Mrs. Alvarez

Mrs. Alvarez

In a small apartment overlooking the Bronx skyline, Mrs. Alvarez lived alone. Her husband had passed years ago, her children scattered across states. Nights were the hardest — the ticking clock, the hum of the fridge, and her thoughts.

One evening, as she prayed for peace, her chest tightened and her breathing slowed. But instead of fear, she felt light — lighter than she had in years. When she opened her eyes, she saw herself lying on the couch below.

She didn’t scream. She simply watched, curious and calm, as her spirit drifted toward the window. Outside, the city lights shimmered like stars on earth. For the first time in decades, she felt free — no pain, no loneliness, just warmth.

Then a voice, soft and familiar, whispered: “Not yet, Maria. There’s still someone who needs you.”

When she awoke, tears wet her cheeks. The next day, she knocked on her neighbor’s door — an exhausted young woman with a baby. “God told me to bring this,” Mrs. Alvarez said, handing her a loaf of bread.