She kept asking the universe for a sign, as if destiny worked customer service hours.
The sky answered in strange ways — feathers at her feet, numbers repeating, wind turning pages she hadn’t touched.
Still, she doubted, because fear speaks louder than coincidence.
Until the day the ground trembled beneath her certainty and forced her to look up instead of down.
The sign wasn’t comfort, wasn’t rescue, wasn’t permission.
It was the quiet knowing in her bones that she had always been the signal.

— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫