morning, Alexander bundled up his son and headed out for a walk through the familiar streets of their town. They strolled slowly, stopping at shop windows, admiring the festive decorations in the town square.

As they walked past a small park, Alexander suddenly froze. A woman sat alone on a bench, bundled in a grey scarf, her face mostly hidden under a wool hat. Yet something about her struck him with a force he couldn’t explain. His heart began to pound furiously.

He slowly approached, staring at her face. She looked up, and the world seemed to stop spinning.
It was her. His wife. His Lydia. Alive. Real.

Alexander felt the ground slipping away beneath him. He stepped closer, terrified she might vanish if he blinked. The woman met his gaze, her eyes clear and kind—but there was no recognition in them.

Gathering all his strength, Alexander asked a single question:
— What is your name?

She smiled, a little confused, and answered:
— Lydia. Lydia Petrovna.

Alexander’s breath caught in his throat. The name was exactly the same. But she went on:
— I often dream of a little boy… and a man. But I don’t know who they are. I… I lost my memory about a year ago. They found me on the outskirts of the city, unconscious. They said I must have gone through something traumatic.

Alexander stood motionless, the blood pounding in his ears. Everything began to fall into place, a chilling, unbelievable puzzle. His Lydia had died during childbirth. He had seen her body. He had held her cold hand in the morgue. So who was this woman sitting in front of him now?

Or could it be that she had somehow survived? That death had been a mistake, a terrible mistake? Or something even stranger, beyond understanding?

He sat down beside her, unable to look away. His son clung nervously to his side. The woman looked at the boy, and for a brief moment, tears flashed in her eyes.

— What’s his name? — she asked softly.

— Ilya, — Alexander answered.

Lydia closed her eyes. She sat silently for a few long moments and then whispered:
— May I… hold him?

Alexander nodded. Ilya hesitated, then stepped toward the woman. She hugged him tightly, like someone embracing a part of themselves they thought had been lost forever.

They stayed like that for a long time, sitting on the cold bench surrounded by snowdrifts and playground swings. The world around them faded away. There was only them—a family, broken apart by tragedy and now mysteriously reunited.

Later, back in the warmth of their home, Alexander tried to find some rational explanation. Medical records, certificates—everything confirmed it: Lydia had died. Yet here she was, alive, remembering him and their son in her dreams.

Was it a trick of fate, a rare medical miracle, or something beyond human understanding? No one could say for certain. But for Alexander, the answer was simple: before him sat his wife. Alive. Returned to him through time, pain, and death itself.

The story quickly spread throughout the town. Some called it fantasy, others whispered that it was a miracle. People argued, searched for explanations. But Alexander no longer searched. He simply lived, cherishing every day with the family he thought he had lost forever.

And every time snow blanketed the city in white, he remembered that day.
The day he walked down a deserted alley, holding his son’s hand, and suddenly saw her.
Alive.