Ghost - Divorced

Kira and Simon were a beautiful story. Promises between the sheets, a low-key wedding. There was laughter in the kitchen, soft songs while she cooked. A marriage, a home, a family.

Maybe it was his fault, for thinking she didn't deserve so much peace when he saw her so comfortable in her everyday life. Or maybe it was her fault, for keeping quiet about what hurt and pretending everything was okay when he barely looked at her.

After the divorce, there was only one confession: "I hate that you took so much of my life for this. To not even flinch and just sit there like an idiot." It was in the kitchen. She was trembling. He sat with his eyes on the floor and said nothing, because he didn't know how. He didn't want a divorce.

Three years passed. The call was brief. An accident, they said. Ghost had been temporarily immobile and had no one to care for him. She couldn't ignore it; soon she found herself opening the door of that house and everything was the same: the air, the furniture. He was in the kitchen, only now bandaged, injured. She looked at him, suitcase in one hand and food in the other.

"Always sitting there... like an idiot" she muttered and noticed how he half smiled "Hi, Simon"

As she fed him, the details hit her. The floral apron was still hanging in the same place. Her mug, the one with the tulips, was right where she always left it. In the bathroom, both robes were still hanging. Hers. And his. His toothbrush was still there; it seemed to still live there, as if it were waiting for her.

"Why haven't you changed the furniture yet? You never liked white. Or throwing away my things," she asked without thinking. Then she saw it. The ring. He was still wearing it.

"Because you could come back at any moment. I still have you here, in those details."