When she arrived at her fiancé’s grave, pregnant and alone, Olesya discovered a strange phone. The moment she turned it on, she fainted.

She stepped off the bus with heavy steps. The ride had been quiet, filled only with silent tears. Her world had ended when Andrey’s had. In two months, their daughter would arrive—that tiny heartbeat inside her was the only reason she kept going.

They met two years after she left the orphanage. Olesya was juggling vocational school and night shifts at a factory. Life was tough, but survival didn’t leave room for comfort.

Andrey came to the factory to install new equipment. From that day, they were inseparable.

When she found out she was pregnant, Andrey proposed without hesitation. He wanted to take her to meet his family.

But Olesya knew all too well how people, especially wealthy families, looked at girls from orphanages. She wanted to avoid their judgment—Andrey could think she was overthinking, but she had her reasons.

Three months ago, he left. He said he’d be back soon. She waited—days, then weeks.

But he never returned.

Everyone whispered the same thing: He’d abandoned her. But Olesya couldn’t believe that. Not her Andrey.

Then, by chance, she overheard someone in the office say the man who’d come to install equipment—her Andrey—had died.

When she came to in the accountant’s office, the older woman confirmed it. “He’d just gotten home when some thugs jumped him. Three guys. They caught them—but what does that change? He’s gone.”

Olesya sat in silence, the pain in her chest worse than anything she’d ever known.

Now, she moved slowly through the cemetery in the rain, toward his grave. She needed to say goodbye. To forgive herself.

He had gone back home to prepare his family to meet her. And she—she had been too worried about being judged.

She spotted his grave, still fresh and buried in flowers. A large stone structure stood nearby—an old mausoleum. His photo hung from the cross above his grave.

“Hello, my love. We meet again,” she whispered before falling to her knees in tears.

She didn’t know how long she cried. When she came to, she was cold, soaked, and starving. Her phone was gone. She needed shelter.

As the sky opened into a downpour, she tugged the crypt door open.

“Please forgive me, I just need to warm up.”

She sat down inside, leaving the door slightly open. The silence was broken by a sudden vibration—a sleek, expensive phone lay buzzing nearby.

She picked it up, heart pounding, thinking of those stories where the dead reached out to the living.

“Hello?” Her voice trembled.

“Hi, that’s my phone. I lost it yesterday.”

“I just found it.”

“Can you return it? I’ll pay. There’s important stuff on it.”

“I’m at the cemetery,” she said.

“Oh crap… I was taking measurements there yesterday. Must’ve left it on the crypt.”

“I wasn’t feeling well, I—”

Olesya’s voice trailed off. She dropped the phone, then blacked out.

A man shook her awake. “Miss! Wake up!”