“How I’ve missed you,” murmured Elizabeth, her own voice startling her in the quiet of the room. Her fingers hovered over an old photo album. On the faded photograph, William grinned, lifting little Thomas onto his shoulders. She traced the image with trembling fingertips. Nine years had passed, yet the pain remained as sharp as ever.
Outside, a blizzard raged, hurling snowflakes against the windowpane. Elizabeth rose and stepped to the sill, where a candle flickered in a saucer. The anniversary. On nights like these, his absence weighed heaviest.
“I’m managing, you hear?” she whispered to the emptiness. “Thomas is nearly as tall as you now. And James… he looks so much like you.”
The hearth crackled in the corner. Wrapped in an old shawl, she sank into the armchair. The creaking of the old timber house echoed the wind’s howls.
She hadn’t realized she’d dozed off—perhaps minutes, perhaps hours—when three sharp knocks shattered the silence. Elizabeth jolted awake, heart pounding. Who could be out in such a storm? The nearest neighbour was half a mile away.
The knocking came again—insistent, deliberate.
Groping through the dark hallway, her gaze fell upon the kitchen knife on the sideboard. She seized it, gripping the handle tight.
“Who’s there?” Her voice wavered.
Silence. Then—three more knocks, louder now.
With the knife pressed to her side, she turned the latch. Cold air rushed in, swirling with snow, and on the threshold—
“Lizzie, it’s me. I’ve come back.”
William. Her William. The same man who’d vanished nine years ago. Stubble shadowed his face, his eyes weary, but his smile just as she remembered.
The knife clattered from her numb fingers. She staggered, clutching the doorframe.
“This isn’t—” she gasped. “You’re gone.”
“I’m here,” he murmured, stepping forward to embrace her.
Warm. Solid. Smelling of frost and earth. She buried her face in his shoulder, fingers clutching his coat as tears spilled freely. Her knees buckled, and they sank together onto the entryway floor.
“How?” was all she managed.
“I know you don’t understand,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “But I’ll explain. Let’s get inside first. It’s freezing.”
He helped her up. She clung to him, terrified he might vanish.
“The boys?” he asked, glancing past her.
“Asleep,” she murmured, unable to look away. “They’ve grown.”
“I know,” he said softly, a hint of sorrow in his smile.
“How is this possible?” Her fingers trembled against his cheek. “You were—you were gone. I was there.”
“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “We must talk. Time is short.”
They moved to the parlour. Elizabeth lit another oil lamp. William perched on the table’s edge, studying the room as if memorizing every detail.
“You’ve kept the house well,” he said fondly.
“What are you saying?” she pleaded. “Where have you been? Why now?”
He sighed deeply and met her gaze.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just sit, love.”
She fed more logs into the hearth. Flames leapt, casting warm amber light and dancing shadows.
Hesitating, as if delaying the moment, she went to the old cupboard and retrieved his cup—navy blue, chipped at the rim. Nine years it had sat untouched, waiting.
“Never thought you’d keep it,” he murmured, accepting the steaming tea.
She drank in every detail—the furrow between his brows, the childhood scar on his chin. Her fingers brushed his wrist, his shoulder, his stubbled cheek, as if testing his reality.
“You’re real,” she whispered hoarsely. Then, barely audible: “Tell me… where were you all this time?”
He gazed into the fire before speaking.
“After I… left, I didn’t go where most do,” he said. “I was lost. Never reached the other side.”
He sipped his tea.
“At first, it was like a dark, thick mist. Tangible, almost. I wandered, unsure if I was alive or not.”
She listened, breath held, her grip on his hand tightening.
“Then I found myself in… what some call Limbo. It’s like—” He faltered. “An endless station where no one knows the trains’ destinations. No bodies—just awareness.”
Setting the cup down, he met her eyes.
“You’ve no idea how many are there, like me. The lost ones. Those who can’t move on.”
“Who are they?” she asked.
“All sorts. An old man who never forgave his brother, dying bitter. A young woman who left her babe at the hospital—she wept endlessly. A lad killed in a brawl, still unaware he’s gone.”
William ran a hand through his hair—a familiar gesture that twisted her heart.
“They all yearn for something. To fix things, to return. But none know how.”
“And you?” She searched his face. “What did you want?”
“To see you all again,” he said simply. “All these years, I’ve done nothing but remember. Your laugh at my clumsy jests. The scent of James’ hair when he rode my shoulders. Thomas’ hands the first time he held a hammer—just like me, so careful.”
He fell silent. Beyond the window, the storm raged, yet the world seemed to shrink to this room.
“I saw the tree fall on you,” she blurted. “They called me at work. I ran—straight through the village in my apron.”
Her face contorted with remembered pain.
“You can’t imagine how I suffered. Asking why you, why us, when things were already so hard.”
She rose, opening the dresser’s top drawer, and pulled out a worn slip of paper.
“See? The pawn ticket. I sold my silver locket to feed the boys. Thomas fell ill—we’d no coin for medicine.”
William embraced her from behind. She trembled at his warmth.
“Lizzie, forgive me.”
“For what?” She turned. “For dying? Leaving us?”
“For making you bear it alone,” he whispered, holding her close. “For forcing you to be strong for us both. For pretending each day while hollow inside.”
She wept silently, tears streaming unchecked.
“Every year, I left a cake on the sill,” she confessed. “As Gran taught me. Then waited all night, though I knew not for what.”
They stood wordless. At last, she whispered:
“Will you stay now? With us?”
He didn’t answer, only held her tighter.
“Will?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know the rules. I just… found myself here.”
Exhaustion washed over her. Her legs gave way, and he carried her to the chair. She nestled into his shoulder, breathing in his scent.
“Don’t go until I sleep,” she begged, closing her eyes.
“I won’t,” he promised, stroking her hair.
Drowsily, she heard his whisper:
“I didn’t know how to be without you either…”
She woke to sunlight filtering through the curtains. Still in the chair, the shawl draped over her. William sat opposite, watching her with familiar tenderness.
“Good morning,” he smiled. “You slept but a few hours.”
She straightened, sleep banished at once. Morning. Then it wasn’t a dream. He was truly here.
“The boys will wake soon,” she said hurriedly, throat tight. “They’ll scarce believe their eyes. You’ve no idea how they’ve missed you. Thomas especially—he stopped saying ‘Papa’ for a year after you—”
He took her hand.
“Lizzie,” he said softly, “there’s something I must tell you.”
His tone froze her.
“I can’t stay.”
“What?” She jerked her hand free. “Why? You’re here! I feel you, see you!”
She gripped his shoulders, as if to anchor him.
“It was… permitted,” he said slowly. “One night. I don’t know how it works.”
With each sunbeam, he seemed to fade. Dawn was pulling him back to where none return.
“No, no, no!” Her voice broke, then dropped to a whisper as she glanced toward the boys’ room. “Not now. Not when I’ve just found you again!”
He held her tight.
“Listen. I came so you’d know—I’m near. Always have been. Every moment. When you wept into your pillow so the boys wouldn’t hear. When James had the lung fever and you kept vigil three nights. When Thomas fought at school defending your name.”
She struck his chest with her fists.
“If you were there, why not help? Why only watch?”
“I couldn’t,” his voice cracked. “I was like… a shadow. A witness.”
A sleepy voice called from the hall:
“Mum? Who’re you talking to?”
James
