Every morning, the widow walked along the beach, collecting the sea glass that littered the white sand.
She found solace in the shards. For, much like the soft, polished edges of the glass, so too was her grief. Its sharp pains dulled by the ebb and flow of the tides of time.
She had a project in mind: a grand mirror, birthed from the sea's forgotten fragments. A tribute to her late husband who was claimed by the ocean's depths.
As the mirror took form, a mosaic of memories shimmered in the morning sun, casting a dance of colors around her home, breathing life into the silence. Her project, it seemed, was a success.
Eager to witness the fruits of her labor, she let her eyes delve into the reflection. To her surprise, instead of her own jubilant image, she saw her husband, alive and untouched by time, standing in their shared home – a specter in the sea glass mirror.
Looking closer, she saw him reach out to a picture of them, his fingers tracing their frozen smiles. "I miss you, Anna," he said, his voice a soft whisper, "I wish you were here."
In that moment, a chilling realization crashed over her like a wave. She wasn't a grieving widow; she was the lost wife. The mirror was not a tribute to her husband's memory, but a window to a life that was no longer hers. Through the sea glass, she saw her own ghostly ripple, a stark reminder of the tide that had claimed her.