“Fletcher, are you thinking about Ashley again? She left so suddenly back then… maybe she had her reasons.”
“Don’t mention her!” Fletcher gritted his teeth. “If I ever find her, I’ll skin her alive.”
Floating above them, I let out a bitter laugh.
Fletcher, I’m afraid you’ll never get your wish.
Because I died five years ago—right there on the operating table, donating bone marrow to you.
***
Whenever Fletcher came home in a foul mood, he’d lock himself in his study.
He’d take it out on the wedding photo in front of him, stabbing it over and over until it was full of holes.
“Where the hell are you hiding, Ashley? Why won’t you come out and face me?!”
His voice was hoarse as he spoke to the smiling face in the photo.
“I stood in front of the press. I have wealth you couldn’t even imagine now… why won’t you come back to me? Well…you probably know that if you did come back, I’d never let you go.”
He’d already raided his liquor cabinet, drinking himself into oblivion.
The small knife in his hand slashed the photo again and again.
From afar, the wedding photo was nothing but a sheet of holes—except for one thing: my bright, smiling face, left untouched.