Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Guest Room

I was reborn the day my sister, Evelyn Harper, returned to Maple Heights.

That morning, the air had been thick with the scent of cut grass and honeysuckle. I’d been pouring coffee when the phone rang—Mom’s voice, barely holding it together, telling me Evie was coming home. My hands shook as I set down the mug. The world shifted on its axis. I felt it in my bones: everything would change.

Her husband, Captain Zack Foster, had died in Afghanistan.

Even now, people in town still spoke his name with reverence. Flags flew at half-mast, church bells tolled. Evelyn wore his dog tags like armor, her grief on display for anyone who looked her way.

After half a year of mourning, Evelyn came back with an Army medic.

People said the medic was the one who held Zack’s hand at the end. He helped Evelyn off the bus, carrying her suitcase with the quiet dignity of someone who’d seen too much. Neighbors peeked from behind curtains as she made her way up the walk.

She wore a plain black dress, her face pale as old parchment.

The dress hung on her like a memory. She looked like a shadow of herself. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes rimmed with sleepless nights. Even her hair, once shining gold, seemed to have lost its light.

Once the most beautiful woman in town, she was now thin as a bare winter branch.

She moved like someone carrying invisible weight, every step careful. She used to light up every room. Now, she barely made a sound.

My parents’ eyes filled with tears the moment they saw her.

Mom rushed to her, arms wide, not caring who saw her cry. Dad stood back, swallowing hard, his hand gripping the back of a chair. The air was thick with unsaid words, with the ache of years lost.

My three-year-old son, Mason, didn’t understand any of it. He ran up, hugging the hem of her skirt.

“Aunt Evie, you’re finally back!” He grinned, tugging at her dress, then giggled as she scooped him up.

Even my husband, Carter Ellison, standing beside me, kept his expression neutral and quietly watched.

Carter was always composed, but I saw the way his eyes lingered on Evelyn, the way he pressed his lips together. He cleared his throat, offering a polite nod, but his shoulders were tight, his stance guarded. For a second, I wondered what he was thinking.

My sister stopped, her gaze falling on our parents.

Her voice shook. “Mom, Dad, I’ve let you down.” The words barely made it past her lips, raw and trembling. They hung there, heavy as the humid summer evening pressing in through the open windows.

“All these years of marriage, I never gave you a grandchild. Now, with so little time left, I just wanted to come home and see you both one last time before I go.”

Her words landed like a blow. Mom’s face crumpled. Dad’s jaw set. The silence was thick—time itself seemed to pause, the whole house holding its breath.

My mother had just wiped her tears when she heard Evelyn’s words. She froze, stunned, her voice trembling.

“Evie, what are you talking about?”

She reached for Evelyn’s arm, desperate to hold on. Her hands fluttered, as if she could pull the words back before they did any more damage.

But Evelyn didn’t answer. She just pressed her hand to her chest, eyes lowered, silent.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I felt my throat tighten. Even Mason seemed to sense something was wrong, shrinking against my leg. Dad’s face was ashen, his mouth working soundlessly.

My mother panicked, hugging her and calling her “sweetheart” over and over.

She rocked Evelyn, whispering prayers, her voice breaking. The rest of us could only stand by, helpless, as the reality of loss settled over us like a shroud.

Dr. Harris stepped forward.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses with shaking hands. The familiar family doctor, always calm and collected, now looked ten years older. He spoke quickly, voice rough and low.

His face was full of regret. “Mrs. Harper, you may not know, but Evelyn has come down with a rare illness. When Captain Foster was alive, having him with her kept her well. Now that he’s gone, I’m afraid her sickness…”

He hesitated, then said, “It’s called Redthorn Sickness. It’s rare. Complicated.”

Carter, always so calm, frowned.

Carter crossed his arms, his inner skeptic on full display. “What kind of disease makes a wife die just because her husband is gone?”

The urgency in his voice was obvious.

His tone was sharp, almost defensive. I felt a flicker of frustration, but also a strange sense of relief—at least someone was asking the questions I was too scared to voice.

Even Evelyn, head bowed, couldn’t help but look at him.

Her eyes met his for a split second. Something passed between them—old and unresolved. I felt a pang in my chest.

That single glance—

It was like a spark in dry grass, igniting memories best left buried. The air in the room snapped. I held my breath.

She suddenly covered her mouth and coughed up a handful of scarlet rose petals.

The petals spilled from her lips, vivid against her pale skin. My stomach dropped.

Everyone was stunned.

No one moved. Even Mason stopped fidgeting, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. Time seemed to freeze. Dad reached out, but stopped short, unsure what to do.

But Dr. Harris’s shock gave way to a slow, dawning excitement.

“Incredible! Evelyn can be saved!”

He looked from Evelyn to Carter. Back again. Like he’d just seen a miracle. His voice rose, full of sudden hope.

He explained, “This illness is called ‘Redthorn Sickness.’ When someone with it sees the one they love, they cough up rose petals.”

He spoke quickly, almost breathless. “It’s rare—almost unheard of. There’s no medicine for it. The only way to survive is to spend every night being intimate with the one you love.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. My heart thudded. I glanced at Carter, at my mother’s stunned face. The room felt impossibly small.

“If Evelyn’s found someone new to love, she can be saved.”

He gestured toward Carter, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked from Carter to Evelyn, as if daring the universe to argue.

His eyes burned as he looked at Carter.

He stepped closer, voice urgent. “All you need to do is stay by Evelyn’s side, day and night. That will keep her alive.”

Dr. Harris’s joy changed the whole mood in the room.

Suddenly, hope filled the air. My mother clutched Evelyn’s hand. Dad exhaled, shaky but relieved. Even Mason looked up, sensing something good had happened.

My parents exchanged glances, then looked at me in unison.

Their eyes pleaded with me, silent and desperate. The weight of family, of duty, pressed down on me like a stone. I swallowed, throat tight.

“Claire, we know Carter is your husband, and asking him to save your sister is a lot.”

Dad’s voice was gentle, but there was steel underneath. Mom nodded, lips trembling, eyes shining with tears that threatened to spill over.

“But she’s your sister. You can’t just watch her die…”

The words hung between us, a challenge and a plea. My mind spun. Was there really any other choice?

Mason seemed to understand, too. He ran back, tugging on my sleeve, his voice soft and pleading.

“Mom, please save Aunt Evie!”

He looked up at me, tears brimming in his big brown eyes. “I like Aunt Evie. I don’t want her to die.”

I hadn’t even opened my mouth when Carter swept his hand, anger flashing across his face.

He stepped forward, voice raised, cheeks flushed. “This is ridiculous!”

“What kind of sense does it make for a brother-in-law to spend every night with his wife’s sister?”

His words were sharp, cutting through the room like ice. He glared at Dr. Harris, then at my parents, his stance rigid and defensive.

He was adamant.

His tone was final, like he could shut down the whole conversation just by wishing it so. But his hand shook, and he wouldn’t look at Evelyn.

But as he spoke, his hand by his side was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His gaze flickered to the rose petals in my sister’s hand.

His anger was real. So was his fear. I saw it in the way he stared at those petals, like they might burn him.

For a moment, everyone’s eyes were on me—including my newly widowed sister.

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. I could barely breathe. Even Evelyn looked at me, her eyes pleading and ashamed.

After a pause, I smiled.

It was a small smile, but it felt like a revolution. I felt something shift inside me—resolve, maybe, or just plain stubbornness.

“My sister’s life comes first. Honey, please—do this for her.”

I forced the words out, my voice steady. “This is about saving a life. The rest doesn’t matter.”

The words echoed, filling the room with a strange calm. I saw Carter’s face flush, his jaw working as he tried to process what I’d just said.

Carter hadn’t expected me to say that. His face flushed red.

He searched my face, eyes darting, looking for any sign of hesitation. I held his gaze, steady.

“Claire, do you even know what you’re saying?”

He sounded almost desperate, voice cracking. For a second, I saw fear flicker in his eyes. Was it for me, for Evelyn, or just for himself?

In my last life, I didn’t agree.

Last time, I refused. I remembered the bitterness, the endless arguments, the way the family fractured around my refusal. I’d clung to Carter, thinking love meant possession, not sacrifice.

Carter was my husband. How could I let him become medicine for my own sister, spending every night together?

I’d thought it was unthinkable. An insult to our marriage vows. But all it brought me was ruin.

Even when my parents knelt and begged, I didn’t relent.

I turned a blind eye. Pride and fear had blinded me, and I paid the price.

Carter hid behind me, feeling justified.

He hid behind me, letting me take the fall. I thought he was loyal, but I was wrong.

But I ignored his white-knuckled hands and the deep sorrow in his eyes.

I’d missed the signs—the way he looked at Evelyn, the way he suffered in silence. I’d been so focused on myself, I never saw the truth. My stomach twisted at the memory.

And so, I wrote my own tragic ending.

The memory burned, a lesson I would never forget. Never again, I promised myself.

Now, I looked at him—same tight-lipped guilt, same longing as before. How did I not see it then?

I took a deep breath and nudged him closer to Evelyn.

“Honey, saving a life matters more than vows.”

I squeezed his shoulder, guiding him toward my sister. “Besides, she’s family—your family.”

The words tasted bitter, but I forced myself to believe them. Just keep moving forward, I told myself.

Tears welled up in Evelyn’s eyes. Her slender frame shook, her voice plaintive.

She looked at me, her eyes shining with tears. I could see her heartbreak, raw and open. “Sis, why do this?”

“I’m unlucky. My husband died young, leaving no children. I’m just left behind, full of sorrow. I might as well go be with him!”

Her words were heavy with grief. Her voice was so soft I almost missed it. The pain in her eyes was almost too much to bear.

No children?

That’s easy to fix. I couldn’t help the sarcastic thought that flickered through my mind.

I took Mason by the shoulders.

He squeaked in protest, little legs kicking. I knelt down to his level, trying to make him laugh, but my heart was breaking inside.

“If you’re worried about not having kids, then my son will be your son.”

“From today on, Mason is yours.”

I ruffled his hair, trying to make light of it, but my heart ached. I felt a stab of guilt as Mason looked at me, confused and scared.

In my last life, Evelyn resented me for not saving her. When she later found powerful connections, she had her benefactor destroy the business I’d built, making me suffer.

The memory of betrayal stung, sharper than any wound. My chest tightened. Family isn’t always what it seems.

I thought even if I lost my fortune, I’d still have my husband and son to rely on.

I’d clung to that hope, even as everything else fell apart. But hope is a dangerous thing.

But Carter broke me and sent me away to the backwoods.

His words had been cold, his actions colder. The chill of that memory made me shiver.

He looked vicious then, full of hatred.

The memory of his face, twisted with anger, haunted me. I never thought he’d turn on me like that.

“Evelyn should have been mine, but you ruined it.”

“Now she has a powerful protector, and I’ll never have her. Are you satisfied?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I never realized just how deep his resentment ran.

And my son, Mason, watched me be humiliated—

He stood by, silent, his eyes cold. My heart broke all over again.

He didn’t speak up for me. He even sided with his father.

“Aunt Evie is so kind, but Mom just let her die. She doesn’t deserve to be my mother!”

His words echoed in my mind, reopening wounds that never healed. The ache was deep, relentless.

Later, I was locked in the shed and left to rot.

The darkness was suffocating, the cold biting. My fingers went numb, my breath clouding in the air. No one came for me.

On the verge of death, I heard Carter’s instructions.

His voice was muffled, distant, but the words were clear. My heart twisted with each syllable.

“When Claire dies, turn her into rose fertilizer for Evelyn’s favorite garden.”

“When the roses bloom, send them to Evelyn’s place in the boy’s name. She’ll love it.”

The cruelty of it stunned me. My skin prickled with disbelief. Even dead, I was just a gift for Evelyn.

I ground my teeth in hatred, but also found it ridiculous.

The absurdity of it all struck me, even as I lay dying. I almost laughed. Was this really my life?

He clearly loved Evelyn, but was afraid of breaking social norms and being shamed.

He hid behind the rules, behind what everyone else thought. He let fear run his life—and ruin mine.

So he put on a show, spouting morals and propriety.

He played the part of the good husband, the dutiful son-in-law, but it was all a lie. I saw through it now.

He let me take the blame, and then vented his anger on me for not getting the woman he wanted.

His cowardice destroyed us both. Simple as that.

What a coward.

I spat the words in my mind. Never again, I promised myself. Never again.