I’ve seen ghosts since I was a kid. I couldn't speak to them, just watch. On our fifth wedding anniversary, I cooked a feast, waiting for Lyra to come home. When I looked up, I saw her ghost. She was curled up in the living room corner, her face a pale, ashen grey, staring intently at me. A chill like ice water drenched me. My hand trembled as I reached for my phone, wanting to call her. Before I could dial, the front door opened. Lyra walked in, embracing me as gently as always. "Sorry, honey, I worked late." As she held me, I heard her familiar heartbeat, warm and strong. I closed my eyes, telling myself: She’s alive. But when I opened them, the spirit in the corner was still there. My heart sank, a slow, heavy drop. If Lyra was truly gone, then who was this person wearing her skin, holding me? 1 I stared hard at Lyra’s face. I’d looked at that face for twenty years. From elementary school through high school, college to marriage, she’d been by my side every single day. Now, I was seeing a ghost, identical to her, huddled in the corner. I trembled all over, unable to make a sound for a long moment. “Antonio, what’s wrong?” She walked over, her hand gently touching my forehead. “Why are you sweating so much? Are you running a fever?” Her eyes were full of concern, her warm palm resting on my skin. I flinched, stepping back abruptly. The sudden movement knocked over the water glass on the table. Crash! Water spilled everywhere. She froze, her hand suspended in mid-air, looking at me with a bewildered, almost hurt expression. “Antonio? What’s going on?” I forced down the rising panic in my chest. If the ghost in the corner was the real her, then who was this woman in front of me? I couldn't alert her. I took a deep breath, managing to pull a strained smile onto my face. “It’s nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Come on, let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.” With that, I sat down and served myself a spare rib. She poured me a bowl of soup and then pulled a bottle of red wine from the liquor cabinet. “I’m late today, so I’ll down three glasses as an apology.” I watched the dark red liquid in the glass, then spoke, feigning indifference: “Do you remember that time in high school when you snuck some of your dad’s wine?” I watched her face intently. She paused, then chuckled. “How could I forget? You insisted on trying it, and I couldn't stop you. You ended up getting completely wasted after two glasses.” “And then?” My grip on the chopsticks tightened, a tremor running through me. “Then you threw up all over me. I took you home, and your mom smelled the booze, thought I’d gotten you drunk, and gave me an earful,” she shook her head. “I didn’t dare say you’d wanted to drink it yourself, so I just took the blame.” My heart clenched. This was a secret only the two of us knew. “What were you wearing that day?” I pressed on. “A white shirt, which you completely ruined. Took ages to wash out,” she smiled, ruffling my hair. “Why the sudden trip down memory lane?” I lowered my gaze, not answering. She even remembered that detail. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ghost in the corner still watching me, and my unease spiked again. No, it wasn't enough. I cleared my throat, shifting my gaze back to her, and spoke with a hint of awkwardness. “Today… Dad called. He said he was craving my beggar’s chicken.” She served me another rib. “Alright, I’ll make it tomorrow and take it to him.” “You’ll make it?” I looked up at her. She laughed. “Haven’t I always? You almost burned down the kitchen trying to impress my dad back then. I ended up learning to make it, and even got a few burns on my hands.” “The first time I made it, you mistook salt for sugar. You tasted it, your whole face crumpled up like a prune, but you still insisted it was delicious. I remember thinking, this guy is adorable.” “You even told my dad it was your recipe,” she shook her head. “He bragged about your cooking to everyone, and I never had the heart to expose you.” “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she patted my hand. I didn't say anything more. All the details matched up, yet the ghost was still there. Was I truly losing my mind? No, that was impossible. I'd been born with the Sight; I'd never been wrong about this before. After dinner, she tied on an apron and went into the kitchen. I followed, leaning against the doorframe, watching her closely. Her movements as she prepped the chicken, the way she rubbed in the seasonings, even the sprinkle of salt – it was all exactly as I remembered. The familiar aroma wafted from the kitchen. She turned and smiled at me. “Go sit down. It’ll be ready soon.” I didn't move. When the beggar’s chicken was placed on the table, I took a bite. The taste was spot on. “Is it good?” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling as she watched me. I nodded. “Yeah, it’s just how I remember it.” She smiled, packed the chicken, and put it in the fridge. Then she took my hand. “Alright, it’s been a long day. Let’s go get some rest.” I leaned against her, feeling her warmth through my clothes, her steady breathing brushing my ear. “Okay.” I closed my eyes. Whether you’re human or ghost, I’m going to find the truth. 2 I followed her into the bedroom. In the corner, the ghost followed too. I averted my gaze, unwilling to look any longer. Lyra made the bed, patting the pillows. “Come on, lie down. You’re tired today, get some rest.” I lay beside her. She reached out and turned off the main light, leaving only a small nightlight on the bedside table. “Antonio,” she turned to face me, “have you been troubled by something lately?” “No,” I stared at the ceiling, “just a bit tired from work.” She took my hand. “If you’re tired, take a break. I’ll take care of us.” Her palm was warm, her voice gentle. My throat tightened. Out of the corner of my eye, I again glimpsed the lonely spirit in the corner. “Do you remember this pen?” I picked up the fountain pen from the bedside table, a classic hero model, its cap slightly worn. She glanced at the pen and chuckled. “Of course I remember. I bought it for your eighteenth birthday. I saved two months’ worth of lunch money for it, bought it at the stationery shop near school. The owner said it was the last one, and I was so afraid someone else would snatch it up.” My heart tightened. She was right. “And do you remember what you wrote on the note when you gave it to me?” I pressed on. “‘You love to write, this pen is for you, Happy Birthday,’” her face flushed slightly. “Actually, I wanted to write ‘I love you,’ but I didn’t dare.” “And how did I respond?” “You didn’t. The next day, you tucked a pack of Milk Duds into my desk. I was so happy I didn’t pay attention in class all day.” I closed my eyes. All true. She pulled off the cap, pointing to the words “Waiting for you” etched on it. “I even scratched my hand with a compass trying to engrave this.” She held out her index finger, a faint mark visible on her fingertip. “So why have you never used this pen?” My voice trembled. “You said you cherished it too much, that you wanted to wait until our wedding day to use it for the invitations.” I took a deep breath, placed the pen back on the nightstand, and lay down, feigning ease. “You have an amazing memory, remembering things from so many years ago.” She smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “How could I forget anything about you?” I lowered my gaze, a thorn piercing my heart. She was right; she remembered everything. But how could she explain the ghost in the corner? I turned onto my side. “Since you have such a good memory,” I stared at her, “let me test you. Do you remember when we went to play by the river as kids?” She thought for a moment. “I remember. That summer was incredibly hot, and you insisted on trying to catch fish.” “Then you fell into the water, and I pulled you out. You were such a dork.” I watched Lyra’s face nervously, afraid of missing any subtle expression. I was the one who had fallen into the water back then, and she had pulled me out. If she agreed with my version, then she was the imposter! She paused, then suddenly tapped my forehead with her index finger. “Are you dreaming? You were the one who fell into the water, and I pulled you out. You choked on quite a bit of water and cried for ages.” I opened my mouth, unable to refute her. “Alright, then. Do you remember the first time we went to the beach?” She looked at me blankly. “We’ve never been to the beach. Did you forget? You always said you wanted to see the ocean, but we never had the time.” A chill ran through me. She was right again. I hadn’t actually been to the beach, I had only said I wanted to go. “Also, when I was little, I had a white cat named Fluffy.” My voice tightened, my tone growing a little agitated. She frowned. “You’ve never had a cat. You were scratched by one when you were twelve, so you’re afraid of them. You avoid them whenever you see one.” I couldn’t utter another word. Every single lie, she accurately saw through. “Sleep now, don’t overthink things.” She pulled the blanket over us, wrapping me in her arms. “You’ve been acting strange today.” I rested my head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Hm?” “Nothing.” I closed my eyes. She shifted, habitually draping her arm over my waist, pulling me naturally into her embrace, just like always. I opened my eyes and met the gaze of the ghost in the corner. My mind was a tangled mess. Who should I believe? 3 Days passed like this, and I was still completely lost, a heavy stone weighing down my heart. Until one morning, Lyra was adjusting her collar. She looked at me in the mirror. “Didn’t sleep well again last night?” “Nope.” I rubbed my eyes, looking exhausted. “Dreamt all night.” She turned around, her collar now perfectly straight, and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Antonio, I need to tell you something.” “Yeah?” “I booked a couples trip to the Maldives a while ago, wanting to surprise you,” she took my hand. “But something came up unexpectedly at the lab, and I can’t get away. Why don’t you go first? I’ll join you in three days.” I paused, surprised. She’d never let me travel alone before. “Why so sudden…” “You’ve been so stressed lately,” she said, smiling as she ruffled my hair. “Go relax. I’ll fly out as soon as I’m done with work.” A thought sparked in my mind. This was a perfect opportunity to test her. I nodded. “Okay.” She turned to pack, and I followed, leaning against the doorframe. She pulled out my favorite shirt from the wardrobe, folding it neatly. Then she carefully placed sunscreen, a baseball cap, my usual medication, and even my preferred eye mask, one by one, into the suitcase. “It’s hot there, so pack more light clothes. Don’t catch a chill, make sure to cover up at night,” she rattled on, her hands never stopping. “You have a sensitive stomach, so I put some soda crackers in your bag. Have them if you get hungry.” I watched her busy back, my eyes stinging. She remembered even these tiny details. “Oh, and that book you wanted to read last time? I downloaded it onto your tablet. You can read it on the plane if you get bored.” She turned back and smiled at me. I lowered my gaze. The more thoughtful she was, the more I felt like a scumbag. Seeing me standing by the door, frozen for so long, Lyra waved her hand in front of my face. “Alright, stop dawdling,” she zipped up the suitcase. “I’ll drive you to the airport.” She came and took my hand, pulling me out the door. I glanced back at the spirit in the corner and saw she hadn't followed, letting out a silent sigh of relief. Good. It must just be my imagination. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. All the way to the airport, Lyra held my hand, making intermittent small talk. I stared out the window, my mind a chaotic mess. At the airport, she helped me check my luggage and then tucked the boarding pass into my hand. “Call me when you land.” “Okay.” She hugged me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Have fun.” I walked towards security, then turned back. She stood outside the glass doors, waving at me. My nose stung. She was so wonderful, and yet I’d been doubting her all this time. I closed my eyes, silently vowing: This is the last time. I’ll never doubt her again. Once on the plane, I specifically chose a window seat. After takeoff, I gazed out the window, still seeing no sign of the ghost. The heavy stone in my heart finally lifted. It seemed I needed to schedule a check-up soon. Forcing down the lingering unease, I opened the book she had downloaded for me, letting it distract me. Upon landing, I immediately pulled out my phone and sent her a message: “Arrived safely, don’t worry.” She replied instantly: “Have a great time, waiting for you.” I stared at the screen and smiled. 4 The scenery in the Maldives was breathtaking. Every day, I sent her photos – the beach, the sunset, palm trees. She replied instantly to each one, her tone as gentle as ever. During our video call that evening, she was lounging on the sofa, bathed in warm, yellow light. “Where did you go today?” “Went diving,” I said, sprawling on the bed. “When are you coming? It’s no fun alone.” “Soon, soon,” she chuckled. “Didn’t you always want to see the Maldives? You said we had to come here for our honeymoon, I remember that.” I paused. I’d said that casually in college; I’d almost forgotten. “You still remember?” “I told you, how could I forget anything about you?” Her eyes sparkled. My nose stung with emotion. She stood up to get water, and the phone camera jostled. In that split second, I saw a blurry shadow standing in the hallway behind her. The ghost had reappeared. It was staring intently at Lyra, its expression hostile. A cold dread seeped into my bones. “Antonio? What’s wrong?” She returned with her glass of water. “Bad signal,” I forced a smile. “I’m a bit tired today, I’ll hang up.” After ending the call, I tremblingly opened a flight booking app. The next available flight was in three hours. Before boarding, I dialed her number. No answer. My heart plummeted. She never missed my calls! When I landed, it was past midnight. I rushed home. The lights were off. She wasn’t there, and neither was the ghost. I checked her phone’s location, only to find she was at a hospital. I ran out like a madman. The hospital corridor stretched long, the white lights glaring. I found the ward; the door was ajar. She wasn't inside. But the ghost was standing by the bedside, looking down at the person on the bed. I drew closer. Lying on the bed was someone with a pale face, eyes closed, tubes everywhere. It was Lyra. I trembled, covering my mouth, barely stifling a cry. Just then, footsteps and voices echoed from the end of the corridor. “Dr. Lee, how’s the patient?” It was Lyra’s voice. “Still the same.” Closer and closer. My body felt nailed to the spot, unable to move. I could only stiffly turn my head. And there, coming into view, was a face identical to hers.
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