Phaedra has been dead for over two hours, yet we’re still in the antique shop. I do not know the state her body is in, but the terror in me prevents me from wanting to find out. The ghosts are gone, and we are alone with the corpse of someone we thought we could trust.

The death of someone who has harmed you, who has lied to you for their own benefit, shouldn’t be something that sticks to the mind like an infection. There should be no remorse for them, for they wouldn’t have shown any for you. Yet, I am pacing in front of the window looking out onto the square, hands shaking, legs ready to give way, hoping that there will be no late passerbies.

“Natalie…” He speaks my real name for the first time in God knows how long, and it is a difficult to thing respond to. Without use, it has decayed, leaving a sour, rotten tang in my mouth. His hands cup my face, and his eyes look into mine with the desire to acknowledge the full extent of our truths. But I cannot deal with anything more now.

“What are we going to do with this store?”

“Nothing other than leave it behind.”

“Why? It can’t just sit here!”

“We have no choice! This life isn’t ours anymore! It never has been! The only way we can—“

I rush to clasp my hand over his mouth before he utters another despairing word. The rest of his sentence is muffled. I implore to him in a saddened whisper, “Can we please discuss this tomorrow?”

My chest tightens, and I know that as Gabriel gently removes my hand that I’m slowly losing him. We cannot shelve away these problems for another day. His eyes glaze with unshed tears, and he leans his forehead against mine. His next words drop onto me like heavy stones. “I’m sorry. I can’t love you right now. Not until our old lives completely return and overshadow our fake ones.”

He’s right.

He’s always right.

We sweep each and every floor, wipe every dirty window, and organize what we still can and can’t sell. We exchange our gifts from Phaedra. I now adorn his jade bangles, while he presses my amethyst pendant to his chest. He leans in for what I know is a goodbye kiss, but I turn away and take off, saying, “Let me double check and make sure we didn’t leave anything behind.”

I don’t do anything even remotely close to that. I bolt for the exit and run. Hot tears burn my eyes and I cannot see a thing, but my legs pickup pace and before I know it I’m in front of a house. The house.

It is eggshell white, just like how it was in my head. I hear the familiar ring of my mother’s laughter, and the deep baritone of my father’s.

They’re night owls. Just like me.

I gently place down my bag of stuff next to the mailbox, address chipped away to nothing. I pace myself across the concrete pathway, up the three stairs, and stand before the door, palms sweating.

My finger presses the doorbell, and the laughing stops.