Chapter 13: Haunted by Regret

I look at Derek, sitting in the study, staring at his chat with Lillian, lost in sorrow.

The light from his laptop flickers, illuminating the exhaustion etched in his face. He looks older than his years, a man weighed down by regrets he won’t name.

I feel a mix of emotions, but my urge to scare him only grows.

First, I get close to his ear and puff my cheeks, blowing into it.

In old ghost stories, female ghosts always scare poor guys in rundown motels this way.

I imagine myself as the poltergeist from a late-night cable rerun, making doors slam and lights flicker. Turns out, my method works. The dazed Derek suddenly turns his head, and our eyes meet as I’m blowing.

My heart skips a beat, feeling inexplicably guilty.

The guilt is pointless, but there it is—years of conditioning die hard.

Derek looks around, finds nothing unusual, then closes the chat on his computer.

He leans back tiredly, pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets out a long sigh.

He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, as if every decision is another pebble in his pocket, slowly pulling him under.

I don’t get it—his first love is coming back soon, why so sad?

Could it be that after five years of marriage with me, he feels unworthy of Lillian?

The more I think, the more stifled I feel. I clench my fist and smack the bookshelf behind him.

It’s a subconscious move, but to my surprise, I actually knock a book off the shelf.

It’s a thick hardcover, and it makes a loud noise as it hits the floor, startling both me and Derek.

He jumps, eyes wide. For a second, I wonder if he finally sees me. But he just shakes his head, muttering under his breath.

I’m shocked because: I can actually touch physical objects now?

Derek is shocked because: why did the book fall for no reason—was it haunted?

We both look at the floor.

Photos fall out of the book. I look closely—they’re photos of me, and even a few of me with Derek.

They spill across the floor—Christmases past, awkward vacation smiles, a beach trip when the world still felt full of possibility. I remember now—before Derek’s mother passed, she took us to the coast and made us take photos together. She had them printed and gave us each a set.

Her intention was for Derek to frame them and put them in his office.

I framed all of mine and put them in the most prominent place.

But I didn’t expect Derek to hide his so deeply.

"Jerk, do these photos disgust you that much?"

I whisper it into the air, though I know he can’t hear me. As Derek bends to pick up the photos, I can’t help but wave my hand again.

This time, I knock the water cup off the desk.

The cup clatters to the floor, water splashing across the hardwood. Derek stares, genuinely unnerved now.

Leaving a stunned Derek, I float out the window and return home.

Hmph, if my photos disgust you, I’ll show you something even more unlucky.

Maybe next time, I’ll mess with his alarm clock.