Chapter 1Ever since I was little, I could see ghosts. I could never speak to them; I could only watch.
On our fifth wedding anniversary, I made a full dinner and waited for Ethan Whitaker to come home. Then I looked up and saw his ghost.
He was curled up in the corner of the living room, his face a grayish white, his eyes fixed on me.
I felt as if I had been dropped into ice water. Trembling, I reached for my phone, wanting to call him.
Before I could dial, the front door opened.
Ethan walked in and pulled me into his arms as gently as he always did. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Work ran late, so I got home later than I meant to."
He held me close, and I heard the familiar beat of his heart beside my ear, steady and strong, while his warmth pressed against me.
I closed my eyes and told myself he was alive. But when I opened them again, the spirit in the corner was still there.
My heart sank, inch by inch.
If Ethan was already dead, then who was the man wearing Ethan's face and holding me right now?
I stared hard at Ethan's face.
I had known that face for twenty years.
From grade school to high school, from college to marriage, he had been by my side every single day.
And now, with my own eyes, I was seeing a ghost curled up in the corner who looked exactly like him.
My whole body shook, and for a long time, I could not make a sound.
"Willa, what's wrong?" He walked over and pressed his hand to my forehead. "Why are you covered in cold sweat? Do you have a fever?"
His eyes were full of concern, and his warm palm rested against my skin.
Startled, I jerked back. The movement was so abrupt that I knocked over the glass on the table.
The glass tipped over with a sharp clatter. Water spilled all over the floor. He froze, his hand still suspended in midair as he looked at me, at a loss and a little hurt.
"Willa? What's wrong?"
I forced down the panic surging in my chest.
If the ghost in the corner was the real Ethan, then who was the man standing in front of me?
I couldn't let him know I was onto him.
I took a deep breath and forced out a smile.
"It's nothing," I said, pretending to sound relaxed. "Come eat. Dinner's getting cold."
After that, I sat down and served myself a rib.
He ladled soup into a bowl for me, then took a bottle of red wine from the wine cabinet. "I was late tonight, so I'll punish myself with three glasses to make it up to you."
I looked at the dark red wine in the glass and asked as casually as I could, "Do you remember that time in high school when you snuck some of your dad's liquor?" I kept my eyes on his face.
He paused for a second, then laughed. "How could I forget? You insisted on trying it, and I couldn't talk you out of it. You had two glasses and passed out cold."
"And then?" My fingers trembled slightly as my grip tightened around my fork.
"Then you threw up all over me. I took you home, and your mom smelled the alcohol and thought I'd gotten you drunk, so she tore into me." He shook his head. "I didn't dare tell her you were the one who wanted to drink, so I just took the blame."
My heart clenched. Only the two of us knew about that.
"What were you wearing that day?" I pressed.
"A white shirt. You threw up all over it, and it took forever to wash out." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Why are you suddenly asking about that?"
I lowered my eyes and said nothing. He even remembered that detail.
From the corner of my eye, I glanced toward the ghost. He was still staring at me, and my heart lurched again.
No. It still wasn't enough.
I cleared my throat, looked back at Ethan, and forced a slightly awkward tone. "Your mom called today. She said she missed your lemon-herb roast chicken."
He put another rib on my plate. "Sure. I'll make it tomorrow and bring it to her."
"You'll make it?" I looked up at him.
He laughed. "Haven't I always been the one who made it? Back then, you were trying to win my mom over and almost set the kitchen on fire. In the end, I had to learn how to make it, and I ended up with several blisters on my hands."
"The first time you made it, you mixed up the salt and sugar. After one bite, your whole face scrunched up like you'd bitten into a lemon, but you still insisted it tasted good. I remember thinking, my girl was adorable."
"You even lied to my mom and told her you made it." He shook his head. "Then my mom started telling everyone how amazing you were in the kitchen, and I didn't have the heart to expose you."
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it." He patted the back of my hand.
I said nothing else. Every detail matched, but the ghost was still there.
Was something really wrong with my eyes?
Impossible. I had been born with the sight, and I had never been wrong about this kind of thing.
After dinner, Ethan tied on an apron and went into the kitchen.
I followed him and leaned against the doorframe, watching him carefully.
The way he prepped the chicken, rubbed in the seasoning, even sprinkled the salt was exactly the same as it had been back then.
The familiar aroma drifted out of the kitchen.
He turned back and smiled at me. "Go sit down. It'll be ready soon."
I did not move.
When the lemon-herb roast chicken was served, I took a bite. The flavor was exactly the same.
"Is it good?" He leaned closer, his eyes bright as he watched me.
I nodded. "Yeah. It still tastes the same."
He smiled, packed the roast chicken into a container, and put it in the fridge.
Then he took my hand. "All right. We've had a long day. Let's get some rest."
I leaned into his arms. His body heat seeped through the fabric, and his steady breathing brushed against my ear.
"Okay," I said.
I closed my eyes. Whether you were human or a ghost, I would find out the truth.
---
Chapter 2
I followed him into the bedroom.
The ghost in the corner followed us in too.
I looked away, not daring to look at him again.
Ethan straightened the bed and patted the pillow. "Come here. Lie down. You're tired today, so get some sleep."
I lay down beside him. He reached over and turned off the light, leaving only the small lamp on the nightstand.
"Willa," he said, turning onto his side to look at me, "has something been bothering you lately?"
"No," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I'm just a little tired from work."
He took my hand. "Then take a break. I can support us."
His palm was warm, and his voice was gentle. My throat tightened as my gaze flicked once more toward the lonely spirit in the corner.
"Do you remember this pen?" I picked up the fountain pen on the nightstand. It was a Parker, and the cap was a little worn.
He glanced at it and smiled. "Of course I remember. I gave it to you for your eighteenth birthday. I saved my breakfast money for two months to buy it from the school-supply store near school. The owner said it was the last one, and I was terrified someone else would snatch it up first."
My heart tightened. He was right.
"Then do you remember what you wrote on the note when you gave it to me?" I pressed.
"It said, ‘You love writing, so this pen is for you. Happy birthday.'" His face flushed slightly. "Actually, I wanted to write, ‘I like you,' but I didn't have the courage."
"How did I answer you back then?"
"You didn't. The next day, you slipped a bag of Hershey's Kisses into my desk. I was so happy I didn't hear a single thing in class all day."
I closed my eyes. Every word was right.
He pulled off the cap and pointed at the words engraved on it: I'll wait for you. "I even scratched my hand with a compass while engraving this."
He held out his index finger. There was a faint scar on the pad of it.
"Then why have I never used this pen?" My voice trembled.
"You said it was too precious to use. You said you wanted to wait until our wedding day and use it to write the invitations."
I took a deep breath, put the pen back on the nightstand, and lay down as if nothing were wrong. "You have a great memory. You still remember things from so many years ago."
He smiled and reached over to stroke my hair. "When it comes to you, what could I ever forget?"
I lowered my eyes, but it felt as if a thorn had lodged itself in my heart.
He was right. He remembered everything. But how was I supposed to explain the ghost in the corner?
I turned onto my side. "Since your memory is that good," I said, staring at him, "let me test you. Do you remember when we went to the river as kids?"
He thought for a moment. "I remember. It was scorching hot that summer, and you insisted on trying to catch fish."
"Then you fell into the water, and I pulled you out. You were so hopeless."
I watched Ethan's face nervously, afraid to miss even the smallest change in his expression.
Back then, I was the one who had fallen in, and he was the one who had pulled me out. If he went along with my lie, then he was fake.
He paused, then suddenly tapped my forehead with his index finger. "What are you talking about? You were the one who fell in. I pulled you out. You swallowed several mouthfuls of water and cried for ages."
My lips parted, but I could not argue.
"Then do you remember the first time we went to the beach?"
He looked at me in confusion. "We've never been to the beach. Did you forget? You always said you wanted to see the ocean, but we never had time."
A chill ran through me. He was right again. I really had never been to the beach. I had only said I wanted to go.
"And when I was little, I had a white cat named Snowball." My voice tightened, and my tone grew a little urgent.
He frowned. "You never had a cat. When you were twelve, a cat scratched you, and ever since then, you've been scared of them. You hide whenever you see one."
I could not say another word. Every lie I told, he saw through with perfect accuracy.
"Go to sleep. Stop overthinking." He pulled the blanket over me and tucked me into his arms. "You've been acting strange all day."
I leaned against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Hm?"
"Nothing." I closed my eyes.
He turned over and, out of habit, draped his arm around my waist, pulling me naturally into his embrace. It was exactly the same as before.
I opened my eyes and met the ghost's stare from the corner.
My mind was a mess. Who was I supposed to believe?
---
Chapter 3
A few days passed like that, and I still had no answers. It felt as if a stone were pressing down on my heart.
Then one morning, Ethan was tying his tie.
He glanced at me through the mirror. "Didn't sleep well again last night?"
"Yeah." I rubbed my eyes, exhausted. "I dreamed all night."
He turned around, fastened the last button of his shirt, then came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Willa, I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"I booked a trip to Maui for two. I wanted to surprise you." He took my hand. "But something came up at the lab, and I can't leave right away. You go first. I'll meet you there in three days."
I froze. He had never let me travel far on my own before.
"Why all of a sudden?"
"You've been too tired lately." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Go clear your head. Once I'm done here, I'll fly out and join you."
A thought clicked into place. This was a perfect chance to test him.
I nodded. "Okay."
He turned to pack my suitcase, and I followed him, leaning against the doorframe.
He took my favorite floral sundress from the closet and folded it neatly.
Then he packed sunscreen, a sun hat, my usual medicine, even the eye mask I always used, placing each item into the suitcase one by one.
"It's hot there, so pack extra light clothes. Don't keep the A/C too low, and make sure you use a blanket at night," he fussed, his hands never stopping. "Your stomach gets upset easily, so I put some saltines in your bag. Eat a few if you get hungry."
I watched him bustle around from behind, and my eyes stung. He remembered even these tiny details.
"And I downloaded that book you mentioned last time onto your tablet. You can read it on the plane if you get bored." He turned back and smiled at me.
I lowered my eyes. The more attentive he was, the more I felt like a terrible person.
Seeing me stand frozen by the door, Ethan waved a hand in front of my eyes.
"All right, stop dawdling." He zipped up the suitcase. "I'll drive you to the airport."
He came over, took my hand, and led me out the door.
I glanced back at the spirit in the corner and saw that it had not followed us. Quietly, I let out a breath of relief.
Thank God. It had to be a hallucination. Something must have been wrong with my eyes.
On the way, Ethan held my hand and talked to me now and then.
I looked out the window, my mind in chaos.
When we arrived at the airport, he checked my bag for me and tucked the boarding pass into my hand.
"Call me when you land."
"Okay."
He hugged me, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Have fun."
I walked into security and looked back at him. He stood outside the glass doors and waved at me.
My nose stung. He was so good to me, and yet I had kept doubting him.
I closed my eyes and made a silent vow. This would be the last time. I would never doubt him again.
After boarding the plane, I deliberately chose a window seat.
Once we took off, I looked out the window. I still did not see the ghost following me.
At last, the weight in my chest eased. It seemed I really needed to make time for a medical checkup.
I forced down the last trace of unease buried deep inside me and opened the book he had downloaded for me, using it to distract myself.
After landing, I took out my phone right away and sent him a text.
Me: [I landed. Don't worry.]
He replied within seconds.
Ethan replied: [Have fun. Wait for me.]
I stared at the screen and smiled.
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