Chapter 1: The Promise That Bound Us

After being diagnosed with stomach cancer, I bought three necklaces and tucked them away in three secret places.

Back then, I was so careful about it—picking out the perfect little boxes, hunting for hiding spots that only Mason would ever figure out. I remember how my hands trembled as I hid each necklace, murmuring silent prayers that he’d find them when he needed them most. The world felt heavier with every heartbeat. Still, I wanted to leave something behind that could anchor him—a breadcrumb trail of memories for the days when the world felt too empty.

"Babe, this is my favorite necklace. Every year on the anniversary of my death, you gotta light a candle for me, okay?"

I said it with a smile, trying to sound light, but my voice trembled a little. Mason’s eyes, always so sharp and stormy, softened in that moment. He reached for my hand, squeezing it like he could somehow keep me tethered to this world. That promise—it was more than just words. For both of us. It was a lifeline, something to hold onto when everything else was slipping away. I held my breath. I needed it, too.

With that one promise, I tied Mason—this stubborn, unyielding man, my wolf—to me. He was always the type to dig in his heels, to refuse to let go. That promise kept him from jumping off the roof, made him flush the sleeping pills down the toilet. Year after year, he clung to that promise and kept going. I still remember the night he sat on the edge of our bed, eyes rimmed red, and whispered, "I promised you, Ellie. I promised."

He was always so damn stubborn. I swear, if I hadn’t made him promise, he would’ve found a way to follow me—no matter how many times I told him to keep living. Sometimes, I’d watch him from the other side. I’d see the way he stared at the flame of that little candle, knuckles white around the lighter. He kept his word, even when it hurt.

Then, one day, everything changed. A young woman showed up by Mason’s side. There was a pause in the air, like the world holding its breath. She was sweet and sunny, like sunshine after a storm. Mason moved out of our home in Maple Heights and sent away the rescue dog I’d raised. On the third anniversary of my death, Mason didn’t come.

That day, the house felt emptier than ever. The porch swing creaked in the wind, and the rescue pup I’d raised—my loyal Charlie—was gone, too. I watched from the shadows as Mason packed up boxes, his face set like stone. He left behind the mug I’d painted for him, the one with the chipped handle, and the faded Polaroid of us at the county fair. The girl at his side laughed, her laughter bubbling up, bright and fizzy. Mason smiled—really smiled—for the first time in years. Still, the ache in my chest was sharper than ever. I felt hollow.

That night, I slipped into his dream. I tried to tease him:

"Babe, you’re such a dork. You still haven’t found this year’s necklace."

I tried to keep it playful, like old times, hoping to get that crooked grin. I hovered by his side in the dream, nudging his shoulder, waiting for him to banter back the way he always did. The room in his dream was just like our old bedroom—sunlight filtering through the curtains, dust motes floating in the golden air. For a moment, it almost felt real again. I could almost smell the lavender on the pillowcases.

Mason, who was always so talkative with me, fell strangely silent. He was quiet for a long moment before he finally said,

"Ellie, it’s been three years. I need to start living again."

His voice was rough, like gravel. He didn’t look at me, just stared down at his hands. There was a tremor in his words. A kind of finality I’d never heard before. I felt the distance between us stretch, wider than the years that had passed since I’d gone. It hurt in a way I hadn’t expected.

When he finished, I just stood there, stunned. I managed to answer, but it was a beat too late:

"Oh, I get it."

The words hung in the air, thin as smoke. I tried to sound understanding, but my voice cracked, giving me away. I wanted to reach for him, to close that impossible gap, but my hands just drifted through empty air. Regret pooled in my chest, heavy and cold. I felt so far away from him, farther than ever.

After that, neither of us spoke. Mason kept his head down, hair falling over his eyes. The silence pressed in. My heart pounded. I couldn’t read him—couldn’t even guess what he was thinking. It was unbearable.

The silence stretched out, awkward and brittle. I watched the way his shoulders hunched, the way he twisted his wedding band around his finger—a nervous habit he’d never managed to break. Was he replaying old memories, or just bracing himself for the future? I wanted to say something, anything. My throat closed up. The words wouldn’t come.

Honestly, this was how it should be. Life moves forward. I tried to open my mouth, to act happy, but for some reason, I just couldn’t manage a smile. My face wouldn’t cooperate. My heart felt stuck.

I told myself to let go, to be the bigger person. That’s what love is supposed to be, right? Letting them move on, even if it hurts. But my lips refused to move. Not even a little. I remembered all those nights we’d planned for the future. Now it was slipping away—just out of reach. My chest ached.

"Is it that girl from your office? She’s pretty adorable. If you two end up together, you’d better treat her right..."

I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out softer than I meant. I pictured the girl—her bright smile, the way she laughed at Mason’s dry jokes. She seemed like the kind of person who could bring spring after a long winter. If Mason was going to love again, I wanted it to be with someone who’d cherish him. Still, the thought stung.

Mason murmured, "Yeah."

Just that—barely a whisper. It was enough, though. It said everything. He didn’t look up, but his hand clenched into a fist. My heart twisted, and I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. It was real. He was letting me go, piece by piece. I felt the finality settle in.

I still had so much I wanted to ask. Why did you move out of our house? Why did you send away my dog? Will you still light a candle for me on the anniversary of my death? But after that little "yeah," I suddenly didn’t know what to say anymore. My mind went blank. Flustered, I turned away:

"Okay then, I’ll get going..."

I took a few steps back, my feet barely touching the ground. The dream was fading at the edges, colors blurring. I wanted to turn around, to catch one last glimpse of him, but I was afraid I’d break down if I did. The words tangled on my tongue. I couldn’t get them out.

I’d already drifted several steps away when his voice called out behind me:

"Ellie, did you really like that necklace so much?"

It was Mason, that familiar rumble in his voice. I froze, turning slowly. My heart skipped a beat.

His tone was gentle, almost hesitant—like he was reaching across a gulf he couldn’t quite cross. I turned, startled, and found him watching me with those storm-gray eyes. For a second, it felt like time stopped. We were suspended in the space between memory and dream. Nothing else mattered.

"Morning rain in Silver Hollow settles the dust; the old inn’s porch is green with new leaves."

He quoted the old line we used to trade back and forth.

Everyone else called me Eleanor. Only Mason called me Ellie.

Hearing him say my name like that—soft, almost reverent—made something ache inside me. It was like a secret handshake, a code only the two of us shared. I remembered the first time he called me Ellie, back in high school, his voice teasing but fond. That memory felt so close I could almost touch it.

"It’s fine, really. I didn’t like it that much."

I tried to sound breezy, but my voice was thin. I didn’t want him to feel guilty, didn’t want to make this harder than it already was. The truth was, that necklace meant the world to me—but I couldn’t say it. Not now. The words stuck in my throat.

Three years ago, I hid those necklaces to leave Mason something to remember me by—to keep him from acting on grief, from following me into the dark. But now, it wasn’t needed anymore. There was a new girl by his side. She was warm and bold, reaching out to him until she melted his heart and gave him a reason to keep going. My necklace was just in the way now.

I’d hoped those necklaces would anchor him, keep him steady. But maybe they were just chains, holding him back. I realized it then—maybe I’d been holding him too tight. The world keeps spinning, even when we wish it would pause. He deserved to find happiness again—even if it wasn’t with me. I let that thought sink in, heavy and bittersweet.

Mason asked, "Ellie, are you mad?"

He sounded small, almost like a kid. It was the first time I’d heard him unsure. He’d always been so certain, so steady. I wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair, just like I used to when he was being silly. My heart squeezed.

Honestly, I had no reason to be mad. I answered quietly. "Mason, I’m really not mad."

The words were true, even if they stung. I wanted him to believe it, to feel free. I watched the way his shoulders relaxed, just a little, like a weight had lifted. Maybe that’s all I could give him now—permission to move on. I tried to breathe through the ache.

I shouldn’t be selfish or possessive, clinging to Mason’s life even after I’m gone. How could I be mad? If anything, maybe my heart just felt a little sour—so sour it made my eyes sting. I looked at the dampness on my fingertips and wondered—can ghosts cry too? The thought made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

It was a strange feeling, that sharp, prickly ache behind my eyes. I stared at my hands, half-expecting to see tears, but there was nothing—just a shimmer, like morning dew on grass. I blinked. Maybe love lingers even after the body fades. Maybe that’s what makes letting go so hard.