Chapter 4: Ghosts in the Light

That night, alone on my balcony, I drank under the stars and remembered the angel’s pitying gaze. I realized: all along, I thought Lily was the extra, the substitute. But in truth, I was the one out of place. I gave up on the bet. I thought Ethan was lost in a dream, deceiving himself, but it was me who had been self-deceived. I was the ghost.

The realization hit me like a punch. I wasn’t the heroine of this story anymore—I was just a ghost, haunting the life I’d left behind. Maybe I never was.

Men’s promises of forever are just words. So much for forever. Still, I stayed by Ethan’s side, wanting to spend the last sixty days quietly watching him. Before I died, I worried about what he would do without me. Now I saw my fears were unfounded. He would be fine. Love is just chemistry—I was the one who put it on a pedestal. That pain? I did that to myself.

I started to find comfort in the routine—morning coffee runs, the hum of the copier, the distant sound of Ethan’s laughter through his office door. I let myself be invisible, just another face in the crowd. It was enough.

I went to work every day as usual, but stopped seeking contact with Ethan. Everyone thought I’d given up—including him. He didn’t know I’d really let go.

I learned to cherish the little things—sunlight on my desk, the smell of printer ink, the way Amy would sneak me extra cookies from the break room. I found peace in letting go. It was more than I expected.

On the 58th day, I met Miles Bennett at the company—a face from the past. Years ago, I smashed a wine bottle over his head to recover our startup funds. Later, I drank over twenty shots at his demand to secure a business channel for Ethan. Maybe that’s what ruined my stomach. Not my proudest moment.

Seeing Miles again was like running into a ghost. He looked older, heavier, but his eyes were just as sharp. The old resentment flared between us, unspoken but palpable. His cologne was the same, too—cheap and overwhelming.

Now, with Ethan’s success, he no longer needed to deal with people like Miles. Yet, I saw them close a deal together, both smiling. It was as if he had forgotten the pain and humiliation of the past, the tears he shed when I died. Maybe he had. When Ethan noticed me watching, he asked, “What’s wrong?” I smiled, “Nothing. Congratulations on your deal.”

I kept my tone light, but inside I felt hollow. The world had moved on, and I was just an observer. I didn’t belong here.

On the 60th day, Ethan handed out peaches—my favorite fruit when we were poor. He used to save up to buy me a few each season. Now, he gave them out by the box. When offered some, I smiled and refused. “I hate peaches,” I said. Ethan looked at me. I never imagined my 100-day rebirth would shatter all my beautiful memories of him. Nothing tasted the same.

The peaches were plump and fragrant, a reminder of simpler times. I watched as Ethan handed them out, his smile easy and unguarded. For a moment, I almost believed we could go back. But we couldn’t.

On the 78th day, I heard Lily was pregnant. The whole company was overjoyed. I congratulated him too. What else could I do?

The news spread like wildfire—there were balloons in the break room, a cake with pink and blue frosting. I hugged Amy, forcing a smile, and watched as Ethan beamed with pride. It was bittersweet. I felt invisible.

On the 88th day, Miles Bennett stormed into the office with a knife, shouting at Ethan. As chaos erupted, I smashed a glass pitcher over his head, stopping him. My hands shook. Blood everywhere. I checked Ethan’s wound, asking anxiously, “Are you alright?” He stared at me in shock, murmuring, “Autumn.” Then, others rushed in and separated us.

The room spun with sirens and shouting. My hands shook as I pressed a napkin to Ethan’s arm, ignoring the blood on my own. For a split second, I saw recognition in his eyes—a glimmer of the old Ethan, the one who would have moved mountains for me. But it faded fast.

On the 90th day, I handed in my resignation. I wanted to ask why he had set up Miles—was it for me? But I didn’t. In the adult world, interests come first. You only get one shot at selfishness.

I wrote my resignation letter in the quiet of my apartment, the city lights flickering outside. I wondered if Ethan would even notice I was gone. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

He approved my resignation and gently asked what I would do next. I said I’d wander. I returned to our college, our first apartment, the roads we’d walked together. They were no longer the same. Neither was Ethan. Nothing was.

I wandered the old campus, tracing the path where we first met. The buildings seemed smaller, the world less magical. I realized I’d been chasing a memory, not a man. I finally saw it.

On the 100th day, I went to his company one last time. I saw him supporting Lily as they strolled. I felt at peace—at least he was happy. Lily wanted caramel apples; as Ethan went to buy it, I approached her to apologize for my behavior at karaoke. She smiled, forgiving me. I finally let go. It was over. I could breathe again.

The air was crisp, the sun warm on my face. I watched them, feeling a strange sense of closure. For the first time, I wished them well—truly, honestly.

As I turned to leave, I saw a runaway car hurtling toward us. Instinctively, I pushed Lily aside. As I was thrown into the air, I saw Miles Bennett’s wild face behind the wheel. Of course. It had to be him. Fate is strange—I died twice, both times because of him.

The world slowed as I flew through the air. I thought of the maple tree, of Ethan’s laughter, of all the things I’d never get to say. I was flying. Then, nothing.

Lying in a pool of blood, I saw Ethan running to Lily. Blood filled my mouth. It’s alright. Before dying, I protected his happiness. This journey wasn’t in vain. Smiling through my pain, I closed my eyes. My only regret: Ethan, in this life, I still haven’t seen the flowers bloom. Maybe next time.

The world faded around me, but I held onto that single, stubborn hope—that somewhere, somehow, the tree would finally blossom. Please, let it bloom.

Ethan Maddox – Extra

My name is Ethan Maddox. After my girlfriend died, I had a dream.

It was the kind of dream you wake from with your heart pounding, the sheets tangled around your legs. I woke up gasping. In the dream, the world was washed in golden light, and an angel—tall, with a voice like thunder—stood before me.

In the dream, an angel appeared, telling me he wanted to test whether true love existed. He would send my girlfriend back, and if I could prove love’s existence through a test, she would return. If not, I would lose her forever. I had five years and one hundred days. I couldn’t tell anyone about the test. I agreed.

I remember nodding, desperate for any chance to see Autumn again. I would have agreed to anything, even if it meant risking my own soul.

When I awoke, I thought it was just a dream—until two months later, when I met Lily Hart. She stood at my company entrance like a stray cat, mute, amnesiac, but her eyes sought me out in the crowd. Only then did I believe the angel had sent my girlfriend back.

Lily was nothing like anyone I’d ever met. She had Autumn’s face, but her silence was haunting. Still, something in her gaze pulled me in. I convinced myself it was fate. Maybe I just needed to believe.

The angel asked: If your girlfriend became someone else entirely, would you still love her? My answer was yes.