Edward was driving back from his parents’ house. In the summer, they lived in the countryside, in an old cottage that always needed fixing. Edward spent his weekends helping his dad with repairs. Lately, his father’s heart had been troubling him, so Edward took on most of the heavy work.
That day, he’d mended the garden fence, hauled buckets of water from the well—first for the vegetable patch, then for the bath—and even ran errands with his mum. After dinner, he got ready to leave.
“Why leave so late? Stay the night, drive back in the morning,” his mum urged.
But Edward had promised his wife, Emily, he’d come home. Just as he was about to leave, he called her, and she too suggested he stay.
“Don’t you miss me?” Edward teased, pretending to be hurt.
“Of course I do. Terribly,” Emily laughed.
“Then I’ll be home soon,” he said brightly.
The sun had long set, leaving only the cool, mysterious glow of twilight. The roads were quiet. Behind the wheel, Edward realised just how tired he was. The occasional late-night car rushed past, headlights flashing. Just as he neared the city, his eyes flickered shut for a second…
“Emily, I’m home!” Edward called from the doorway.
No answer. He stepped into the kitchen. His wife stood by the stove, humming an old tune under her breath—something about sailors and the sea. The smell of frying meat filled the air. He hadn’t felt this light in ages. The exhaustion was gone, as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep. Or maybe he had. He couldn’t remember driving home, climbing the stairs, unlocking the door. Like time had skipped.
“Em,” he tried again.
Emily didn’t react.
“Always with the headphones,” he thought, moving closer—but there were none.
“I missed you. And I’m starving,” he whispered in her ear.
She froze for a second, listening to something.
“Finally,” Edward grinned. “Thought you’d gone deaf.”
The next instant, Emily clapped a lid over the pan, turned off the hob, and spun around. Edward barely dodged.
“Emily, what’s wrong? Why are you ignoring me? I’m home! Look at me!” he shouted.
She acted like he wasn’t there. Then her phone rang—a number she didn’t recognise. She hesitated but answered.
“Yes, this is her.” Her voice wavered. “What? No, that’s… that’s impossible—” Her phone slipped from her fingers. She crumpled onto the sofa, hands pressed to her face, sobbing.
“Em, what happened? Is it Dad? His heart?” But she cried on, unaware of him.
He crouched before her, tried to pull her hands away—then recoiled. His fingers passed right through hers like mist. He stared at his hands, stunned. Emily lowered hers, bloodshot eyes staring right through him.
“Eddie?” she whispered.
“I’m here,” he said, relieved she might finally see him.
But her gaze slid past, lost in the room.
“No… no, it can’t be—” She broke down again, gasping his name between sobs.
Suddenly, she grabbed her phone, fingers trembling over the buttons.
“Come on, come on—” She lifted it to her ear.
Edward instinctively patted his back pocket—no phone. No ringtone.
“Must’ve dropped it in the car,” he thought.
Emily hung up, redialled.
“Margaret? I just got a call. The police… Eddie was in an accident near the city. No, Margaret… he’s gone.” She choked out the words, then flung the phone aside, howling like a wounded animal.
*Is she talking about me? Did I crash? Am I dead?* He couldn’t believe it. How could he, standing here, talking to her? *That’s why I don’t remember getting home. Like I blacked out. Or… autopilot. That’s why she can’t see me.* He wasn’t horrified—just baffled.
“Eddie, how… how do I go on?” Emily curled into herself, weeping.
He reached out, wanting to comfort her—but his hand hovered uselessly. He stood there, helpless, remembering ghost stories. Only one film came to mind—something with Patrick Swayze.
*So this is how it happens. And I thought that was fiction. How long do I have? Where are the guides? Someone should explain—*
Time blurred. Suddenly, it was morning. Emily was gone. He didn’t know where he’d been. Then—a sharp pull.
He blinked. Cold tile walls. A steel table. A body on a trolley—his own, face bloody and broken. His mum clutched a handkerchief, his dad holding her up. Emily stood apart, tears streaking her cheeks.
Later, outside the morgue, a taxi waited.
“Come with us, Emily. It’s easier together,” his mum pleaded.
Emily just shook her head.
His parents got in. The driver crushed a cigarette underfoot.
“Listen,” his mum sniffed. “Eddie and Emily never had kids. We helped them buy that flat. She’s not even on the lease—still registered at her mum’s. Maybe she should move back.”
“For God’s sake, Margaret, not now,” his dad snapped.
“We’ve still got Paul. He finishes uni soon—might marry. But Emily… no children.” She dabbed her eyes. “Oh, Eddie…”
“Mum. Really?” Edward sighed.
The taxi drove off. He walked beside Emily as she trudged home.
She sat on the sofa, blank. The meal she’d cooked for him last night sat untouched.
“Listen—open the blue folder. There’s a life insurance policy. Three hundred thousand. Enough for a flat.” He willed her toward the drawer.
She did—pulled out the folder but didn’t open it.
*Good. You’ll see it later.*
“A year ago, the deputy director drowned kayaking in the Highlands. Left a wife and three kids. That insurance saved them. So a few of us signed up. Never thought…”
Emily whispered, “Eddie, how do I live now? We should’ve had a baby.”
“How could we know? We thought we had time.” He kept talking until exhaustion dragged her into sleep.
At the funeral, friends and colleagues gathered. Good words, sad faces. Edward stood by the open grave, watching Emily, his parents, the crowd around his coffin. He felt nothing for the body under the shroud.
Emily glanced up—straight at him. For a second, he thought she saw him. But no. Her gaze dropped back to the coffin.
Fresh earth, wreaths stuck in the ground. People drifted away, chatting about work, life—things of the living. Emily walked last, arms limp, slow.
Edward didn’t follow. Something held him at the grave. He looked up. The air pulsed. A light appeared above—bright, pulling him.
He didn’t resist. The weight lifted. He knew—he was expected. That love drawing him was greater than anything he left behind.
