*Diary Entry – 23rd December*
God, how I miss him. The words slipped out before I could stop them, startling me in the silence of the room. My fingers hovered over the old photo album. There, on the faded page, stood James, grinning as he lifted little Oliver onto his shoulders. I traced the image with my fingertips. Nine years gone, yet the ache hadn’t dulled.
Outside, the blizzard raged, hurling snow against the windowpanes. I stood and walked to the sill, where a candle flickered in a china saucer. The anniversary. Nights like this made his absence heavier.
“I’m managing, you hear?” I whispered to the empty air. “Oliver’s nearly as tall as you now. And Henry… he’s got your smile.”
The fireplace crackled in the corner. I wrapped myself in an old tartan blanket and sank into the armchair. The old cottage groaned under the wind’s assault.
I must’ve dozed off. Minutes or hours later, three sharp knocks shattered the quiet. My heart leapt into my throat. Who’d be out in this storm? The nearest neighbours were half a mile away.
Again—three deliberate raps, insistent.
I stumbled down the hall, gripping the wall for balance. My gaze fell on the kitchen knife lying on the sideboard. I snatched it up, fingers tight around the handle.
“Who’s there?” My voice trembled.
Silence. Then—three more knocks, louder this time.
I pressed the knife against my thigh and turned the lock. A gust of icy air rushed in, swirling snowflakes around the figure on the doorstep—
“Lizzie, it’s me. I’m home.”
James. *My* James. The man who’d vanished nine years ago. Stubble shadowed his jaw, his eyes weary, but that smile—unchanged.
The knife clattered to the floor. I swayed, bracing myself against the doorframe.
“This isn’t—” I gasped. “You’re gone.”
“I’m here.” He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. Warm. Solid. Smelling of frost and earth. I buried my face in his shoulder, tears soaking his coat. My knees gave way, and we sank to the floor.
“How?” was all I managed.
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “But I’ll explain. Let’s get inside first. It’s freezing.”
He helped me up. I clung to him, terrified he’d dissolve like smoke.
“The boys?” he asked, glancing toward the stairs.
“Asleep.” I couldn’t look away from his face. “They’ve grown.”
“I know.” His smile was bittersweet.
“How is this possible?” My fingers trembled against his cheek. “You—you *died*. I *saw*—”
“Come on.” He took my hand. “We need to talk. There isn’t much time.”
We moved to the sitting room. I lit another lamp. James perched on the edge of the table, scanning the room as if memorising every detail.
“You’ve kept the place just the same,” he said softly.
“What are you *talking* about?” My voice broke. “Where have you *been*? Why now?”
He exhaled and met my eyes.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just sit, love.”
I tossed another log onto the fire. Flames leapt higher, painting the walls with amber light. I hesitated, delaying the inevitable, then went to the cupboard and pulled out his mug—the chipped blue one he’d always used. It hadn’t been touched in nine years.
“You kept it.” He sounded surprised as he took the steaming tea.
I studied him hungrily—the crease between his brows, the childhood scar on his chin. My hand reached out, testing if he was real: his wrist, his shoulder, the stubble on his jaw.
“You’re *here*,” I whispered. Then, barely audible: “Tell me… where have you been?”
James stared into the fire before answering.
“After I… left, I didn’t go where most do. I got *lost*. Never reached the other side.” He sipped his tea. “At first, it was like wandering through thick fog—endless and dark. I didn’t know if I was dead or just… stuck.”
I held his hand so tightly my fingers ached.
“Then I ended up in this place—they call it the Veil. It’s like…” He struggled for words. “A train station with no destinations. No bodies—just *awareness*.”
He set the mug down.
“You’ve no idea how many are trapped there. The ones who can’t move on. The old man who never forgave his brother. The young mother who gave up her baby—she never stopped weeping. The lad who died in a brawl, still swearing it wasn’t his time.”
He ran a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture twisted my heart.
“They all want something. To fix things. To go back. But no one knows how.”
“And you?” I searched his face. “What did *you* want?”
“To see you all again.” His voice was raw. “That’s all I’ve thought about. Your laugh when I teased you. The way Henry’s hair smelled after his bath. Oliver’s hands—just like mine, all thumbs with a hammer.”
He fell silent. The storm howled outside, but the world had shrunk to this room.
“I *saw* the tree fall on you,” I blurted. “They rang me at work. I ran—right through the village in my bloody apron.” My face contorted. “Do you know how much it *hurt* after? Asking why *you*? Why *us*, when we’d barely begun?”
I stood and yanked open the dresser drawer, pulling out a crumpled slip.
“See this? Pawn ticket. I sold Nan’s silver locket to buy medicine when Oliver had that fever. We had *nothing*.”
James hugged me from behind. I shuddered at his warmth.
“Lizzie, I’m sorry.”
“For *what*?” I turned. “For dying? For leaving us?”
“For making you strong alone.” He pulled me close. “For every day you had to pretend you were fine when you were shattered inside.”
Tears spilled silently down my face.
“I left mince pies on the sill every year,” I whispered. “Like Mum taught me. Then sat up all night waiting… for *what*, I don’t know.”
We stood like that for ages. Finally, I looked up.
“Will you stay now? With us?”
He didn’t answer. Just held me tighter.
“James?”
“I don’t know the rules,” he admitted. “I just… found myself here.”
Exhaustion hit me like a wave. My legs buckled, and he caught me, carrying me to the armchair. I nestled into his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Don’t go until I’m asleep,” I begged, closing my eyes.
“I won’t,” he promised, stroking my hair.
As I drifted off, I heard him whisper:
“I didn’t know how to be without you either…”
Sunlight roused me. I was still in the armchair, the blanket tucked around me. James sat opposite, watching me with that same tender look.
“Morning, love.” He smiled. “You only slept a few hours.”
I bolted upright. Morning. So it wasn’t a dream. He was *here*.
“The boys’ll wake soon,” I babbled, throat tight. “They won’t believe it! Oliver—God, he stopped saying ‘Dad’ for a year after—”
James took my hand.
“Lizzie,” he said gently, “there’s something I have to tell you.”
His tone froze my blood.
“I can’t stay.”
“*What*?” I jerked back. “You’re *here*! I can *touch* you!” I grabbed his shoulders, as if I could physically anchor him.
“It was… a gift,” he said slowly. “One night. I don’t understand it myself.”
With each sunbeam, he grew fainter. Dawn was pulling him back.
“No, *no*!” My voice cracked, but I choked it down, glancing toward the boys’ rooms. “Not now. Not when I’ve just got you back!”
He crushed me to his chest.
“Listen. I came so you’d know—I’ve *always* been here. Every second. When you cried into your pillow so the boys wouldn’t hear. When Henry had pneumonia and you didn’t sleep for days. When Oliver thrashed that bully for mocking us.”
I pounded his chest with my fists.
“If you were *there*, why didn’t you *help*?”
“I couldn’t.” His voice broke. “I was just… a shadow.”
A sleepy voice piped up from the hall:
“M
