Chapter 4: Exile and Rejection

I sit on the balcony, letting the cold wind whip past, watching the lights outside. The city is all glass and concrete, the hum of traffic below muffled by the double-paned glass. The emptiness after suicide slowly sweeps over me.

I think I should play some sad Spotify playlist to vent my feelings, but unfortunately, I can’t touch my phone anymore.

There’s a certain tragedy in not even being able to press play on "Tears Dry on Their Own." My hands pass through the device. The music is stuck inside, like everything else I can’t reach.

Just as I’m wondering where to wander next, my phone in the bathroom starts ringing incessantly.

The ringtone is the one I always meant to change—shrill and synthetic, echoing off the tile. I float over—it’s that wretched Derek calling.

Just two days ago, we finalized our divorce papers. He said there were still assets to divide, so I shouldn’t block him yet.

I know his character—always decisive, never dragging things out. I thought he just wanted a clean break, never to contact me again.

But now, why is he calling me so many times?

He calls my number, then Facebook Messenger, over and over, nonstop.

The notifications pile up, filling the silence like popcorn in a cheap movie theater. His name lights up the screen, over and over, like he’s trying to punch through the boundary I’ve crossed.

I’m annoyed by the noise, wondering if I can knock my phone into the bathtub.

But as a new ghost, I’m still weak and can’t touch physical objects.

So I just watch the phone ring and ring.

After more than half an hour, it finally goes quiet.

The silence feels heavier than any of his words ever did.