Years later, visitors came and went from Black Hollow Lake, drawn by its beauty. They'd say the water felt strangely calm, like it was listening.
Few knew the stories.
Fewer still knew the truth.
Mira, now older, returned each spring. Not to chase ghosts—but to remember love, loss, and the woman who once walked into the water to save her.
She'd sit by the dock with a notebook in her lap, sketching flowers, faces, and ripples on the lake.
Sometimes, when the wind blew just right, she swore she heard a voice in the distance—soft, warm.
Not a warning.
Just a whisper of thanks.
And the lake stayed quiet.
Because it had finally been heard.
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