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From the shadows, she watched him. Years passed, then decades, yet her devotion never wavered. Finally, he grew into a man—but soon, he found a girlfriend. The ghost waited. He married, and still she waited, patient as the night. Time moved slowly for her, but she endured. When his wife fell ill, she lingered nearby, unseen, her chance drawing closer with every weakening breath. At last, the woman passed, and the widower was alone. Or so he believed. Now, she would wait no longer. That night, the air grew cold as she drifted from the shadows, gliding to his bedside. He stirred but did not scream—her presence was both strange and familiar, as if he had always known her. She reached for him, and the years of longing melted into that single, eternal moment. The widower was lonely no more. And she, at last, had her love forever.
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