Sophia leaned back on the sunbed, letting the late afternoon heat wrap around her like a heavy blanket. The resort in Santorini shimmered under the golden sun, the white walls glowing, the sea sparkling beyond. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the lull of the waves and the faint laughter of children somewhere nearby.
When she opened them again, she almost dropped her drink.
Across the pool, by a row of blue parasols, stood a woman. Not just any woman — her. Her mother. Dressed in the same white linen dress she had worn every summer, the one that smelled faintly of lavender and sea salt. The woman was adjusting her wide-brimmed hat, just the way her mother used to, smiling as if sharing a private joke with the breeze.
Sophia sat bolt upright, her heart hammering against her ribs.
It can’t be, she thought. Mom’s been gone for three years.
But the woman had her mother’s walk — slow, graceful, full of a soft kind of strength.
Sophia rose from her seat, hardly daring to breathe. She moved toward the pool’s edge, the world narrowing to just that figure.
A small boy ran past, splashing water, and for a second her view was blocked. When she looked again, the woman was gone. Only the ripple of the pool remained, as if something had slipped beneath its surface.
Sophia stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space.
Had it been the glare of the sun? A trick of the heat? Or something more?
Later, sitting alone on her balcony, she felt a strange peace settle over her. Maybe, just maybe, some goodbyes weren’t meant to be permanent.
Maybe love — the deep kind — could find its way back to you, even in the most unexpected places.
By Niki Nazemi