Chapter 5: Letting Go of Ghosts

I don't know. I loved Mason so much. Seeing him like this, I should be heartbroken.

I should want to comfort him, to forgive him. But all I feel is emptiness, a numbness that won’t go away. Nothing. Just blank.

I should go to him, squat down, and hold his trembling body.

I want to, but I can’t. I’m stuck, frozen, unable to move.

But I just stand there, numb.

I watch every flicker of pain on his face.

I listen to every desperate cry. All because I’m gone.

And again, a wave of cruel satisfaction surges up.

It’s twisted, but I can’t help it. After all the times he made me feel invisible, it feels good to be the one haunting him.

There’s a word for it—schadenfreude. And damn, it feels good. A wild, liberating schadenfreude.

The pain almost feels exhilarating—I cover my mouth and laugh out loud.

It’s not a happy laugh. It’s the laugh of someone who’s finally stopped caring.

I think I could laugh until I cry—if I could still cry.

But the tears never come. I’m all out.

Why, Mason?

Why did you never treat me well when I was alive?

I replay every fight, every cold shoulder, every time he turned away when I needed him most.

Why didn't you come out to stop me after our fight? Do you know how long I waited outside? In the end, you never came, and to save my last shred of dignity, I pretended to go shopping at the mall.

I stood in the parking lot, hoping he’d text, hoping he’d say he was sorry. But my phone stayed silent. I walked into the mall because I couldn’t stand the thought of going home alone.

Why did you never love me properly when I was alive?

Was I not enough? Did I try too hard? Was I just too ordinary?

Why, knowing I'd be jealous and sad, didn't you keep your distance from Alexis? Do you know how desperate I felt, staying up all night to care for you, only to hear you call her name?

I wanted to be the one you needed. I wanted to be your first choice, not your backup plan.

Why, Mason, do you only show such unbearable pain after I'm gone?

It’s too little, too late. I can’t help you now.

I laugh too loudly, but my laughter is laced with endless sorrow.

It echoes off the walls, filling the empty space where our love used to be.

And most of all, if you didn't love me then, why force yourself to stay with me?

Why pretend? Why go through the motions if your heart was never in it?

You let me drown in your false tenderness, wasting years of my life.

I gave you everything, and you gave me just enough to keep me hoping.

I was attentive, gentle, and considerate, woven into every part of your life.

I became the background music to your days, the steady presence you never noticed until it was gone.

For a long time, you'll have to cut me out of your habits, piece by piece.

You’ll reach for me in the dark, find the bed empty. You’ll look for my notes, my smile, my warmth—and find nothing.

You'll have countless moments of sadness and heartbreak.

You’ll remember me in the quiet moments, when the world stops spinning and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Mason, look—this is your retribution.

You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. Maybe that’s the only justice I’ll ever get.

After Mason rejected me back then, I never pestered him again.

I took his words to heart. I tried to move on, to let him go.

He was right. He'd never love a girl like me. I know when to let go.

I tried to convince myself it was for the best. That I deserved someone who wanted me, not someone I had to chase.

Love bravely, but leave with dignity when rejected.

It’s a lesson I wish I’d learned sooner. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away. Yeah, I wish I’d known.

He didn't love me. That's fine.

It hurt, but I survived. I thought I’d never get over him, but time does funny things to a broken heart.

But later, he shouldn't have given me hope—made me think I had a chance, made me think he could love me.

That was the real cruelty. Letting me believe I mattered, only to pull the rug out from under me.

We crossed paths again in his senior year.

I thought I’d moved on, but seeing him again brought it all back. The old feelings, the old wounds.

He had an outstanding girlfriend then.

Alexis was everything I wasn’t—brilliant, confident, going places. They looked perfect together.

He continued to shine in college. Sometimes, hearing about his achievements or seeing him on stage, I'd sigh at my foolishness back then.

I’d watch him from afar, proud and a little sad. I knew I’d never be part of his world.

Such an extraordinary, unattainable person.

He was always out of reach, like a star you can see but never touch.

How did I ever have the nerve to chase him?

I was young and foolish, blinded by hope. I thought love could conquer anything.

But even golden boys have hardships. In his senior year, just as he was about to get a coveted law school recommendation, his grandmother fell ill with kidney failure. Not wanting to burden him, she tried to take her own life. Thankfully, she was found in time and survived.

It was a dark time for him. I saw the cracks in his armor, the pain he tried so hard to hide.

Mason brought her to Riverbend for treatment.

He juggled classes, hospital visits, and job applications. I admired his strength, even as I worried about him.

Our school organized a fundraiser. I was chosen to represent my department and present it to him.

I was nervous, hands shaking as I handed him the check. He barely looked at me, but I could see the gratitude in his eyes.

Back then, the school loved ceremony. There was a plaque, photos for the website, and a write-up about the school's compassion.

We stood side by side, smiling awkwardly for the camera. It felt staged, but I was glad to help.

I've forgotten my own expression in those photos—probably an awkward smile. Mason accepted the plaque, posed for the photo, and nodded politely.

He was always polite, always reserved. I wished he’d let his guard down, just once.

Afterwards, I lingered behind and bought him a meal, noticing that his lunch at the hospital was just half a sandwich and some chips.

I watched him eat, my heart aching. I wanted to do more, but didn’t know how.

My heart ached for him. Even though my own life was no better, I wanted to hold an umbrella for him.

I knew what it was like to feel alone, to need someone. I wanted to be that person for him, even if he didn’t want me.

Carrying the takeout, I ran into Mason and his girlfriend, Alexis, in the corridor.

They were arguing, voices low but intense. I ducked behind a corner, not wanting to intrude.

I swear I wasn't eavesdropping, just frozen in place, unable to move.

I held my breath, heart pounding, listening to every word.

Alexis was angry: "Professor Bennett said you gave up your law school recommendation. Do you know what that means? The legal world values credentials. With just a bachelor's, you'll start at the bottom. This is your only chance. What are you thinking?"

She was right, of course. Mason was throwing away his future for someone else.

After a long silence, Mason replied, "She's my only family. I can't abandon her for my future."

His voice was steady, but I could hear the pain underneath. He was torn between duty and ambition.

Alexis calmed down, then after another silence, said, "I'm sorry, Mason. I understand, but I can't agree. Your grandmother is old—even with treatment, how long can she live? I can't take that risk. Let's break up."

She sounded sad, but resolute. She knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t willing to compromise.

Mason sighed, "Okay."

He didn’t beg, didn’t argue. He just let her go, like he’d already made peace with it.

After she left, he stood alone, eyes closed, leaning against the wall. The sunlight crept into the corridor, but he was shrouded in shadow—thin, pale, desolate.

He looked so small, so vulnerable. For the first time, I saw the boy beneath the man.

He rubbed his face, forced a smile, and went back inside.

I wanted to follow him, to offer comfort, but I stayed hidden. Some wounds you have to heal on your own.

I sat in that corridor all afternoon. The food went cold. I never delivered it.

I watched the world go by, feeling helpless. I wanted to help, but didn’t know how.

I realized, for someone like Mason, accepting pity is painful.

He hated feeling weak, hated being vulnerable. Maybe that’s why he kept everyone at arm’s length.

After that, I appeared in his life again—he collapsed from exhaustion and malnutrition while preparing his thesis defense.

He pushed himself too hard, refusing to ask for help. When he finally broke down, I was there.

I brought him a bag of chocolate and told him, "Focus on your defense. I'll help with the hospital."

He looked at me, surprised and grateful. For once, he let me in.

He looked at me, complicated. He was aloof, never one to trouble others, but had no choice.

He hated owing anyone, but this time, he had no choice.

He sighed, "Thank you."

It was just two words, but they meant everything. I felt like I’d finally broken through his defenses.

I tried to be casual: "No trouble. You have enough to deal with. Just owe me a favor. Pay me back later."

I didn’t want him to feel guilty. I just wanted to help.

After that, I ran between school and hospital in the sweltering heat, dark circles under my eyes. My friend scolded me for being a saint, said Mason must think I was a hopeless simp.

I laughed it off, but deep down, I knew she was right. I would have done anything for him.

I did like him, but I wasn't obsessed. I didn't do it to move him. I just thought it was a shame—someone so brilliant, forced to walk such a hard road.

I admired his strength, his resilience. I wanted to make his burden a little lighter.

After his defense, he came to the hospital to take over.

He looked exhausted, but relieved. I was proud of him.

I was peeling an apple for his grandma, both of us holding our breath to see if I could get the peel off in one go. I did, and his grandma smiled. When I turned, Mason was behind us.

He watched us, a small smile on his lips. For a moment, we felt like a family.

He looked much better, even smiled at me: "Thank you for your help. Let me treat you to a meal."

I blushed, surprised by his kindness. Maybe things were finally changing.

We went to a small diner. I struggled over what to order—too cheap might hurt his pride, too expensive felt wasteful. I peeked at him, then ordered the second cheapest.

He laughed, teasing me for overthinking it. I laughed, too, the tension between us finally easing.

After dinner, he asked, "Harper, do you really like me?"

I froze, unsure how to answer. I’d waited so long for this moment, but now that it was here, I was scared.

"Then let's be together."

His words were simple, but they changed everything. I felt like I was dreaming.

I was stunned. "Mason, I didn't do this just to be with you."

I wanted him to know I cared, no strings attached.

He smiled, "But now, I want to be with you. You're a good person. I don't want to miss out."

He reached across the table, taking my hand in his. For the first time, I felt seen.

I covered my mouth—I must have looked like a fool.

I was giddy, lightheaded, happier than I’d ever been.

He used love to keep me by his side, but never offered the same sincerity.

Looking back, I see it now. I was convenient, not cherished.

Mason, you're cunning.

You knew how to keep me close, without ever letting me in.

I once read that a man will never love the girl who comes to see him from miles away in the rain; he'll only love the girl who makes him go to her in the rain.

At the time, I thought it was nonsense. Love is love, right? But maybe there’s some truth to it.

I didn't believe it before. How could sincere love not move someone?

I thought if I just loved him enough, he’d come around. But people don’t change for you—they change for themselves.

Later, I understood.

Sometimes, love isn’t enough. Sometimes, you have to let go, even when it hurts.

In Mason's darkest days, I was always there.

I was his safety net, his comfort. But he never saw me as anything more.

After graduation, I was with him as he moved from a tiny rental to a one-bedroom, then to a downtown river-view apartment.

I helped him pack boxes, paint walls, hang curtains. I made every place feel like home.

I was with him as he went from legal assistant to partner.

I celebrated every promotion, every win. I believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself.

When he took on the high-profile abuse case, I stayed up late with him, endured threats, and always held his hand, telling him he could do it.

I made coffee, proofread briefs, listened to him vent. I was his biggest cheerleader, even when he pushed me away.

When his grandma died, I went to the cremation, stood with him as he carried the urn in the blazing sun.

The cemetery was hot, the air thick with grief. I held his hand, silent, letting him grieve in his own way.

We didn't speak; I just stayed by his side.

Sometimes, words aren’t enough. Sometimes, all you can do is be there.

Afterwards, he sat before his grandma's portrait. I couldn't help but feel sad, held his hand, and said, "It's okay, Mason. Grandma is just watching over you from somewhere else."

He squeezed my hand, a single tear rolling down his cheek. It was the first and last time I saw him cry.

For the first time, I saw him cry—a single, silent tear.

I wanted to hold him, to take away his pain. But he pulled away, retreating behind his walls.

He said, "Harper, from now on, I have no family left in this world. Alone, with no one to share joy or sorrow."

His words broke my heart. I wanted to be his family, to fill the void. But he never let me in.

Later, I got a rose tattoo on my wrist with his initials.

It was my way of promising I’d always be there, even if he didn’t want me.

The rose means: I'll always be by your side.

I believed it, even when he didn’t. I thought love was enough.

Mason, see—even in death, I kept my promise.

But how did you treat me?

I was there through your hardest times.

But when you reunited with your ex, you lost sleep.

The old spark reignited, and suddenly I was the outsider again.

Your dazzling, independent, proud ex reappeared when you were at your best.

It was like watching a movie where you know the ending, but can’t look away.

Of course, you didn't cheat. After all I'd done for you, you knew you owed me.

You kept your distance, but your heart was already gone.

But so many silent nights—your restlessness, your growing silence, your perfunctory words.

I lay awake, listening to you toss and turn, wondering if you were thinking of her.

I lay awake, wondering if you were planning to break up with me.

Every silence felt like a countdown to goodbye.

I was like a rag, wiping the dirt off you, and you were ready to throw me away.

You used me to clean up your messes, then tossed me aside when you were done.

Looking back, when you asked to be with me, what were you thinking?

Was it just that you couldn't hold on alone in your darkest days?

Was I just a stopgap, a temporary fix?

But Mason, I'm a person too.

I have feelings, dreams, a heart that breaks just like yours.

A living person with a heart.

I deserved more than scraps. I deserved to be loved, not just needed.

Now the rag is dead, erased from your life. You can finally be with your ex, unburdened.

You’re free now. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

But why do you look so pained?

Is it guilt? Regret? Or just the loneliness you tried so hard to avoid?

And why, seeing you like this, do I feel nothing but resentment?

I thought I’d feel relief, but all I feel is anger. You don’t get to mourn me now, not after everything.

What's the point of your belated devotion? If you'd treated me a little better when I was alive, it would have meant so much more than your regret now.

Regret is useless. It doesn’t bring me back. It doesn’t fix anything.

Mason, I'd rather you never loved me than give me this late affection.

Too little, too late. I deserved better.

Half a month later, Alexis came by.

She knocked on the door, hesitant. I watched from the window, curious to see what would happen.

Mason hadn't gone to work for a long time. Every day, he just lay alone in the empty room, staring into space, doing nothing.

He barely ate, barely slept. The apartment grew messier by the day.

Oh, he'd hold my urn, stroke it, and send me messages on Messenger.

He typed out long, rambling messages, pouring out his heart to a ghost. I never thought he was capable of such vulnerability.

Even though no one would ever reply, he kept sending them, one after another.

He wrote about his day, his regrets, his hopes. He begged me to come back, promised to do better.

He asked where I was, when I'd come back.

He sounded so lost, so desperate. It almost made me pity him.

He told me not to be angry, that it was his fault.

He finally admitted what I’d always wanted to hear. But it was too late.

He begged, humbly, in pain: "Stop it, Harper. Please, come back."

His words broke my heart all over again. But I couldn’t answer. I was already gone.

How ridiculous. When I was alive, he often ignored my messages.

I used to wait hours for a reply, checking my phone every five minutes. Now he couldn’t stop messaging me, even though I’d never respond.

When Alexis broke in, she was furious, but kept her composure. She stood at the door and asked, "Have you gone mad enough yet?"

She looked around the messy apartment, her eyes flashing with anger and concern.

Mason said nothing.

He stared at the floor, silent. He looked like a man who’d lost everything.

She came over, forceful but pleading, squatted before him, held his hand, and said, "Mason, this grief is just because you were used to Harper's presence. She left so suddenly and you can't adjust. But I'll stay with you, I'll help you through this."

Her words were kind, but I could see the frustration in her eyes. She wanted to save him, but didn’t know how.

Mason was silent. After a long time, he laughed bitterly, turned to her, eyes dark, and asked quietly, "Why didn't you stay with me ten years ago?"

His voice was soft, almost pleading. I could see the old wounds reopening.

Alexis choked up, speechless.

She looked away, blinking back tears. Maybe she regretted her choices, too.

Now Mason is one of Riverbend's ten most influential lawyers, a partner at a top law firm—a true golden boy, a diamond bachelor.

He had everything he ever wanted, except happiness.

He's no longer that embarrassed young man.

He’s polished, successful, admired. But he’s never been more alone.

Mason closed his eyes and sighed.

The weight of his regrets pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.

"When I first met you, I struggled. I always thought we were from the same world. You were my youthful dream. Losing you made you even more distant in memory. Honestly, after meeting you again, I didn't think of breaking up with Harper."

He spoke quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. I wondered if Alexis understood what he was really saying.

"But I have to admit, seeing you again did stir my heart."

He looked at her, searching for something he couldn’t name. Maybe closure. Maybe forgiveness.

"Mason," Alexis was moved, tears in her eyes, lips trembling.

She reached for his hand, her voice shaking. I could see the longing in her eyes.

Mason looked at her hand holding his, then up at her face, and suddenly laughed, "But now, as you hold my hand, I'm thinking—if Harper were here, would she come to me tonight, angry?"

He smiled, but it was a sad, hollow smile. He was haunted by my memory, unable to let go.

He seemed to look forward to it, as if my coming to him at night was a comfort.

It was twisted, but maybe it was all he had left.

But I just watched, cold and unmoved.

I felt nothing. Not jealousy, not anger. Just emptiness.

He sighed softly.

The sound was barely audible, lost in the quiet room.

"I didn't understand before—how the most precious things in the world are often free: sunlight, air, companionship, love."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret.

"But free things are priceless, and the least cherished."

He looked down, tears glistening in his eyes.

"I got used to Harper's giving, took her love for granted, thought she'd never leave."

He finally admitted what I’d always known. It was too late, but I appreciated the honesty.

"I remember telling her I'd never love a girl like her, but after we got together, I enjoyed all her devotion without guilt."

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. I wondered if he’d ever forgive himself.

"Later, I realized—a girl like her loving me was perhaps the only gift fate gave my miserable life."

His voice broke, the words catching in his throat.

"It's a pity I didn't cherish it, so it was taken away."

Regret is a cruel teacher. I hope he learns from it.

When Alexis left, she slammed the door. Mason didn't even look up, just stared into space.

The sound echoed through the apartment, but he didn’t react. He was lost in his own world.

He's always been like this—letting down both women, always thinking of someone else when with the one in front of him.

He was never satisfied, always chasing something just out of reach.

I sighed, Mason.

I wish things could have been different. But some people never change.

But Mason is always calm and rational, analyzing everything from a factual perspective, his emotions always muted. Just like he often said: Don't let emotions override reason.

He lived by that motto, even when it cost him everything.

Time passed. He seemed to recover.

The days blurred together. Slowly, he started to pick up the pieces.

Three months later, he returned to work, shaved, stopped staying up all night, ate regularly, even called friends to ask if the pothos I'd raised—now dead—could be revived.

He tried to bring life back to the things I left behind. It was sweet, in a sad way.

Except he never opened the freezer again, took sleeping pills every night, and still had long spells of staring into space.

Some wounds never heal. Some habits die hard.

The little affection he found after I left faded away.

He tried to move on, but the emptiness lingered.

Yes, no one stays in grief forever. Time heals all wounds.

Or so they say. I’m not sure I believe it.

The last time I saw him sad for me was when the real estate company called.

It was a routine call, but it hit him harder than he expected.

Our river-view apartment was ready. When we moved from a tiny rental to a one-bedroom, we dreamed of our future.

We talked about paint colors, furniture, pets, kids. It was supposed to be our forever home.

"After we get married, let's get two cats."

I wanted a tabby and a calico. He pretended to protest, but I knew he liked the idea.

"And have a daughter."

We picked out names, imagined her first day of school. It felt real, even if it was just a dream.

"But the school district here isn't good. Let's work hard and move to a better neighborhood."

He was always practical, always thinking ahead.

"A big river-view apartment, the more expensive the better. That way, if you ever want to divorce me, it'll hurt."

I laughed, teasing him. He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was happy.

He seemed happy then, smiling as he listened.

For a moment, I believed we could make it work.

Step by step, we finally owned our own home. Two lonely people, looking out for each other. We were so close to happiness—until Alexis reappeared.

The timing was cruel. Just when we were about to start our new life, the past came knocking.

When he went to pick up the keys, I went with him.

I floated beside him, unseen, unheard. It felt like a goodbye.

The apartment was big, unfinished, two bedrooms, two living rooms. The night view was beautiful. I followed him from kitchen to bathroom, to master bedroom, second bedroom, study. This should have been our home.

I imagined where we’d put the couch, the dining table, the bookshelf. It was everything we’d ever wanted.

We'd have planned the decor, raised two cats, had a daughter.

I pictured family dinners, movie nights, lazy Sundays in bed.

A peaceful, happy life, with its share of quarrels.

No relationship is perfect. But I thought we could weather any storm.

But there was no future now.

All those dreams died with me.

After touring the rooms, he sat on the balcony and started calling my deactivated number.

He dialed over and over, listening to the endless ring. I wondered what he wanted to say.

What did he want to say? That the house was ready? Talk about how to decorate? Imagine our future?

Maybe he just wanted to hear my voice one last time.

The city lights sparkled, but he looked so alone.

He sat there for hours, staring out at the river, lost in thought.

He sat on the balcony from midnight until dawn, of course never getting through.

The phone was silent, the only answer the sound of the wind.

At sunrise, he covered his face with his hand.

His shoulders shook, silent sobs wracking his body. I wanted to comfort him, but it was too late.

I knew he was crying.

For the first time, I saw him truly break.

"You said you'd always be with me," I heard him murmur, tears seeping through his fingers. "Liar."

His words cut deep. I wanted to tell him I tried, that I never meant to leave.

My heart, after so long, ached faintly.

The pain was dull, but persistent. I realized I wasn’t as numb as I thought.

After that night, he returned to his calm, indifferent self.

He buried his pain, hiding behind his old routines.

It was as if the sadness and tears of last night were just my imagination.

He moved through life like a ghost, just like me.

Not long after, I noticed something was wrong.

He seemed distracted, forgetful. The light in his eyes was gone.

One ordinary afternoon, after a meeting, he went home, put an empty pot on the stove, turned on the gas, and—forgetting to add water—went to lie down.

The smell of gas filled the apartment. I watched in horror, unable to do anything.

Luckily, Mrs. O'Connor, our nosy neighbor, came home early. She smelled the gas, started shouting and banging on the door until Mason woke up.

She saved his life, just in time. I owe her more than I can say.

"Oh, Mason, you're usually so careful—how could you be so careless? Good thing I came home early. If it was my usual time, you'd be dead by now. Where's Harper? Still on a business trip? How can you live such a mess without her—"

She fussed over him, her voice full of concern. Mason just nodded, barely listening.

"Mrs. O'Connor," Mason interrupted. He looked pale, tired, leaning on the doorframe. "I'm a bit dizzy. I'll go rest."

He closed the door, shutting out the world. I followed him inside, worried.

He closed the door. I floated in after him.

The apartment was quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words.

The house was quiet, windows wide open to clear the gas. The curtain on the balcony fluttered in the wind.

The sunlight danced on the floor, but the room felt colder than ever.

His new river-view apartment was ready and closer to his office, but he still stayed in this small place.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave. Maybe he thought I’d come back if he stayed.

He sat on the couch, lost in thought, frowning deeply.

His brow was furrowed, his eyes distant. I wondered what he was thinking about.

I thought he was just stressed from work.

He’d always been a workaholic, but this was different. He seemed lost.

But I soon changed my mind.

There was something darker lurking beneath the surface.

Not long after, while crossing the street, a boy chased his ball into the road as a car turned. Mason, waiting at the light, dashed over and pushed the boy to safety. Then he paused—he clearly had time to get out of the way, but just stood there, unmoving.

I watched in horror as the car sped toward him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. It was like he wanted it to end.

Luckily, it was downtown, the car was slow, and as I desperately tried to push him but passed right through, a girl rushed over and shoved him aside.

She saved him, just in time. I wanted to thank her, but all I could do was watch.

The boy's mother thanked him in terror. The girl, maybe out of kindness, scolded him: "Do you know how dangerous that was? You almost died helping someone! Why did you freeze in the road? Were you scared stiff?"

She looked at him with genuine concern, but he just shrugged her off.

Mason glanced at her, expressionless, said nothing, and walked away.

He didn’t even thank her. He just kept walking, lost in his own world.

He was cold, but never rude before.

Something had changed. He wasn’t himself anymore.

I floated, stunned, watching his back.

I realized, for the first time, that he might be as broken as I was.

He once dared to take on the most notorious case in the city, facing powerful adversaries alone—never afraid.

He was fearless, unstoppable. Now, he looked like he had nothing left to lose.

No way he'd freeze in fear at a car.

He was never one to back down from a challenge. But this was different.

Maybe others didn't notice, but I saw it. In that brief pause, his eyes were clear, quietly watching the oncoming car.

He wasn’t scared. He was waiting.

He... he was waiting to be hit.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

He didn't want to live.

He was giving up, just like I did.

He was trying to die.

I wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him see reason. But I was powerless.

I stared at him, speechless. He couldn't see me—his gaze passed right through, lost somewhere far away. I saw the confusion and buried sorrow in his eyes.

He looked haunted, lost in memories he couldn’t escape.

I didn't know what he was thinking.

I could only guess at the pain he carried.

I was just driven mad by it all.

I wanted to let go, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

His deep grief after my death only made me more resentful.

It felt like a cruel joke. Why now? Why not when it mattered?

Why? What's the point? When I was alive, you didn't love me. After my death, you act so devoted—what's the use?

It’s too late. I can’t forgive you, Mason. Not anymore.

Who are you performing for?

Is it for me? For yourself? For the world?

I don't need it, Mason.

I needed you when I was alive. Now, it’s just noise.

I started staying by his side all the time.

I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see what he’d do next.

Fortunately, he never tried anything so reckless again. We even met the girl who saved him that day—she came for legal advice, and Mason didn't charge her.

He listened to her story, offered kind words, and sent her on her way. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in her.

Maybe she felt bad, so the next day she brought him a bag of mangoes.

She smiled sweetly: "Lawyer, thank you! These are from my childhood tree—very sweet, try them."

She was earnest, eager to repay his kindness.

Mason is severely allergic to mangoes, but for some reason, he accepted them and brought them home.

He stared at the bag for a long time, lost in thought. I wondered what he was planning.

That night, he seemed in a good mood, even turned on the TV and watched the soap opera I never finished. The heroine said, "The happiness of the person I love is the greatest thing in the world."

He smiled, a real smile, for the first time in months. I wondered if he was thinking of me.

Mason seemed to smile. I wondered if he was thinking of me.

Maybe he missed the little things, the quiet moments we shared.

Then he opened the bag of mangoes and, watching TV, started eating them one after another.

My heart stopped. I knew what would happen, but I couldn’t stop him.

I was stunned, rushed to stop him, but my hands passed through air. Soon, he started having a severe allergic reaction, his breathing labored.

He gasped for air, clutching his throat. Panic set in, but he didn’t reach for his phone.

I tried desperately to grab his phone, to call for help, but I couldn't touch anything. In the end, I could only cradle his face as he fainted. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, and I felt our gazes meet for a moment, his pupils dilating.

He reached out, his hand trembling, as if he could see me. For a moment, I thought he might cross over, join me on the other side.

He raised his hand, as if trying to reach me.

I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t move. I was trapped, just like him.

What are you doing? Stop showing me this affection I never needed! I cried and, in my frustration, raised my hand and slapped him.

My hand passed through him, but the intention was there. I wanted to shake him, to make him see reason.

"Pa—"

The sound echoed in my ears, half real, half imagined. I wondered if he felt it.

Alexis slapped him hard. For the first time, we were in agreement.

She burst into the apartment, her face pale with fear. She didn’t hesitate, just acted.

She was furious. If not for the hospital setting, I think she would've lost control: "Mason, are you insane? What are you doing? Don't pretend you don't know you're allergic to mangoes. That might fool a five-year-old. If I hadn't come by to discuss a case and broken in, you'd be dead now! What are you thinking?"

Her words were sharp, but her eyes were full of tears. She cared, even if he couldn’t see it.

Mason lay there like an old man, lifeless. "I just don't see the point in living."

His voice was flat, emotionless. He sounded like he’d given up.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, but his voice was calm.

He looked at the ceiling, lost in thought. I wondered if he was thinking of me.

"Wealth, status, reputation, but I have no one to share my happiness with anymore. I just..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The weight of his loneliness was crushing.

He paused, then continued, "I just really want to see her again."

His voice broke, the words catching in his throat. For the first time, I believed him.

I don't know how others would react to this scene.

Some might pity him, some might judge him. I just felt empty.

But I was strangely calm.

The anger and resentment faded, replaced by a quiet acceptance.

After I died, I was first saddened by Mason's indifference. Then, when he finally grieved, I was angry—if you really loved me, why only show it after my death? Why not treat me well when I was alive?

I wanted answers, but there were none.

But now, seeing him so careless with his own life, I suddenly... let go.

I realized I couldn’t save him, just like I couldn’t save myself.

I suddenly remembered what I was thinking as I was dying.

The memories came rushing back, sharp and clear.

I always thought I lingered by Mason's side because of my promise to him: that I'd always be with him.

I thought love was enough to keep me tethered to this world.

But that wasn't it.

The truth was uglier, more complicated.

I remembered, as I lay dying, stabbed again and again, unable to get up, lying in my own blood.

The pain was overwhelming, but my mind kept drifting back to Mason.

Hearing screams, seeing people filming but no one coming to help.

I felt so alone, so abandoned. No one cared, not even the man I loved.

My body convulsing.

I could feel life slipping away, but I wasn’t ready to go.

What was I thinking then?

It was resentment, unwillingness, despair, obsession.

I was angry—at the world, at Mason, at myself. I didn’t want to die, not like this.

Unwilling to die like that, resenting that if I hadn't fought with Mason, I wouldn't have gone out, wouldn't have tried to save a stranger, wouldn't have died so painfully.

I blamed him, blamed fate, blamed everyone but myself.

Despair at my tragic life—giving my heart, always let down.

I gave everything, and got nothing in return.

At the end, my last obsession as I closed my eyes:

Mason, when you chose to be with me, in all these years, was there ever, even for a moment,

you truly liked me?

That question haunted me, even as I slipped away.

This resentment, unwillingness, despair, and obsession

were the only things keeping me here.

It wasn’t love that bound me to this world. It was regret.

But now, looking at Mason in the hospital bed—weak, pale, desperate, all his coldness and rationality gone—

I saw him for who he really was: broken, lost, human.

He is in unbearable pain, unable to adapt to life without me.

I realized I wasn’t the only one suffering. Maybe that was enough.

I ask myself, are you happy now, Harper?

The answer was no. I’d wasted too much time chasing someone who could never love me the way I deserved.

I'm not happy.

But I’m ready to move on.

Because I realize I've let him trap my whole life, and even after death, my soul is still bound to him.

It’s time to break free, to let go of the past.

Just because of him.

He was my everything, but I was never his.

Because of this man who only learned to love me after I died.

It’s a cruel irony, but I can finally accept it.

And I can't help but wonder—is his pain now really for me, or for the gentle care I gave him all those years?

Maybe he misses the comfort, the routine, the certainty. Maybe he never really saw me at all.

For some reason, I suddenly remember buying flowers when I was alive. I loved spray roses.

The florist always said: "These buds will never bloom. No matter how much you feed them, they'll just drain the blooming flowers. Cut them off, and the rest will thrive."

I thought she was wrong, but she was right. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

But I didn't believe it, stubbornly waiting for the buds to bloom. But they never did, and my roses always withered in two days.

I kept hoping, kept waiting. But hope isn’t always enough.

Later, I tried cutting off the buds, and the rest did bloom better and lasted longer.

Sometimes, you have to let go of what’s holding you back to let the rest of you thrive.

Now I realize—I need to cut Mason out of my life.

It’s the only way to move on, to find peace.

I look at him, feeling a calm I've never known.

For the first time, I see him clearly—not as a lover, but as a lesson.

For the first time, I look at him without emotion.

No sadness, no anger, no resentment, no humility.

I feel free, weightless, unburdened.

My body gradually becomes transparent, fading away. I remember people say the dead can appear in dreams, but I think there's nothing left to say to Mason.

He’ll have to find his own way. I can’t help him anymore.

His pain is his own karma, his consequence to bear.

He made his choices, and now he has to live with them.

How he gets through it is his business. I don't want to hold an umbrella for him anymore.

I spent too long sheltering him from the storm. Now, it’s time to find my own sunshine.

I'm tired.

So tired. But for the first time, I feel hopeful.

I think, let it be.

Let the past stay in the past. Let the wounds heal.

I want to start a new and better life.

A life where I’m loved, where I’m enough, just as I am.

Goodbye, Mason.

I whisper it softly, letting the words drift away on the wind. And then, finally, I let go.