Chapter 5: Haunted by the Past

I wasn’t sure if I saw Mason’s car—it flashed by in the rain, or maybe I imagined it. In this wealthy neighborhood, taxis are rare, so I waited until my legs ached before one finally arrived.

By the time I got home, it was nearly three in the morning. The house was dark, silent except for the hum of the fridge. I dropped my wet shoes by the door, peeled off my coat, and stood in the kitchen, staring at the leftover pizza in the fridge. The only sound was the flicker of the TV, its glow spilling across empty rooms.

To outsiders, I pretended I had it all—a loving fiancé, friends, a perfect life. People envied me, saying, “You’ve got it made.”

But the truth was stark. No family. No lover. No friends. Just the echo of my own footsteps and the emptiness that filled every corner.

When I was in middle school, my mother was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer. After her mastectomy, the cancer returned within months.

One morning, my dad left for work and never came back. He emptied our accounts, abandoning my sick mother and me. When she found out, my mother was strangely calm. She endured chemo and hospital stays, and when she felt well, she’d cook for me—trying to hold on to normalcy.

One evening, I came home to a table full of food—mac and cheese, meatloaf, green beans. My mother smiled brightly, but the smell of hospital antiseptic clung to her clothes.

Something felt off. The food tasted strange, and I remembered the bottle of rat poison she’d bought earlier. That day, I realized how strong her grip was—her hands locked around mine, desperate and trembling.

Survival instinct kicked in. When she let go for a moment, I broke free and ran, panic driving me to the rooftop. The wind whipped around me, cold metal railing biting into my palms.

My mother followed, sobbing, arms outstretched. “Baby, this world is cruel. I can’t leave you alone. Come with me—let’s be together in the next life.”

I cried too, exhausted and longing for the comfort of her arms and the scent of laundry soap. For a moment, I wanted to give up—let go and fall.

Her embrace was so warm, her grip so tight, step by step toward the edge. The wind howled, and the city lights blurred below.

At the last moment, a pair of strong hands grabbed me, pulling me back. His grip was urgent, voice steady in the chaos.

I looked up through tears and saw a pair of startlingly bright eyes—Mason Caldwell.

He held on, refusing to let me go, no matter how hard I fought. Later, my mother died, but I survived.

Mason not only saved me, but gave me a reason to live—a debt I’ve never stopped trying to repay.

I felt guilty, like I’d betrayed my mother. Back then, I was drowning, desperate for anything to hold onto. Mason was my lifeline.

Fire trucks, police, and ambulances swarmed the scene. In the crowd, I clung to Mason’s hand, looking up at him.

“How can I ever repay you?”

I still remember sixteen-year-old Mason, his face serious in the flashing lights. “Then remember to come find me.”

My life froze on that rooftop, Mason my only hope. Even now, that memory haunts me—the smell of wet earth, the cold metal under my feet, his voice steady and kind. Maybe that’s why I stayed all these years, orbiting his world, hoping I could matter to him the way he once mattered to me.