24 Sep The Tragedy at Lake Newell

Part I

I remember everything about that day at Lake Newell. The way the sun gleamed off the water, the shouts of laughter echoing through the park, and the bright colors of picnic blankets sprawled across the grass. It was supposed to be a perfect day—the last family outing of the summer before school started again. I was looking forward to it, even though I’d never been big on family picnics. But that day… that day was different.

Tom had been excited since we pulled into the parking lot, practically bouncing out of the car as soon as the doors unlocked. He was always like that—full of energy, always smiling. It was hard not to get swept up in his enthusiasm. As the youngest of our cousins, he had a way of making everything feel more alive, like seeing the world through a different lens. When he darted off toward the shore with his flip-flops slapping against his heels, I knew I’d be spending the day chasing after him, just like always.

“Tom, wait up!” I called, but he didn’t stop, his small figure already disappearing among the other kids running along the beach. I shook my head and jogged after him, trying to keep him in sight. The lake was crowded that day, the shore dotted with families, children, and couples lounging on blankets or grilling hot dogs. It felt safe, like nothing bad could ever happen in a place like this.

By the time I reached the shoreline, Tom was already at the water’s edge, kicking up sand as he waded into the shallows. He turned and waved at me, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Stay where I can see you,” I called, stopping a few feet short of the water. I hated how protective I sounded, but I couldn’t help it. He was just a kid—a kid who couldn’t swim well, no matter how much he begged to go in deeper.

“I’m fine, Ellie,” he insisted, rolling his eyes in that way only an 11-year-old can. He stuck out his tongue, then splashed around a little, staying close to the shore. “See? I’m not even going past the line.” He gestured to the faded rope that marked the end of the shallow area, where the lifeguards usually set up their posts on busy weekends. Today, though, the rope just sagged there, useless and unattended.

I glanced around uneasily, noticing that most of the lifeguards were focused on a group of rowdy teenagers farther down the beach. I made a mental note to keep an eye on Tom. He loved testing boundaries, and the last thing we needed was for him to drift into deeper water without anyone noticing.

“Okay, but no going out past your waist,” I said firmly, squinting against the sunlight that reflected off the lake’s surface. “Promise?”

“Promise!” Tom called back, then promptly turned and splashed farther out, his shorts already soaked and clinging to his skinny legs. I sighed, shaking my head. Watching him play, I could almost forget my worries, almost relax into the laughter and sunlight. It was a good day—a perfect day, really. If only I’d known what was coming.

The rest of the family was scattered around the picnic area, setting up food and drinks. My mom and Aunt Sarah were fussing over the grill, arguing about whether the hot dogs were done, while my dad and Uncle James talked football, gesturing wildly as they debated their fantasy league picks. The air smelled of charcoal and sunscreen, and the breeze off the lake was cool against my skin. I sat down on the edge of our blanket, keeping one eye on Tom and the other on my phone as I scrolled through a stream of mindless updates.

Every so often, I’d glance up, making sure I could still see his dark hair bobbing above the water. He’d dip his head under for a few seconds, then pop back up, shaking his head like a wet puppy. Once or twice, I caught his eye, and he’d wave again, a cheeky smile on his face. It made me laugh, but there was always a part of me that stayed on edge. Just a small part—a whisper in the back of my mind telling me not to let him out of my sight. But I did.

“Ellie, come help me with these skewers!” Mom called from the picnic table, snapping me out of my thoughts. I hesitated, glancing back at the water.

“Tom, stay where I can see you!” I shouted. He didn’t answer, but I saw him splash closer to a group of kids who were building a sandcastle on the shore. Reluctantly, I stood and turned away.

“I’m coming,” I grumbled, heading over to the picnic table. The adults were bustling around, setting out plastic plates and napkins, talking and laughing. It was loud, chaotic, and for a few minutes, I got lost in the commotion, handing skewers and running back and forth to the cooler.

When I finally looked back, Tom was gone.

It happened so quickly. One second, he was there—his head bobbing in the water, his laughter carrying over the lake—and the next, he wasn’t. I squinted, scanning the beach, the water, the groups of kids playing along the shore, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Tom?” I called, my voice sharp with sudden fear. I stepped closer to the water’s edge, craning my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dark hair. “Tom!”

The lake seemed to stretch out forever, the water glittering innocently in the afternoon light. I ran along the shore, my eyes darting from one group of children to another, my heart pounding. Where was he? He couldn’t have gone far. He couldn’t.

“Have you seen Tom?” I asked a little girl digging in the sand. She looked up at me with wide eyes and shook her head. Panic clawed at my throat as I turned back to the picnic area.

“Mom!” I shouted, my voice high and desperate. “I can’t find Tom!”

Everything seemed to slow down as my words registered. The adults turned, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm. Aunt Sarah dropped the plate she was holding, her face paling.

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” she demanded, already rushing toward the shore. I stumbled after her, scanning the water, the beach, everywhere.

“He was just here,” I stammered, feeling sick. “He was right here. I—”

“Tom!” Aunt Sarah screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth as she sprinted along the shoreline. “Tom, where are you?”

My stomach dropped as the realization hit me like a wave of ice water: Tom was gone. One second, I’d looked away. One second, I’d let my guard down. And now, he was nowhere.

Part II

The chaos that followed was a blur of shouts and frantic movement. My aunt and uncle ran up and down the shore, calling Tom’s name over and over again, their voices rising in pitch with each unanswered shout. Family members scattered, searching the picnic area, the playground, the parking lot—anywhere he might have wandered off to. But there was no sign of him.

I ran with them, my heart hammering, my throat dry as sandpaper. Every few seconds, I’d turn and look at the water, feeling an icy dread creeping up my spine. The lake looked the same as it always did—calm, inviting, glistening under the late afternoon sun. But now, it seemed different. The water’s surface shimmered mockingly, as if hiding a secret.

“Tom!” I screamed, ignoring the stares of strangers. I tore through the crowd, pushing past families packing up their picnics and kids with dripping ice cream cones. “Tom, where are you?”

“Maybe he’s hiding somewhere,” Dad said, but his voice was tight with worry. He jogged alongside me, his eyes scanning the clusters of people lounging on the sand. “Kids do that sometimes, right? They hide to get attention.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” I insisted, swallowing back the panic that threatened to choke me. Tom wasn’t a mischievous kid—he liked to show off, sure, but he’d never go far without telling someone. Especially me.

“Ellie, come look over here!” my cousin Megan called, waving frantically from the playground. “Maybe he’s on the slides.”

I ran over, nearly tripping on the hem of my jeans, but there was no one on the playground but a few toddlers toddling around under the watchful eyes of their parents. I turned in a slow circle, scanning the park, my eyes darting back to the lake again and again.

“No, no, no, no…” I muttered under my breath. This couldn’t be happening. It was just a stupid game of hide-and-seek. Any second now, he’d pop out from behind a tree, giggling like he always did, and I’d yell at him for scaring me. But deep down, I knew. Something was wrong. Tom wouldn’t hide like this. Not for this long. Not with everyone screaming his name.

“Ellie!” My mom’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp with fear. She was standing by the water’s edge, her phone pressed to her ear. “I’m calling 911. I want you to stay here, okay?”

“What if he’s in the lake?” I blurted out, my voice breaking. I pointed to the water, my hand shaking. “What if he—what if he went out too far and—”

“Don’t say that!” Mom snapped, then softened. She reached out, gripping my shoulders, her gaze piercing. “We’re going to find him, okay? He’s around here somewhere. Just stay with your dad, and don’t leave the shoreline.”

But I could see it in her eyes: the fear, the doubt. And that was when the dread in my chest turned to something darker—something heavy and suffocating that settled like a stone in my gut. My gaze drifted back to the lake, to the soft ripples where Tom had been playing just minutes ago.

“Please, please be okay,” I whispered, barely aware of the tears burning down my cheeks.

The next few minutes were a blur. Mom was shouting into the phone, giving the dispatcher every detail she could think of: Tom’s height, his weight, his dark hair, the blue Spider-Man swim trunks he loved so much. I could hear her voice shaking as she begged for help, her gaze never leaving the water.

“Six years old? Is that what you said?” the dispatcher asked.

“No, eleven,” Mom corrected, her voice breaking. “He’s eleven, but he’s small for his age. He—he looks younger. Please, you have to send someone right away. He’s been missing for—” She glanced at her watch, and I saw her face go pale. “It’s been over twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. My heart stuttered. Had it really been that long? It felt like seconds. A few frantic seconds since I’d looked away, since I’d turned my back on him for one careless moment.

“They’re sending a team,” Mom said quietly, lowering the phone. She looked around, her eyes wild and desperate. “Where’s Sarah?”

I followed her gaze and saw Aunt Sarah stumbling along the shoreline, her face white as a sheet. She was clutching Tom’s towel—crumpled and still damp from when he’d been splashing around just a little while ago. It looked so small in her hands, so fragile.

“Tom!” she screamed, her voice raw and ragged. “Tom, please answer me!”

Uncle James grabbed her, pulling her back as she started wading into the lake. “Sarah, stop. You can’t—”

“He’s in there!” she sobbed, struggling against him. “I know he’s in there, I can feel it. Let me go!”

“Sarah, you have to stay here,” he pleaded, his own voice shaking. “The divers are coming. They’ll find him. We can’t—” His voice broke, and for a moment, I saw the same terror in his eyes that I felt in my own chest.

I stumbled back, clutching my arms around myself, my mind spinning. This couldn’t be happening. Tom couldn’t be… gone. Not like this. He was probably hiding somewhere. He had to be. But with every second that passed, every fruitless search around the park, hope seemed to drain away, replaced by a suffocating sense of dread.

A few minutes later, the rescue teams arrived—police officers, paramedics, and a crew of divers in dark wetsuits that made my stomach twist. They moved with grim efficiency, setting up a perimeter and clearing the area around the lake. A few officers ushered us away from the water, asking if anyone had seen Tom go under, if we knew exactly where he’d been playing.

“No, no, he was just—he was right here!” Aunt Sarah cried, pointing to the shallows. “He was playing in the shallow water, and then—then I looked away, and—”

“It’s okay, ma’am,” the officer said softly, taking notes. “We’re going to find him. Just try to stay calm.”

Stay calm? How could we stay calm when Tom was out there—alone, scared, maybe hurt? My legs felt like they might give out. I stared at the water, my hands shaking, feeling like I might throw up.

“What’s happening?” a voice piped up beside me.

I turned and saw Lily—Tom’s little sister—clutching her mother’s leg, her eyes wide and confused. She couldn’t be more than five, with the same dark hair and round face as Tom. She looked up at me, and I forced a smile that felt brittle and fake.

“We’re just—um, we’re looking for Tom,” I said softly, kneeling beside her. “He… he might have gone exploring, so we’re just trying to find him.”

“Why?” she asked, frowning. “Is he hiding?”

“Yeah,” I lied, swallowing hard. “He’s… he’s hiding.”

She didn’t look convinced, but before I could say more, the divers were wading into the water, their figures dark and ominous against the shimmering lake. My heart plummeted as I watched them submerge, their faces grim.

“Please,” I whispered, hugging myself tightly. “Please find him.”

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the park. The laughter and chatter of the other families had faded away, replaced by the tense murmur of the search crews. They were moving in a wide arc, their flashlights flickering across the surface as they combed the lake.

But there was no sign of Tom. Not even a ripple.

Part III

The sun was almost gone by the time they found him.

I was standing by the shoreline, my feet buried in the sand, when I saw the first diver surface. He raised one arm and waved, a slow, deliberate signal that seemed to freeze the entire world. The lake was silent—no one spoke, no one moved. My heart clenched painfully in my chest.

Then another diver appeared, and between them, I saw a small, limp form being lifted out of the water.

“Tom!” Aunt Sarah screamed, her voice breaking the stillness. She surged forward, but Uncle James grabbed her, holding her back as she fought against him. “No, no, no, no—let me go, let me—”

I couldn’t breathe. The world tilted around me, and I felt myself stumbling forward, my legs moving without my permission. I had to see him. I had to know. The crowd parted as I pushed through, the murmurs and cries around me blending into a dull roar. All I could see was Tom—small and fragile, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his face pale and slack.

The divers lifted him onto the shore and laid him gently on the sand. His Spider-Man swim trunks were still clinging to his legs, soaked and muddy. The sight of them—of those bright red and blue shorts—made something inside me shatter. He’d been so proud of them, showing them off to everyone at the picnic that morning.

“Look, Ellie!” he’d said, tugging at the waistband and grinning up at me. “Aren’t they cool? I can swim faster now, like Spider-Man!”

“Yeah, buddy, they’re super cool,” I’d said, ruffling his hair. “But you still need to stay where I can see you, okay?”

And now…

“Tom…” I whispered, falling to my knees beside him. My hands hovered over his body, trembling, afraid to touch him. He looked so small. So still. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no flicker of movement in his eyelids. Just silence. Just emptiness.

“No, no, no…” Aunt Sarah sobbed, collapsing beside me. Her fingers dug into the sand, clutching at it as if she could somehow hold on to him, keep him from slipping away. “Please, not my baby, please—”

The paramedics pushed through the crowd, their faces set in grim, practiced lines. They knelt beside Tom, their hands moving quickly as they checked his pulse, his breathing. But I could see it in their eyes. They knew. Just like I did.

“It’s been too long,” one of them murmured softly, shaking his head. “We’ll try CPR, but—”

“Try!” Aunt Sarah shrieked, her voice raw with desperation. “Please, just try!”

The paramedics nodded and set to work, their movements swift and efficient. I watched in numb horror as they began chest compressions, their hands pressing down rhythmically on his small chest. Each push jolted his body, making his head bob slightly with every motion. It looked wrong. All of it looked so horribly, terribly wrong.

“Come on, buddy,” another of the paramedics murmured under his breath. “Come on, stay with us.”

But Tom didn’t move. He didn’t respond. His skin was pale, tinged with blue, and the water that poured from his mouth with each compression was murky and dark.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I looked up to see my mom standing beside me, her face streaked with tears. “Ellie,” she whispered, her voice tight with grief. “Sweetie, come here. You shouldn’t—”

“I have to stay,” I choked out, shrugging her off. I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t. This was my fault. I’d promised to watch him, to keep him safe. And I hadn’t. I hadn’t done anything.

The paramedics kept working, but I could see the strain in their movements, the looks they exchanged. After what felt like forever, I heard the wail of an ambulance approaching. The paramedics didn’t stop; they just lifted Tom onto a gurney, strapping him down with careful, practiced hands, as if moving him gently could somehow make a difference.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” one of them called, and I watched, paralyzed, as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Aunt Sarah tried to follow, but the paramedics blocked her path.

“Ma’am, we need space to work,” one of them said firmly. “We’ll be taking him to St. Margaret’s Hospital. You can follow behind.”

“Please,” she sobbed, clutching her husband’s arm. “Please, take care of him. Please bring him back…”

“We’ll do everything we can,” the paramedic said quietly, then slammed the doors shut.

The ambulance roared to life, its sirens piercing the night. I stood there, watching as it sped away, the lights flashing red and blue against the trees. Everything felt unreal, like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

“They’re going to save him, right?” I whispered, turning to Mom. My voice sounded small and childlike, as if it belonged to someone else.

“Ellie…” She pulled me close, her arms tight around me. “Sweetie, I—I don’t know.”

Dad was already packing up our things, moving in jerky, frantic motions. “Come on, we have to go,” he said roughly, shoving the cooler into the back of the car. “We need to be there. Let’s go.”

But before we could even gather our things, Aunt Sarah’s phone rang.

She fumbled for it, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it. “Hello?” she gasped, clutching it to her ear. “Hello, is—is he—”

I watched as the color drained from her face. She swayed, her eyes widening in horror. The phone slipped from her fingers and fell to the sand.

“No,” she whispered, staring at nothing. “No… no…”

Uncle James caught her as she crumpled, her body shaking with silent sobs. “Sarah?” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “What—what did they say?”

“He’s gone,” she breathed, her gaze unfocused, as if she couldn’t believe the words. “They—they couldn’t—”

Uncle James’s face twisted, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her as she broke down. His own shoulders shook, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. I stood there, numb, my heart hammering in my chest.

Gone. The word echoed in my head, dull and heavy. Gone.

The tears came then, hot and blinding, spilling down my face. I turned away, stumbling down the beach, needing to get away, needing to breathe. The world seemed to close in around me, suffocating, crushing.

“Ellie!” Mom called, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t face what had just happened.

Tom was gone. And I hadn’t saved him.

* * * * * *

The house was dark and still when we got home. I drifted through the front door in a daze, my eyes red and swollen, my chest tight with a pain that wouldn’t ease. Everything looked the same—our cozy living room, the pictures on the walls, the soft glow of the kitchen light. But it felt wrong. Like a dream that didn’t make sense. Or a nightmare that I couldn’t escape.

“Do you want something to eat?” Mom asked quietly, her voice thin and strained.

I shook my head, dropping my bag by the door. “No.”

“Okay,” she whispered. She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Dad, who stood by the sink, staring blankly out the window. “Maybe you should get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

But that wasn’t true. I was exhausted. I was so tired I felt like I could collapse right there on the floor and never get up again. But the thought of sleeping—of closing my eyes and seeing his face, still and lifeless—made me want to scream.

“I’m just… I’m gonna go to my room,” I murmured, turning away. My feet felt like lead as I trudged up the stairs, the silence pressing in around me.

I closed my bedroom door and stood there for a long time, staring at nothing. The darkness seemed to pulse, heavy and suffocating. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, looping back to that moment by the lake—the sight of his small body, pale and limp, being pulled from the water. The sound of Aunt Sarah’s screams. The look in Uncle James’s eyes when he realized…

I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath hitching. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t—

A soft sound broke the silence.

My eyes snapped open, my heart stuttering in my chest. It was faint—barely more than a whisper—but I knew it. A wet, sloshing sound, like something dripping onto the floor.

I turned slowly, my pulse pounding in my ears.

There, by the window, stood a small, shadowy figure.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The room seemed to tilt around me, the walls closing in. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t—

“Tom?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The figure didn’t move. It just stood there, its outline hazy and indistinct, its head cocked slightly to the side. Water dripped from its body, darkening the carpet beneath it, each drop echoing loudly in the stillness of my room.

“Tom?” I whispered again, my voice barely more than a breath.

The air around me seemed to grow colder, sharp and biting. I could see him more clearly now—the outline of his shoulders, the dark shape of his hair plastered flat against his skull. He looked… wrong. Blurred, as if I were seeing him through fogged glass. And there, just visible in the pale light from the streetlamp outside, his eyes—wide and unblinking, fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

I took a step back, my legs trembling. I should have run, should have screamed, but I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, my gaze locked with his.

“Tom,” I murmured, swallowing hard. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to—”

But the words dried up in my throat as the figure shifted. His head tilted a fraction more, as if he were listening. As if he were waiting.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt my heart stutter painfully in my chest. What did he want? Why was he here? I thought of that moment by the lake, of his pale face peering up at me from beneath the water. The emptiness in his eyes. The way he’d just… stared.

“Tom, I’m sorry,” I said again, my voice cracking. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

The figure moved.

I sucked in a breath, stumbling back as it took a slow, deliberate step forward. The carpet squelched under his bare feet, dark stains spreading outward like ink. He took another step, then another, each one slow and methodical, the water dripping from his clothes in a steady, rhythmic patter.

“Please,” I whispered, holding up a hand as if I could somehow stop him. “Please, don’t—”

But he kept coming, his gaze never leaving mine. My back hit the wall, and I pressed myself against it, my heart hammering wildly. He was so close now—close enough that I could see the water pooling around his feet, the way his hair clung to his forehead in dark, slick strands.

“Tom, what do you want?” I breathed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “What—why are you—”

He stopped.

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. He was standing just a few feet away now, his head tilted up slightly, his eyes boring into mine. For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us moved. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I could do was stare, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

And then, slowly—so slowly I almost didn’t see it—he raised one hand.

I flinched, pressing back harder against the wall. His fingers twitched, then stretched out, reaching toward me. But not in anger. Not in accusation.

It was a gesture I knew all too well. One I’d seen a thousand times before, whenever he was scared. Whenever he wanted comfort.

His hand was trembling.

“Tom…” I whispered, a lump forming in my throat. I wanted to reach out, to take his hand, to tell him everything would be okay. But I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, trapped between terror and heartbreak.

What was happening? Was this really him? Or was it something else? Something dark and twisted, wearing his face?

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. “Tom… please. Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything. I’ll—”

But he didn’t respond. He just stood there, his hand still outstretched, his eyes still locked on mine. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, until I thought I might scream.

And then, without a word, he lowered his hand.

My heart lurched painfully. For a split second, I thought he might disappear, might dissolve back into the darkness like he had at the lake. But he didn’t. He just… stood there, staring at me with those wide, empty eyes.

And then, slowly, he began to turn.

“Wait!” I cried, reaching out instinctively. But he didn’t stop. He took a step back, then another, his form blurring and fading as he moved toward the corner of the room.

“Tom, wait—please, don’t go!” I stumbled forward, my hand outstretched. “Please—”

But it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The room was empty again, the only sound the soft drip, drip, drip of water onto the carpet. I stood there, gasping for breath, my heart racing, my body trembling. What… what had just happened?

“Tom?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Tom, are you—are you still here?”

But there was no answer. No flicker of movement in the shadows. Just the faint scent of lake water, lingering in the air.

I sank to my knees, the tears spilling over, hot and bitter. What did he want? Why was he here? Was it really him, or just… something else? Something that looked like him?

“Tom…” I sobbed, clutching at my arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

Part IV

The church was packed, the pews filled with somber faces and bowed heads. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies and incense, mingling with the low murmur of hushed voices. I stood near the front, beside my parents, staring blankly at the closed casket draped in flowers. It didn’t seem real. None of it did.

People drifted in and out of focus—distant relatives, neighbors, classmates from Tom’s elementary school, each one pausing by the casket to murmur their condolences, to whisper broken words of sympathy to Aunt Sarah and Uncle James. I barely heard them. It was like I was moving through water, everything distorted and sluggish.

I glanced up at the framed picture of Tom on top of the casket. It was one of his favorites—the one where he’s beaming up at the camera, wearing his football jersey, his dark hair sticking up in wild tufts. I remembered that day. He’d been so excited, running around the yard, pretending to score touchdowns.

“He’s going to be a pro,” Uncle James had joked, ruffling Tom’s hair. “Just you wait.”

But Tom would never play football again. He’d never join the school band. He’d never get to show off his Spider-Man swim trunks, never laugh or argue or chase his little sister around the yard. Everything he was—everything he could have been—was gone.

“Ellie, sweetie, are you okay?” Mom’s voice was soft, strained. She reached out, squeezing my hand gently. I nodded, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” I whispered, though it felt like a lie. I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t even close. I hadn’t slept in days, haunted by images of his lifeless body in the sand, of his pale face staring up at me from beneath the water. And that night… the night he’d come to me…

I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Why had he appeared to me? What had he wanted? And why did I still feel like he was… here?

“Excuse me,” I murmured, stepping away from Mom. She looked up, startled, but I was already moving, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the church. I needed air. I needed space. I needed to think.

The whispers followed me as I slipped past rows of people—soft murmurs of pity and curiosity, of confusion and grief. I ignored them, keeping my gaze fixed on the exit. But as I passed the casket, I felt a strange sensation wash over me—an icy shiver that prickled down my spine, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I stopped, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I turned, staring down at the closed lid of the casket. Nothing moved. Nothing changed. But the air around me felt… different. Thicker. Heavier.

“Ellie?”

I jumped, spinning around. It was Lily, standing a few feet away, clutching her mother’s hand. Her eyes were wide and solemn, her small face pale beneath her dark hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly, tilting her head. “Why are you sad?”

“I…” I swallowed, struggling for words. What could I possibly say to her? How could I explain what I didn’t understand myself?

“I miss him,” I whispered finally, my voice trembling. “I miss Tom.”

Lily’s gaze shifted to the casket, her brow furrowing slightly. “But he’s right there,” she murmured, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s standing right next to you.”

My breath caught, my pulse spiking painfully. I glanced around, my eyes darting to the space beside me. There was no one there—just empty air, a faint draft brushing against my skin.

“What… what do you mean?” I breathed, my heart pounding.

But Lily just shrugged, her gaze drifting away, as if she’d lost interest. “He’s always there,” she said simply. “He likes to watch.”

My mouth went dry, and I felt my legs wobble beneath me. I stared at her, my chest tightening. Did she… could she really see him? Or was this just her way of coping, her way of making sense of losing her brother?

“Lily, honey, come on,” Aunt Sarah murmured, pulling her daughter gently away. She glanced at me, her face drawn and hollow. “Are you okay, Ellie? Do you need to sit down?”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I’m… I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine at all.

Aunt Sarah hesitated, her gaze lingering on me, then nodded slowly. “If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, forcing a smile. But the moment they turned away, the smile faded, replaced by a cold, creeping fear.

Lily’s words echoed in my mind: He’s right there… He likes to watch.

I turned back to the casket, my breath catching in my throat. The framed photo seemed to stare back at me, Tom’s eyes bright and mischievous. But the longer I looked, the more I felt it—the sensation of being watched, of something hovering just at the edge of my vision.

Slowly, I took a step back. Then another. My pulse was racing, my thoughts spinning in frantic, panicked circles. He was here. He was right here. But why? Why couldn’t I see him? And why was he still… waiting?

A faint sound reached my ears—so soft I almost didn’t notice it. The distant drip, drip, drip of water hitting the floor.

My heart stopped. I glanced around, searching for the source, but no one else seemed to hear it. The people around me murmured quietly, heads bowed, hands clasped in prayer. No one was looking at me. No one noticed.

But I noticed.

The sound was coming from the base of the casket.

My breath hitched, my chest tightening painfully. Slowly, I stepped forward, my gaze fixed on the polished wood. There, at the base, a small, dark stain was spreading outward—one tiny drop at a time.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be real. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. I was imagining it. I had to be.

But when I opened my eyes again, the stain was gone.

I gasped, stumbling back. My heart was racing, my mind reeling. What was happening? What did it mean? Was I losing my mind, or was it really him?

“Ellie, sweetie?” Mom’s voice broke through my thoughts, soft and worried. She was standing beside me again, her brow creased with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I—” I glanced back at the casket, my skin prickling. But the stain was gone. The air was still. Everything looked… normal.

Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t normal at all.

“I need to go home,” I whispered, turning away. “I—I need to go.”

Mom opened her mouth to protest, but I was already walking, my footsteps quick and unsteady. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine.

Part V

Back home, the house felt suffocatingly quiet.

I sat curled up on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. The funeral had drained me—physically, mentally, emotionally—but every time I tried to close my eyes, the same images flashed in my mind: Tom’s small body lying lifeless on the shore, his framed photograph on top of the casket, and that dark stain spreading at its base, like water seeping from somewhere deep and hidden. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, shivering despite the thick comforter pulled tightly around me. The house was dark and still, the only sound the occasional creak of the floorboards settling. My parents were asleep down the hall, exhausted and silent. I hadn’t told them what I’d seen—what I thought I’d seen. They wouldn’t believe me. I barely believed myself.

But something was wrong. I knew it. I could feel it, like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Tom was here. I didn’t know how, or why, but he was still… somewhere.

He likes to watch.

Lily’s words echoed in my head, sending a chill down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back the panic that threatened to swallow me whole. Was he really here, in the house? Watching me? Why? What did he want?

I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

A soft thump broke the silence.

I jerked upright, my heart lurching painfully. The sound had come from downstairs. I held my breath, straining to listen. For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then, slowly, I heard it: the faint, almost imperceptible creak of footsteps on the stairs.

My blood ran cold. I shot a glance at the clock—2:15 a.m. No one should be awake. My parents were heavy sleepers, and the only other people in the house were…

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. Tom.

I slid out of bed, my bare feet brushing against the cold hardwood floor. Every instinct screamed at me to stay put, to pull the covers over my head and pretend I hadn’t heard anything. But I couldn’t. I had to know. I had to see.

Slowly, I crept to the door, easing it open just enough to peer into the dark hallway. The floorboards outside my room gleamed faintly in the moonlight, empty and still. I hesitated, my heart pounding, then slipped out into the hall, my footsteps soft and silent.

I moved toward the stairs, every nerve in my body tingling with fear. The darkness seemed thicker here, pressing in around me, making it hard to see. I squinted, trying to make out the bottom of the staircase. Had I really heard something? Or was I just imagining things?

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I froze.

There, at the base of the stairs, a small, pale figure stood, half-hidden in the shadows. I sucked in a breath, my heart leaping into my throat. It was him. I knew it was him.

“Tom?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The figure shifted, stepping slightly into the pale moonlight streaming through the front window. My breath caught in my throat. It was Tom—his small frame soaked and dripping, his eyes wide and unblinking.

He didn’t say anything. He just… stared at me, his gaze intense, his head tilted slightly to the side.

“Tom,” I breathed, taking a step down. “Is it… is it really you?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But as I stared down at him, I saw it—the dark water dripping steadily from his hair, pooling around his bare feet. The same stain I’d seen at the funeral. The same cold, wet scent that lingered in the air.

“Why are you here?” I whispered, my voice tight with fear. “What… what do you want?”

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, watching me with that same blank, empty expression.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I hugged my arms around myself, trembling. This wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. He looked like Tom—he was Tom—but there was something else, something strange and unsettling about the way he stood there, so still and silent.

“Please,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a breath. “Please, just… say something.”

But he didn’t. He didn’t move. He just kept watching me, his eyes dark and empty.

And then, slowly—so slowly I almost didn’t see it—he raised one hand.

I flinched, my heart racing. His fingers twitched, then stretched out, pointing down the hallway. I followed his gaze, my pulse pounding in my ears.

There, at the end of the hall, my bedroom door stood ajar. And from within, I saw it—a soft, pale glow, flickering faintly in the darkness.

“What…?” I breathed, taking a step back. “What is that?”

Tom didn’t answer. He just stood there, his hand still outstretched, his gaze fixed on the faint, ghostly light emanating from my room.

I turned, staring at the glow. It pulsed softly, like the steady beat of a heart, casting eerie shadows across the walls. I’d never seen anything like it. And yet, there was something familiar about it—something that tugged at the edges of my memory, sending a chill through my veins.

I glanced back at Tom, my breath hitching. He was watching me again, his eyes wide and unblinking. Waiting.

“You… want me to go in there?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. But I knew. I could feel it. He wanted me to follow him. He wanted me to see.

Slowly, I turned and took a step toward the glow, my heart pounding wildly. Each step felt like a lifetime, my body tense and shaking. I reached out, my fingers brushing against the door, and pushed it open wider.

The glow brightened, flaring up for a split second before dimming again. I took a deep breath, my pulse racing, and stepped inside.

The room was empty. Dark. But there, in the center of the floor, a wet footprint glistened faintly in the pale light.

My heart stopped. I stared down at the print, my mind spinning. The shape was distinct, the impression deep enough to show the curve of an arch, the ball of the foot. It could have only belonged to one person. Tom.

I glanced back at the doorway, my breath catching in my throat.

But he had vanished.

The hallway was empty, the shadows deep and still. There was no sign of him, no sound, no movement. Just the faint, lingering scent of lake water, hanging heavy in the air.

“Tom?” I whispered, stepping back, my pulse racing. “Tom, are you—”

A soft, ghostly whisper echoed through the room, cutting me off.

“Ellie…”

I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. The voice was faint, distorted—like a breath of wind or a ripple in water. It sent a shiver down my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Ellie…”

The glow pulsed once, then slowly faded, leaving the room dark and cold. I stood there, trembling, my mind reeling.

He was trying to tell me something. I was sure of it now. But… he was struggling, as if the effort cost him something I couldn’t see. He seemed lost and confused, his form flickering like a weak flame, unable to stay solid for long.

“Tom…” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself. “What do you want?”

But the room remained silent, the air thick and heavy. And as I stared at the empty space where he’d stood, I realized…he needed help.

The trouble was, I had no idea how to provide it.

Part VI

The next few days were a blur.

I kept expecting everything to go back to normal—to wake up and find out it had all been some terrible dream—but it never did. Tom was still gone, and the strange occurrences around the house only grew worse. Little things, at first: doors creaking open by themselves, the TV turning on in the middle of the night, the soft sound of water dripping in empty rooms. But it was the smell that got to me the most—the unmistakable scent of lake water, cold and murky, clinging to the air like an invisible presence.

Mom and Dad didn’t seem to notice. They were still caught up in their own grief, moving through the house like shadows of themselves, barely speaking to each other or to me. But I noticed. Every time I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye, every time I heard a faint whisper that sounded like my name, my heart would leap, and I’d find myself holding my breath, straining to catch some sign of him.

Tom… what are you trying to say?

But he never answered. Never showed himself the way he had that night at the bottom of the stairs. It was as if he were… fading, slipping further and further away, his presence growing weaker by the day. And yet, he was still here. I knew it. I could feel it.

And then, one night, everything changed.

I was lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, when I heard it: the faint sound of splashing water, echoing softly through the house. I shot up, my heart pounding. The sound was coming from downstairs.

I crept to my door, my breath hitching, and peered out into the dark hallway. Nothing moved. But the sound continued—a soft, rhythmic splash, splash, splash, like someone wading through shallow water.

“Tom?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

No answer. Just that steady, hypnotic splashing, growing louder by the second.

I stepped out into the hall, my pulse racing, and made my way toward the stairs. The house felt different tonight—colder, darker. The shadows seemed to shift and breathe, wrapping around me like a thick, suffocating fog. I hesitated at the top of the stairs, staring down into the murky darkness below.

And then I saw it: a soft, pale glow, flickering faintly at the bottom of the staircase.

“Tom?” I whispered again, taking a step forward. The glow brightened slightly, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

I took another step, then another, my legs trembling. The splashing grew louder, sharper, until it seemed to fill the entire house, echoing off the walls, the floors, the ceiling. My skin prickled with cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering violently.

“Tom, is that you?” I called softly.

And then, as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw him.

He stood in the center of the living room, his small frame hunched and shivering, his clothes soaked and dripping. The glow surrounded him, pulsing softly, illuminating his pale, hollow face. Water pooled around his bare feet, spreading outward in dark, rippling circles.

“Tom!” I gasped, stumbling forward. He didn’t move, didn’t react. He just stood there, staring blankly at the floor.

“Tom, what—what’s happening?” I whispered, my heart aching. “Why are you here?”

His gaze lifted slowly, his eyes locking on mine. And for the first time, I saw it—the fear in his eyes, the way his shoulders trembled as if he were struggling to hold himself together.

“Ellie…” he whispered, his voice faint and broken.

My breath caught in my throat. “Tom, I—what do you want me to do? Just tell me. I’ll do anything.”

But he just shook his head slowly, his gaze flickering to the far end of the room. I followed his gaze, my stomach twisting painfully.

And then I saw her.

A small figure—no more than six or seven—stood in the corner, half-hidden in the shadows. Her hair was dark and tangled, her face pale and ghostly. She looked… wrong, somehow. Blurred, like a reflection on the surface of the water.

My pulse stuttered. “Who… who is that?”

Tom didn’t answer. He just turned back to me, his expression twisted with pain and desperation.

“She’s going to drown,” he whispered, his voice strained. “You have to help her.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding wildly. “What? Who is she? Where—where is she?”

Tom’s gaze shifted, his eyes dark and haunted. “The lake,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “She’s at the lake.”

My stomach dropped. “Tom, I don’t—”

“She’s going to drown, Ellie,” he pleaded, his form flickering like a candle flame in the wind. “You have to save her. Please…”

The glow around him flared suddenly, bright and blinding. I threw up a hand, shielding my eyes, my heart racing. When I lowered it again, he was gone.

I staggered back, gasping for breath, my mind spinning. The room was empty, silent. No sign of Tom, no sign of the girl. Just the faint scent of lake water, lingering in the air.

“Tom!” I cried, spinning around. “Tom, come back! Please, just—”

But there was no answer. No movement. The house was dark and still, the only sound the rapid thudding of my own heartbeat.

I sank to my knees, trembling. What had just happened? Who was that girl? And what did he mean—she was going to drown? How did he know?

“Tom, please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t understand…”

But the room remained silent, empty. And deep down, I knew that he couldn’t stay. Whatever was keeping him here, whatever fragile connection he had to this world, it was weakening. He was slipping further and further away, his presence growing fainter by the day.

But there was something he needed me to do. Someone I needed to help.

“She’s at the lake,” I murmured, hugging my knees to my chest. “She’s going to drown…”

I shivered, my breath hitching. Could it be real? Could there really be someone—some thing—waiting for me at Lake Newell? And if there was… could I really save her?

I didn’t know. But I had to try. For Tom’s sake. For that little girl’s sake.

For my own.

Part VII

I felt like I was moving in a dream as I climbed out of bed, threw on my jacket, and grabbed my bike. The house was silent, the shadows thick and heavy, but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. If I stopped now—if I hesitated—I knew I’d lose my nerve.

Tom’s words echoed in my mind: “She’s going to drown… You have to save her.”

My hands shook as I wheeled my bike quietly down the driveway. The air was cold and still, the moon hanging low in the sky. I glanced back at the dark windows of my house one last time, then swung my leg over the seat and took off down the street.

The ride to Lake Newell was a blur. The empty streets whizzed past, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows across the pavement. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath clouding in the chilly night air. I pedaled faster, the wind whipping through my hair. The dark shapes of the houses and trees seemed to merge into a single, endless stretch of darkness. But I couldn’t slow down. Not now.

As I neared the lake, the faint sound of water lapping against the shore reached my ears. I skidded to a stop, breathless and trembling, and leaned my bike against a tree. The park was deserted, the sand pale and empty under the moonlight. I shivered, hugging my jacket closer around me. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting.

“Tom?” I called softly, my voice trembling. “Are you here?”

No answer. Just the soft whisper of the wind through the trees, the distant creak of a swinging sign by the lake entrance. But I could feel it—something drawing me forward, tugging at me like an invisible thread. I swallowed hard and started toward the shoreline, my shoes sinking into the soft sand.

The water was smooth and dark, the moonlight casting eerie reflections across its surface. I took a deep breath, scanning the shoreline. The campground on the opposite bank was quiet, its flickering campfires just visible through the trees. I knew that campground—knew it was mostly families and kids on summer weekends like this one. But why would a little girl be out here alone at this hour?

And then, I saw her.

She was at the far end of a narrow wooden dock, chasing fireflies.

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. The girl was small, no more than six or seven, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders. She was wearing pale pink pajamas, the kind with long sleeves and a cartoon bunny printed on the front. Her tiny feet were bare, the moonlight glinting off her toes as she skipped and darted after the glowing insects. A small laugh escaped her lips as she caught one in her cupped hands, holding it close to her face, the bright light illuminating her wide, delighted eyes.

What was she doing out here? It was the middle of the night! I took a step forward, squinting through the darkness.

“She must have gotten out of bed,” I murmured to myself, my heart racing. “Chasing fireflies… her parents probably don’t even know she’s gone…”

Panic surged through me. She was too far out—too close to the edge of the dock. One wrong step, and she’d fall right into the deep water.

“Hey!” I shouted, my voice high and desperate. “Hey, wait! Don’t go any further!”

But she didn’t seem to hear me. She just laughed again, shaking the firefly free and watching it flit away. She took a step closer to the edge, reaching out with both hands, her gaze fixed on the glowing insects swirling around her.

“Stop!” I screamed, breaking into a run. “Please, stop!”

But it was too late.

I watched, helpless, as she took one more step—and slipped.

Her small body hit the water with a soft splash, the sound carrying eerily through the stillness of the night. My breath caught in my throat. I skidded to a stop at the edge of the dock, staring down into the dark, rippling water.

“No!” I gasped, dropping to my knees. “No, no, no…”

The girl’s pale face bobbed to the surface for a split second, her eyes wide and terrified, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Then she disappeared, pulled under by the icy grip of the lake.

Panic surged through me. Without thinking, I kicked off my shoes and dove in after her.

The water was shockingly cold, closing around me like a vise. I gasped, the breath knocked from my lungs, and kicked hard, forcing myself deeper. The murky water stung my eyes, blinding me. I reached out, my fingers groping desperately in the darkness, searching for any sign of her.

Come on… please… where are you?

And then I felt it—a small hand, brushing against mine.

I grabbed it, my heart leaping. The girl’s hand was slippery and cold, her fingers limp in my grasp. I kicked hard, pulling her close, my lungs burning with the effort. She was heavier than I’d expected, her small body weighed down by the waterlogged pajamas. But I couldn’t let go. I wouldn’t.

I kicked again, harder this time, and felt us break the surface. I gasped, sucking in a mouthful of cold air, and tightened my grip on the girl. She was coughing weakly, her eyes wide and frightened. I wrapped my arm around her, keeping her head above water, and started kicking toward the shore.

“It’s okay,” I panted, my voice hoarse. “I’ve got you. Just—just hold on.”

The swim back was only fifty or sixty feet, but it felt like an eternity. The water tugged at me, pulling me down, the cold sapping my strength. I struggled to keep moving, my muscles screaming in protest. I could barely see the shoreline, the dark outline of the trees blurring in and out of focus. But I kept going, my pulse pounding, my lungs burning.

Finally, I felt the soft sand beneath my feet. I staggered forward, dragging the girl onto the shore. We collapsed in a heap, gasping and shivering, our clothes soaked and heavy. I cradled her small form, my chest heaving, and looked down at her pale, tear-streaked face.

“You’re okay,” I whispered, brushing a strand of wet hair from her forehead. “You’re safe now.”

She blinked up at me, her eyes wide and bewildered. She was shaking, her tiny body trembling violently. I pulled her closer, trying to warm her, my own body shivering uncontrollably.

“Wh—where’s your family?” I asked softly, glancing back across the lake. “Are they at the campground?”

The girl nodded weakly, her gaze drifting back to the dark water. “I—I was chasing the fireflies,” she whispered, her voice small and broken. “I—I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to catch one…”

Tears pricked at my eyes, and I hugged her tighter. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “You’re okay.”

“Aubrey! Where are you?” A man’s voice, desperate and panicked, echoed from across the campground.

“Aubrey!” A woman’s voice joined his, her tone shrill and trembling. “Please, answer us!”

My head snapped up. “Over here!” I shouted, my voice hoarse and ragged. “She’s over here!”

The voices stopped. Then I heard them calling back, closer now, their footsteps pounding against the sand. I turned to the girl—Aubrey—and gave her a weak smile.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “Your mom and dad are coming.”

A moment later, a man and woman burst out of the darkness, stumbling to a stop as they spotted us. “Oh my God,” the woman gasped, dropping to her knees beside Aubrey. “Aubrey, baby, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Aubrey shook her head, her face crumpling. “I—I’m okay,” she whispered, clinging to her mother’s arm. “I’m okay, Mommy…”

The man turned to me, his face pale and stricken. “Did you… did you save her?”

I nodded weakly, my whole body trembling. “She… she fell in. I—I just pulled her out…”

His face twisted with emotion, and he reached out, gripping my arm. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick. “Thank you so much.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the world swayed around me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the sand, my limbs numb and heavy. I heard the parents’ frantic voices, felt their hands on my shoulders, but I couldn’t focus. Everything was spinning, blurring…

And then, through the haze, I saw him.

Tom stood at the water’s edge, his form faint and wavering, watching us with that same calm, distant gaze.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly.

I blinked, tears blurring my vision. “Tom, I—”

But he was already fading, his form dissolving into the mist, melting away like smoke.

“Tom!” I tried to call out, but my voice was too weak. “No, wait—please!”

But he was gone.

And this time, I knew he wasn’t coming back.

Part VIII

The house was dark and quiet when I finally got home.

My parents had already gone to bed. I slipped in through the front door, still shivering from the chill of the lake water, my limbs sore and heavy with exhaustion. The events of the night blurred together in my mind—the frantic ride to the lake, the panic when I saw the little girl fall in, the icy water closing around me as I fought to pull her back to shore.

And Tom. Tom standing at the water’s edge, his ghostly form watching me with those calm, solemn eyes.

I hung my jacket on the back of a chair, the fabric still damp and smelling faintly of lake water, and wandered into the living room. The house felt strange tonight—quiet, but not empty. The lingering weight I’d carried for weeks seemed lighter, as if something inside me had finally loosened, freeing me from its grip.

But it wasn’t just me. The entire house felt different. Warmer. Lighter.

Tom was really gone.

I sank onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I’d saved the little girl. I’d done what he’d wanted—what he’d needed me to do. And now, finally, he was at peace.

But it hurt. It hurt so much more than I’d expected.

A soft, almost imperceptible breeze brushed past me, stirring the curtains. I looked up, my heart skipping a beat. There, on the wall opposite the couch, a framed photograph of Tom—taken last summer at his birthday party—seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight. He was grinning, his eyes bright with laughter, his hair sticking up in wild tufts as he held up a slice of cake.

I smiled weakly, tears pricking at my eyes. Goodbye, Tom. I glanced at the empty hallway, half-expecting to see his shadowy form flickering in the dark.

But the hallway was empty. The house was still.

He was really, truly gone this time.

I leaned back, closing my eyes, my body sinking into the soft cushions. It felt strange—wrong, almost—to be relieved. But I was. I was relieved, and sad, and happy, and devastated, all at once.

Tom had needed me. He hadn’t been angry. He hadn’t blamed me. He’d just wanted to protect someone else from suffering the way he had. He’d just wanted to save her.

And I had.

The thought warmed me, a tiny spark of light in the darkness. I took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling it spread through me, filling the empty spaces that grief had hollowed out.

“Goodbye, Tom,” I whispered softly. “I’ll never forget you.”

I stood up slowly, my muscles aching, and made my way to the window. The night outside was calm, the moon casting a soft, silvery glow over the lawn. I stared out at the quiet street, the shadows of the trees swaying gently in the breeze.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt… at peace.

Tom was gone. He was free. And so was I.

I reached up, touching the glass with my fingertips, my heart aching with bittersweet sorrow.

“I love you,” I murmured. “I hope you’re happy now. I hope you… found what you were looking for.”

I turned away, the tears slipping down my cheeks, and headed upstairs. My body felt heavy, my eyes burning with exhaustion. But the weight on my chest—the suffocating, crushing guilt that had kept me awake night after night—was gone.

Tom had forgiven me. I knew that now.

As I reached my bedroom, I hesitated, glancing back at the hallway. The moonlight cast soft, silvery shadows across the floor, the air cool and still. I took a deep breath, my heart aching, and smiled.

“Goodbye,” I whispered one last time.

And then I turned out the light, crawled into bed, and, for the first time since the accident, slept soundly through the night.