“I miss you so much,” whispered Emily, startled by the sound of her own voice in the quiet room. Her fingers hovered over an old photo album. In the faded picture, James was grinning, lifting little Oliver onto his shoulders. She traced his image with trembling fingertips. Nine years had passed, but the ache was as sharp as ever.
Outside, a snowstorm raged, hurling flakes against the window. Emily rose and walked to the sill, where a candle flickered on a saucer. The anniversary. On nights like this, his absence weighed heaviest.
“I’m managing, you hear?” she said to the empty air. “Oliver’s nearly as tall as you now. And Leo… he looks so much like you.”
In the corner, the fireplace crackled. Emily wrapped herself in a worn tartan blanket and sank into her armchair. The old timber-framed cottage groaned under the wind’s assault.
She didn’t realise she’d drifted off—until three sharp knocks shattered the silence.
Emily jolted awake, heart hammering. Who’d come knocking in such weather? The nearest neighbours were half a mile away.
The knocks came again—three deliberate raps, insistent.
She moved down the hall, fingertips brushing the walls in the dark. Her gaze landed on a kitchen knife left on the sideboard. She grabbed it, grip tight.
“Who’s there?” Her voice shook.
Silence. Then—three more knocks, louder.
Emily pressed the knife to her thigh and turned the latch with her free hand. Cold air rushed in, swirling snow around the figure on the doorstep—
“Em, it’s me. I’m back.”
James. *Her* James. The one who’d vanished nine years ago. Stubble shadowed his jaw, his eyes were weary, but that smile—unchanged.
The knife clattered to the floor. Emily swayed, catching herself against the doorframe.
“This isn’t…” She gasped. “You’re gone.”
“I’m here.” He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
Warm. Solid. Smelling of frost and earth. Emily clutched his waxed jacket, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed. Her legs buckled, and they sank to the floor in the entryway.
“How?” was all she managed.
“I know you don’t understand,” James murmured, stroking her hair. “But I’ll explain. Let’s shut the door first. Bloody freezing.”
He helped her up. Emily didn’t let go, as if he might dissolve like mist.
“The boys?” he asked, glancing past her.
“Asleep.” She couldn’t stop staring. “They’ve grown.”
“I know,” he said softly, a sad smile tugging his lips.
“How is this possible?” She touched his stubbled cheek. “You were—*gone*. I was *there*.”
“Come on.” He took her hand. “We need to talk. Time’s short.”
They moved to the sitting room. Emily lit another oil lamp. James perched on the edge of the oak table, scanning the room like he was memorising every detail.
“You’ve kept the place just right,” he said warmly.
“What are you *on* about?” Emily pleaded. “Where’ve you been? Why now?”
James exhaled and met her gaze.
“I’ll explain. Just sit, love.”
She tossed another log into the fire. Flames leapt, painting the room in amber light and dancing shadows.
Hesitating, as if delaying the inevitable, she went to the dresser and took out his mug—navy blue, with a chipped rim. Nine years it had sat untouched, waiting.
“Didn’t think you’d keep it,” James said, surprised, as she handed him steaming tea.
Emily studied him hungrily, afraid to blink. Her eyes traced every familiar detail: the crease between his brows, the childhood scar on his chin. Her hand reached out—fingers brushing his wrist, shoulder, stubble—testing if he was real.
“You *are* here,” she whispered hoarsely. Then, barely audible: “Tell me… where were you all this time?”
James stared into the fire before answering.
“After I… left, I didn’t go where you’re meant to,” he said. “I got stuck. Didn’t reach the other side.”
He sipped his tea.
“First, it was like a dark, thick space. Not quite fog—more like treacle. I wandered ages, not knowing if I was dead or just lost.”
Emily listened, breath held. She gripped his hand so tightly her fingers tingled.
“Then I wound up somewhere they call the In-Between. It’s like…” He struggled for words. “An endless train station where no one knows the timetable. No bodies—just *feeling*.”
James set down the mug.
“You’ve no idea how many are there like me. The lost ones. The ones who can’t move on.”
“Who?” Emily asked.
“All sorts. An old bloke who never forgave his brother. A young woman who left her baby at hospital—she never stopped weeping. A lad who died in a brawl, still raging, still not grasping he’s gone.”
James ran a hand through his hair—a gesture that twisted Emily’s heart.
“They all want something. To fix things. To go back. But no one knows how.”
“And you?” She searched his face. “What did *you* want?”
“To see you lot again,” he said simply. “All those years… I just remembered. Your laugh at my rubbish jokes. The smell of Leo’s hair when he rode on my shoulders. Oliver’s hands when he first held a hammer—just like me, dead careful.”
He fell silent. Beyond the window, the storm still howled, but the world felt shrunk to this room.
“I saw the tree hit you,” Emily blurted. “They rang me at work. I ran—straight through the village, still in my apron.”
Her face contorted.
“You’ve no idea how I suffered after. Asking why *you*, why *us*, when things were already so hard.”
She stood, went to the chest, and pulled out a crumpled slip.
“See this? Pawn ticket. I sold Nan’s silver locket to feed the boys. Oliver was poorly, and we’d no money for medicine.”
James stood and wrapped his arms around her. She trembled at his warmth.
“Em, I’m sorry. For all of it.”
“For *what*?” She turned. “For dying? For leaving us?”
“For you being alone,” he murmured into her hair. “For having to be strong enough for us both. For pretending you were fine when you were hollow.”
Emily cried silently, tears streaming.
“Every anniversary, I left a pie on the sill,” she whispered. “Like Gran taught me. Then sat up all night waiting… for what, I don’t know.”
They stood quiet a long while. Finally, Emily looked up.
“Will you stay now? With us?”
He didn’t answer. Just held her tighter.
“James?”
“I don’t know the rules,” he admitted. “I just… ended up here.”
Exhaustion hit her. Her legs gave way, and James caught her, carrying her to the armchair. She nestled into his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.
“Don’t go till I’m asleep,” she mumbled, eyes closing.
“Won’t,” he promised, stroking her hair.
Half-dreaming, she heard him whisper:
“I didn’t know how to be without you either…”
Dawn’s first light roused her. She was still in the chair, the tartan blanket over her. James sat opposite, watching her with the same tenderness as ever.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he teased softly. “You only napped two hours.”
Emily straightened, grogginess vanishing. *Morning*. So it wasn’t a dream. He was *here*.
“The boys’ll wake soon,” she babbled, throat tight. “They won’t believe it. You’ve no idea how they’ve missed you. Oliver—”
Her voice broke.
“He didn’t say ‘dad’ for nearly a year after you…”
James took her hand.
“Em,” he said gently, “there’s something I need to say.”
His tone froze her.
“I can’t stay.”
“What?” She wrenched her hand free. “Why? You’re *here*! I can *feel* you!”
She grabbed his shoulders, as if she could anchor him.
“This was… a gift,” he said slowly. “One night. I don’t know how it works.”
With every sunbeam through the curtains, he grew fainter. Dawn was pulling him back.
“No, no, *no*,” Emily choked, voice rising before she caught herself, glancing toward the boys’ rooms. “*Please*—not when I’ve just got you back!”
James hugged her fiercely.
“Listen. I came so you’d know—I’m *with* you. Always have been. Every second.”
His voice wavered
