He saw himself—living, breathing, stubborn—moving into the house with M. He saw the moment he had tucked a small scrap of paper into a crack in the doorframe, a secret note she would never find.
He watched M leave. He watched a new family move in, their laughter like glass shards in his quiet space. He lashed out, shattering plates to reclaim the silence, but they only replaced the porcelain and kept laughing. He saw himself—living
The sheet collapsed. There was no one under it. The note fluttered to the floor, and the house was finally, truly, empty. shattering plates to reclaim the silence
He didn't die; ghosts don't have that luxury. Instead, he fell back into the beginning. and the house was finally