Twenty-Six (Part 2)

**Content warning: This part of the story contains a brief mentioning of child loss/miscarriage**

A lot happened during the man’s thirties.

At thirty-three years old, the man’s father had relinquished his role as CEO of the company to him. Seeing that his father was too sick to carry on in the head position, he decided to retire with dignity while still maintaining the title as the owner of the company.

When the man turned thirty-four, he found the love of his life; a woman six years younger than him who was a regular at the same bar he frequented. He had his eye on her from the first moment he saw her, and when he finally worked up the courage to approach her, he was pleasantly surprised when she told him she had felt the same way.

As they went out and got to know each other more, the ghost couldn’t help but feel like he was watching someone akin to family fall in love, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew the man had struggled with relationships up until that point. So much so, that the ghost had started to feel pity for him and the loneliness he felt. The hateful words from the woman he’d dated at his twenty-seventh birthday party had cut into him deeply, making him too afraid to open up again.

It was different with this woman, though. There was something about her that could make the man forget all of his worries and past mistakes. It was easy to push himself to become the person she knew he could be. Someone who was caring, considerate of others, and who had integrity. And because she slowly brought out this better version of him, it was also easy for the man to convince himself that this is who he truly was—a man who had all of these qualities...a good person.

But you’re not, really, are you? The ghost would remind him. No longer in a taunting or snide way, but in a way that was simply stating facts. Even though he was happy for the man to have a companion, he also saw her new presence in the man’s life for the potential it had in his quest for vengeance. She only sees you this way because you haven’t told her what you’ve done yet. If she knew the truth, she would leave you. Just like the first one did.

Six months after their first date, the man proposed to the woman. She said yes. Another six months after that, the two of them were married.

Hostility and haunting agendas aside, the ghost couldn’t help the small ounce of warmth he felt for the man as he watched him and the woman say their wedding vows to one another from the back of their venue. A teeny, immature part of him considered knocking down the wedding cake as soon as it came out like he used to, causing an old petty disruption on a joyous day. But he decided against it and let the man have this perfect moment. One where he wasn’t drowning out his thoughts with alcohol and wild nights out partying, nor was he distracting himself with his work. The man was completely present and truly content, full of a fleeting joy that graced the man very rarely. Somewhere deep down, the ghost sensed it would be one of the last times he would ever experience it in his life.

But for now, the ghost would enjoy the man’s wedding. He’d never been to one before, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

***

It had been later that night during the man's honeymoon (which the ghost had made himself scarce for a couple of hours), that it crossed the man’s mind that he should tell his wife what happened thirteen years before.

You should, the ghost encouraged. After all, marriage was about sharing everything. There should be no secrets. The man, however, hadn’t actually expected to find someone to settle down with. Now that he had, it dawned on him how he now had something to lose if he revealed his darkest secret.

The man looked at his wife, admiring the delicate beauty she was as she slept peacefully beside him. Over the last year they had gotten to know each other, he’d always felt so undeserving of the way she looked at him—so lovingly, as if he could do no wrong, and if he was wrong then he could do better the next time. He couldn’t stomach the thought of that changing. Couldn’t imagine the affection in her eyes morphing into the same horror and hatred the woman he dated before had given him.

It was that very thought that made him decide to keep his secret to himself. For now.

Someday, the man promised himself, unconvincingly, while the ghost let out a long, disgruntled sigh, already preparing for another long stretch of watching the man do everything to avoid thinking of his past. The promise the man made to himself was hollow, but it still made the man feel better.

Yes. Someday he would find the courage to tell her the truth of his past. His marriage would never be right until he did. Just not tonight. Not when everything had been so perfect and he was the happiest he had ever been. He wanted to enjoy this time just a little longer.

Well, a 'little longer' stretched on for nearly two more years. Stretched past his father dying and him officially taking over as the company owner as well as the CEO. Stretched past the age of thirty-seven when he and his wife welcomed their first child—a son.

The moment the man heard his son’s first cry, he had fallen in love with him as well as the future he envisioned of raising a family. Thus, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to tell his wife the truth. Not for a long while. Not with a child in the house. A secret like his would ruin everything, desecrating the delicate life they were building together before it could come to fruition.

He had taken over his family business. He was married to a woman who was just as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. He had a son who gave him a newfound purpose for being alive. He had a good life. One that was built on a lie, yes, but he was far too deep in it now. He couldn’t afford to lose what he had.

You’re a coward, the ghost reminded him every chance he could when the man was more vulnerable to feeling his presence. The smallest ounce of shame would flood the man each time, but that shame grew weaker with every year that passed as he repeatedly justified his actions with the same excuses.

I have a career. I have a wife. I have a son. My family is too important to me.

On a minuscule, subconscious level, it was possible that the man was not only justifying these things for himself, but was also seeking understanding from the ghost. In which, the ghost would always deny him. For he refused to let go of his own turmoil over the things he had lost because of the man.

I had a career. I could have had a wife. I had a family who was important to me too.

***

The ghost watched alongside the man as his son grew. Witnessed him say his first word, take his first steps, and grow steadily throughout the years. Even as a mere child, the ghost knew the man’s son would be the spitting image of him; tall, handsome, blonde hair and blue-eyed. The boy would be raised the same way the man had been by his own father. Wanting for nothing, getting everything handed to him with the promise that it would all be paid back in time through the family business.

Despite this, the ghost couldn’t ignore the fact that the same awe and pride the man felt for his son, he also felt. After watching the man go from an immature twenty-two year old to the calm, middle-aged father he was now, the boy almost felt like family to the ghost. He was an extension of the man, and therefore, an extension of the connection the ghost shared with him. It was a stark reminder of how enmeshed the ghost had become in the man’s life, living vicariously through him as if it was theirs to share.

Once the boy was old enough for pre-school, the man and his wife had tried for more children. Much to the ghost’s surprise, the man secretly dreamed of having a bigger family with at least three children to carry on his family name. Their first son was everything they’d hoped for. The man's wife had an easy pregnancy, very little sickness, very few complications. They imagined having another child would be just as easy.

When they had their first miscarriage it had been easily explained away by their family doctor. His wife was approaching her mid-thirties, which is usually when it becomes more difficult for women to conceive and carry to full term. Their second miscarriage, however, was harder to swallow, as it happened much later during her pregnancy. Love, hope and affection had been invested into the child that would never come. They knew the gender—another boy—and had started thinking of ideas for names early on, buying clothes, renovating a new room for him in their spacious house. All of that effort...down the drain.

It was after his wife’s third miscarriage that they became more concerned and a small voice in the back the man’s mind reminded him of all the less- than-happy things he’d experienced from time to time that he'd chalked up to be 'coincidences' or 'bad luck.' Now it was appearing to be much more than that.

There was a seed of fear planted in him that their inability to have more children was somehow his own doing. That it was the consequences of his actions finally catching up to him after years of coasting through life without answering for them. The ghost wouldn’t deny how he secretly relished in this fear the man had. It had been a long time since he had felt anything from the man regarding his death. And though he felt the tiniest bit of guilt for this, he also couldn’t help but see it as a small (as well as tragic) victory when the man and his wife decided to stop trying for more children altogether, resigned to simply pour all of their love into the son they did have.

It didn’t escape either the man or the ghost that if anything were to happen to the boy—the man’s one and only child—his family line would end there. But just like he always did, the man immediately shut down this ominous line of thinking. Not allowing himself to dwell on it and instead threw himself into the role of being the best dad he could be in order to drown out those fears.

***

Years later when the man’s son turned twenty-six, he held his breath for the entirety of that year. But it was one particular event that happened in the middle of that year that changed the trajectory of the rest of the man's life and the future he had envisioned for himself.

In the middle of that year, the man’s son told him about a road trip he was going on for his friend's bachelors party. The ghost had perked at the cold, heavyhanded dose of terror that suddenly washed through the man when his son told him he would be driving up to the cabin they were staying at. Alone.

Through choking words the man insisted to his son that he let him know when he got to his destination safely. Or he could stay on the phone with him during the whole drive. Or he could drive him there himself. They could make a day of it! His son refused the last two suggestions, which had come out more like demands, and told him that he would be fine on his own.

But as the date for the trip approached, the man would repeat himself fervently, much more than what was deemed necessary for a grown man to say to another. It had been endearing to his son at first, but that quickly turned into annoyance.

I don’t understand why you’re worrying so much all of a sudden, dad. It’s not as if I’m a still teenager. I’m twenty-six.

I know, was all the man could manage in response, not needing the reminder as his own past reckoning from long ago came back to him. His son was only twenty-six. It truly dawned on the man then just how young that was for a person to lose their life. How unnatural it felt from a parent's perspective to lose their child and the man couldn’t help but see the parallels between the ghost’s family and his own.

After experiencing the grief of three miscarriages, the man couldn’t help the past pain of his loss and the fear he'd pushed away years before now consuming him. It was as if he was bracing for the universe to deliver its ultimate blow of karma to him by taking his son’s life the very same way he had taken the ghost’s.

So on the day his son left for his road trip, determined to follow through on the plans he had already set, the man couldn’t do any but sit and worry, lest he decide to reveal to his son the truth of why he was so afraid. In the loneliest hours of that same night, while his wife slept soundly beside him, his imagination became his greatest enemy. Conjuring the worst possible scenarios in his mind in a relentless cycle until paranoia and the terror of it all completely overwhelmed him. He spent that whole night terrified that he might never hear from his son again. Terrified that the farewell he bid to him that morning might’ve been the last time he would see him alive.

Please, the man cried with the faintest desperation, his broken sobs falling on deaf ears except for the ghost who watched silently from the corner of his room. Please, not that. Anything but that. Please.

The man had become so increasingly anxious about it that even the ghost had begun to wonder if the man was having premonitions that he wasn’t seeing. Would this be the way he got his justice? Years ago the thought would have brought a twisted sense of satisfaction to the ghost, no doubt. He figured that if he couldn’t get remorse from the man, then he would get the next best thing; an eye for an eye. But for some reason, now, he found no pleasure in seeing the man like this, nor did he find any solace or restitution in the thought of the man's son dying the same way he had.

But alas, the night passed without incident. The man’s son sent him a text the very next morning letting him know he was fine and appreciated his concern. The world kept turning, and the rest of the year went by uneventfully.

***

Perhaps it was the visceral anticipation he had about his son being taken from him that gave him the push he needed. Perhaps it was because some higher power in the universe allowed his son to live that the man felt obligated to earn the gift he’d been given.

The man now had a newfound understanding and respect for the woman who had once looked him in the eye from the other side of the courtroom on the day he was deemed innocent. He would never forget the plethora of emotions and unspoken words that lingered in her gaze, and how through it all, she had chosen to say nothing to him. The ghost’s mother had been merciful, letting him go without a fight. The man now knew that if it were to happen to his son and he were to be in her position, he wouldn’t handle it as graciously as she had back then.

It was these things that brought the man to where he was now, standing outside the entrance of Lola’s Place, the ghost standing dutifully by his side with a zeal in his eyes. Finally... finally, the man was starting to have a change of heart. He was actually taking action!

It had been easy enough for the man to track down information regarding the ghost’s family. The cafe owned by the ghost’s mother had been particularly easy, because even though the grand opening of her cafe was almost three decades ago, it had made the news as soon as the press had caught wind of who she was and the tragedy of her son's story. A quick internet search and the man was able to find out where her business was located. Seeing that her cafe was still thriving and full of customers even now, he was genuinely impressed with the life she had made for herself.

That’s my mother. Resilient as always, the ghost thought with a smirk. His smile quickly faded though as he followed the man’s gaze towards the floral shop where he spotted a silver head of hair moving amongst the bouquets of flowers and potted plants. When the ghost saw his mother for the first time since his last visit, he was taken aback by how much older his mother was. While he’d been preoccupied haunting his killer, he had lost track of all the time that passed. She was in her eighties now, and that was apparent in the frailness of her frame, the deep-seated wrinkles on her once smooth face, the slow and unhurried pace in every step she took.

Could it be? The man had thought while watching her. He had only planned on getting information about the ghost’s brother so he could reach out to him. He hadn’t actually expected to find her there, figuring she was either dead or too old to work. But even though the ghost’s mother was beyond the age of retirement, there was a tranquility in the way she she moved amongst the shop. A confidence in the way her hands, wrangled with arthritis, yet still sturdy, arranged the floral bouquets and watered the potted plants. It was clear she was in her element and enjoyed what she did, and this filled the ghost with a serenity he hadn't felt in a long time.

Now that the man knew she was there, he froze and was suddenly doubtful of his plan of reaching out to the ghost's family. He could go in and talk to her, but she most likely wouldn’t recognize him in his older years. So he’d have to introduce himself, give her the proper apology for what he did and brace for whatever reaction she may unleash on him. Seeing how at peace she looked now, he didn't want to risk disrupting that and he considered turning around to leave altogether.

Oh no you don’t, the ghost snipped. You’re not getting out of this one.

With all the energy the ghost could muster, he pushed the man into the floral shop. The man yelped, startled by the unseen force that had moved him, and barely caught himself to avoid tripping over his feet. The ghost watched his mother whip around, startled by the sound, before a strange look crossed her eyes as she caught sight of the man, unbeknownst to him. The ghost knew instantly that she recognized who he was, and if he had a heart, it would be racing wildly in his chest. He held his breath for the confrontation that would surely follow.

As soon as the man righted himself, he froze under the elderly woman’s stoic gaze. His face paled, his throat went dry and his words failed him. For a long moment the man and the ghost’s mother simply stared at each other. The air was thick with uncertainty for what would happen. To both of their surprise, the ghost’s mother was the one who made the first move.

Were you looking to buy flowers?

The man blinked at her, stunned. She raised one thin, silvery brow at his silence, and her expectant look snapped him out of his stupor.

Um…yes?

The ghost's jaw dropped, his eyes growing wide at the lie slipping so easily from the man's mouth. He forced himself to calm down and give the man a chance to make the right decision.

Oh...well, I’d be happy to help you.

Ah, yes. Of course. Thank you.

What’s the occasion?

No occasion. I just…wanted to surprise someone.

I see. Who’s the lucky lady?

The man chuckled, still dazed from the shocking turn of events.

My wife.

She showed him the selections of the day. The man half-listened to her explanation of each arrangement and the personalities they were best suited for. The ghost could feel the man's mind racing throughout the interaction, his nerves kicking into overdrive. When she turned her questions toward him, however, gently probing about his personal life, he answered every single one.

Do you and your wife have children?

Yes. A son.

How wonderful! How old is he?

…He just turned twenty-seven.

The ghost didn’t know what to make of the wisp of a smile that crossed his mother’s lips, or the gleam in her eyes as she regarded the man.

Twenty-seven is a wonderful age.

Though her words held a meaning only the two of them could understand, the ghost noted that there wasn’t any hint of malice in her tone. The man could only manage a small nod in response and they continued on with their conversation. The ghost listened as his mother told the man about her own son—his younger brother—who just celebrated his fifty-sixth birthday. The ghost, once again, had a difficult time wrapping his head around this. She talked about the beautiful grandchildren he and his wife had given her, and how they were now enjoying their life across the seas in Europe. All of this was happy news to the ghost as much as it was to the man.

Suddenly, the man didn't think it was good idea to reveal who he was after all. In fact, he now didn't think it was a good idea to do anything, including reaching out the ghost's brother like he had originally planned. The change of heart was so abrupt and resolute that it nearly gave the ghost whiplash. He looked at the man, stunned as doubt and fear poured out of him in waves. Then came the excuses. Always with the excuses!

They’ve made a good life for themselves without my apology, the man thought. What good would it do bringing up the past and reminding them of the hurt I caused?

No, the ghost seethed, watching with increasing fury as the man simply bought the arrangement his mother recommended him and gave her a nod of thanks. He could not believe this. And to make matters worse, his mother didn’t say a word about it! She simply gave the man his change, and bid him a farewell. His mother had always been a gracious person. The ghost knew this, and now the man did as well.

But he wasn’t as forgiving.

You’re a coward, the ghost thought as he followed the man back to his car. If he never got any remorse from him, then seeing him apologize to his mother, at the very least, would have sufficed.

Coward! The ghost bellowed once more as soon as the man got in the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a trembling hand as if he could feel the weight of the ghost’s wrath settling over him. Are you really gonna do this? You’re gonna take the easy way out by driving away? The same way you tried to drive away the night you killed me?!

The man faltered midway with turning the key in the ignition, his hands now shaking too much to hold them properly. His heart pounded heavily in his chest and mind raced rapidly on what he should do next. Should he go back?

YES! The ghost roared, screaming so loud that if he were alive the car would’ve shook with the sheer volume of his words. Do what you came out here to do! Apologize to her! Apologize to my brother! Do the right thing, for ONCE!

The man shook his head furiously, his chest heaving with each rapid breath he took. The ghost could feel him fighting with himself, his true emotions slipping through the cracks of the door he’d shut them behind—guilt, pain, shame—it all came out in a thin stream that the ghost savored eagerly. But it wasn’t enough. It was the bare minimum that no longer satiated him. He needed more, and in that moment he truly despised the man for not being able to give it to him.

I hate you.

The ghost had never thought these three words towards the man, not even in the very beginning when he made the decision to haunt him for the rest of his life. But right there in the car outside of his mother’s cafe, he allowed himself to feel every bit of hate he could muster and project it on the man.

You don’t deserve the life you have, the ghost went on. Your wife, your son, your success—all of it was wasted on you. You're a coward. No matter what you do, that's all you'll ever be. An evil, pathetic coward and I hate you.

Whether the man felt the ghost’s disdain for him, he couldn’t say. The man only continued holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes clenched shut, frustratingly blocking out the ghost yet again as he struggled to calm his breathing back down.

Three sudden raps on the window made both of them jump. They looked to see none other than the ghost’s mother watching the man from the other side of the door with unreadable, yet not unkind eyes. In a small jerk of her hand, she motioned for the man to roll down his window. After a brief moment of hesitation, he did.

A long and heavy silence passed between the two of them. The man cleared his throat, figuring he should be polite by speaking first. Right before he could say anything, she spoke. What she said sent a jolt of shock through both the man and the ghost.

I’m sorry? The man asked, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

I said if you want to visit him, he’s buried at Red Oaks Cemetery.

It took the man a moment to process the meaning of her words, but once he does, his eyes grow as wide as saucers. The ghost knew he had put two and two together, that she knew who he was and had known the entire time. Meaning she knew he had deliberately made the selfish choice, yet again. White-hot shame flooded him, his words failed him again, and in an act of raw panic, the man started the car and high-tailed it out of there like the devil himself was chasing him.

As they drove further away, the ghost looked back at his mother one last time, who was still standing on the side of the road watching the man’s departure. The ghost knew it could very well be the last time he may see her in his undead life. He would have given anything in that moment to know what she was thinking.

***

That very same night, the man finally told his wife the truth.

His son was grown and out of the house. The man had enjoyed almost thirty years by her side. Their marriage had lived a full life. There were no more excuses and the man knew it.

He hadn’t realized how much of a toll keeping his secret had taken on him. With every word he spoke of that night he’d made that terrible choice to get in his car, he felt as if a something was being lifted off his chest, though it still didn't remove that toll completely. Throughout the entire ordeal, his wife hadn’t spoken a single word. She only watched him with eyes that revealed nothing before finally responding.

All these years...You never told me.

I was afraid. I'm sorry.

Another thing dawned on her. Is that why you were so insistent with him last year when he went on that trip with his friends? You felt guilty?

The man’s jaw went slack, and he slowly shook his head and only managed to repeat himself.

I was just afraid.

He couldn’t admit guilt even to his own wife. The ghost rolled his eyes at how predictable it had all become before observing the man’s wife for her reaction. He noted how the contemplative silence coming from her gave the man the smallest ounce of hope. It made him start to think that, maybe, she wouldn’t hate him like the first woman did. Maybe she could look past the worst thing he’d ever done.

But then the silence continued into the next day, then the next week, and the hope he had felt morphed into anxiety of what could come. The man wasn’t sure what was worse, getting the same reaction he’d experienced the first time or this—not knowing what she was thinking or how she felt about him.

And while the ghost watched this all happen, he felt nothing. After waiting so long for a moment like this, seeing it finally unfold was…underwhelming. It confused him. It made him start to wonder what the point of all of it was. Had he wasted all this time waiting for an event that would gratify him and his need for vengeance?

Even when the man’s wife greeted him at the door with two packed suitcases and the promise to stay in touch, the ghost felt no satisfaction. It wasn’t fair.

It’s not just because of what you did back then, she had explained. That, I think I could’ve accepted eventually. I’m upset because we’ve been together for a long time. We’ve had a wonderful life, and through it all you didn't respect me enough to tell me this one, crucial detail about you. You had so much time. Yet, you never gave me the chance to make that choice for myself.

The ghost wouldn’t know how to describe what emotion the man felt in that moment he watched his wife walk out the door. It was beyond even his understanding. All he knew was that the man was back to square one. Alone with his secret. Witnessed only by the omniscient presence of the ghost who now didn’t know what to make of any of it.

***

The man who killed him made sure to wear his finest suit on the day he paid him a visit.

He brought the same flowers he’d purchased at Lola’s Place from the woman who looked him in the eye twice now, and still chose to say nothing. The petals had wilted long ago, brown and brittle after two years of holding on to them. But the man couldn’t bring himself to throw them away. So, he’d done his best to preserve them. Keeping them somewhat presentable by soaking their stems in water and exposing them to as much sunlight as possible until he eventually found the courage to bring himself to Red Oaks Cemetery.

If it was possible for spirits to have out-of-body experiences, the ghost was definitely feeling it happen right there, standing besides the man in front of his own grave. The tombstone was well-maintained, despite not having any recent visitors seeing that his mother had died peacefully in her sleep the year before and his brother had moved back to Europe not long after her funeral. Still, it was jarring knowing his body was buried just six feet under where they were standing.

The ghost’s attention was brought back to the man when he started fidgeting nervously with his hands. He watched the man shift awkwardly on his feet, looking around uncomfortably as if he didn’t know where to begin.

Hello… the man eventually started. I know this is long overdue, and…I’m regretful that it took me this long to come here. But I just wanted to tell you that…

His throat tightened and stopped whatever it was he was going to say. He took a deep breath, letting it out shakily, and tried again. What I'm trying to say...wh-what I want to say is that I'm...

His throat tightened once more, trapping the words the ghost had longed to hear for so long. The man’s eyes grew bright all of a sudden, and he pressed his one free hand—the one not holding the bouquet—against his eyes. Repressing the tears threatening to spill over. It was a sight that made the ghost reel back in shock. Throughout all the years he’d followed the man, he had only seen him cry once, and that had been for his son.

He regarded the man, then. Looking at him for what felt like the first time in years. He had been with him for so long, he almost didn’t notice the changes in him. The faint warts that were developing on the skin just below his knuckles, the overgrown grey hair and beard he rarely maintained ever since his wife left him, the deep crows feet sitting at the corner of his eyes while he struggled to get ahold of himself.

Underneath all the facial hair and the wrinkles, the ghost could still see the handsome man he used to be. The same man who celebrated with friends and family the day he was exonerated, who partied for a whole year straight afterwards, who allowed himself a few small fragments of stolen moments to remember the life he took, and who eventually fell in love, started a family and enjoyed his life even when he struggled to feel worthy of it.

At his old age, the man knew that death wasn’t that far from him. And though he’d never been religious, he began to wonder what might be waiting for him on the other side. After all, he’d never admitted he was wrong for what he did to the ghost. Had never taken any accountability at all. And had never apologized to any of the ghost’s loved ones despite having the chance.

The man had spent so many years repressing this dark secret of his, trying desperately to distance himself from it and containing emotions that he wouldn’t admit to himself most of the time. He was never forced to face the consequences of his actions, and therefore, never sought them out. It was unrealistic of him to think he would be able to come here today and absolve himself so easily after avoiding it for decades. And because he was now beginning to fear it was too late to make amends for the harm he had caused, he was uncertain if someone like him would deserve to rest in peace when his soul left this Earth.

At that moment the ghost had an epiphany. It hit him like a bullet train. He realized that what was happening right there at his gravesite—what had been happening the entire time he had haunted the man—was his justice. The only kind of justice a ghost could hope to get forty years after his death.

Even though the man had gotten off scot free in court, he still had to live with what he had done for all these years. Even though the man chose to keep the truth of his past a secret, he still had to carry the burden of that secret all on his own, and the weight of that burden was backbreaking. Relentless. Unforgiving and impossible to hold forever without repercussion or permanent damage.

That was the man’s punishment. A deceptive, slow-coming, vindictive kind of punishment that bled through the cracks of the man’s life so gradually, he didn’t notice its presence until he was already drowning in it. Only it was far too late to ask for help or forgiveness from anyone that could pull him out of its inescapable grasp. His ex-wife was now resolutely out of his life. His son didn’t look at him the same way. The ghost’s mother was dead and his brother was on the other side of the world enjoying the life he had created for himself. There was no one the man could turn towards to save him from the prison of his own making.

What a terrifying life, the ghost realized and couldn’t help the small ounce of pity and he felt for the man as he tried to imagine himself in his shoes. Because it was terrifying, never having peace of mind. Never being able to move on from the worst thing you had ever done. Always having it linger in the background, serving as a constant reminder and permanent stain on your life no matter what you’ve accomplished or how much you’ve changed or what you’ve overcompensated for in attempt to redeem yourself.

The ghost may have been forever frozen at twenty-six years old, but he had aged as well in all those years he decided to stay behind, holding on to his righteous anger. Much like the man—the now old man—the ghost had changed too, and could see things more clearly.

So, the ghost sat down in the empty space on the bench next to the man—a seemingly unconscious decision on the man’s part, leaving room for someone. For a while, they just sat together in complete silence, looking over the grave of a twenty-six year old who no longer existed. The same way the twenty-two year old who had been acquitted for his death no longer existed in the man sitting next to him. It’s with this final understanding that the ghost made a decision.

I forgive you.

The three words came easily to his mind, much easier than he ever believed it would. Perhaps it was because he had already felt this way for a long time and simply never gave himself permission to admit it. But now that he had, he meant every word.

I forgive you, he thought again with every ounce of sincerity he could project from his otherworldly form. For everything. I forgive you.

For a long moment the man didn’t move, didn’t react at all. He gave no indication that he felt the ghost’s presence or what he had just bestowed upon him. Then, out of nowhere, a broken sob ripped out of the man’s throat. Cutting through the quiet of the cemetery in a sharp noise that sent the birds above them flocking away. The man let out another hoarse cry, his shoulders shaking violently as he did so, and he sagged in his seat. Whether it was from exhaustion or relief, the ghost wasn’t sure.

With every cry he let out the ghost could feel the man’s emotions more vividly than ever, he felt more than just the man's shame. He felt the pain, the regret, the remorse and gutting self-hatred the man felt towards himself. Everything that the man had locked away in a place deep within him and every ounce of humanity he had, which the ghost once assumed didn’t exist, was coming out at last. The wall that the man had built around his heart broke apart, conveying every apology to the ghost that the man never had the courage, or strength, to say out loud.

But the ghost didn’t need an apology from the man. Not anymore. He didn’t need anything from him to let go of all the anger and hurt he’d harnessed all this time, as well as release himself from the oath he made that fateful day in court. After forty long years, both of them could finally move on.

As the minutes passed, the man’s cries eventually slowed into quiet, shaking breaths. It was then that a deep, profound sense of peace swelled within the man, and his body—whether he knew why or not—leaned toward the ghost as if to rest his head on his shoulder.