Evelyn

In another world, Evelyn was gone.

No body to bury. No casket to touch. Just a broken windshield, a police report, and half a necklace. Rowan remembered the taste of metal when he screamed. The sirens. The empty quiet that followed.

But here—she was alive. Humming softly in the kitchen while sunlight spilled across her hair.

Rowan stood frozen in the doorway, coffee forgotten, heart pounding. Somehow, impossibly, the world had rewound itself and left him in a place where Evelyn still existed. He didn’t know if it was mercy or punishment.

He wanted to speak, to touch her shoulder, but the sound caught in his throat. His last memory of her was blood and glass; this one was orange juice and laughter.

He didn’t deserve it.

In his world, she’d left angry that morning. He’d told her he was too tired, too busy, that he’d come next time. If he’d gone with her, maybe the drunk driver would’ve hit him instead. Maybe she’d still be alive.

Now she was standing there again—barefoot, alive, humming.

Evelyn turned, smiling. “You okay?”

Rowan blinked. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep much.”

“Same,” she said with a laugh. “You always look like that when you don’t.”

He forced a smile. “Guess I do.”

She didn’t see the tremble in his hands or the grief hiding behind his stare. She didn’t know she was already a ghost somewhere else.

He moved closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She raised a brow. “What was that for?”

He swallowed. “Just… because.”

She laughed. “You’re weird, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

All day, he followed her like a shadow—into the garden, to the grocery store, to the window seat where she read. Everything was almost the same. The curtains were new, the fridge photo was from a beach trip they never took, but her handwriting on the sticky notes was still hers.

One note read:

Dinner tonight — your favorite pasta. Don’t be late! ❤️

His chest tightened. She deserved this version of him—the one who didn’t flinch at love or stay behind for work. But that wasn’t him. He’d lost her because of the smallest decision—to wait.

That night, he sat quietly on the bed, watching her brush her hair. He wanted to tell her everything: about the crash, the flowers he brought to the grave, the hollow ache that never left.

But the words stayed trapped.

Instead, he said softly, “You know I love you, right?”

Evelyn smiled. “Course I do. You tell me every day.”

“Yeah. But… I mean it. More than anything.”

She turned, knelt between his knees. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Just needed to say it.”

Her hands rested on his legs. “Then say it again.”

“I love you.”

She smiled. “Good. Then come to bed. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

The words sliced him open.

He followed her beneath the covers, wrapping her in his arms as if he could hold the universe still. He pressed his face into her hair, whispering every apology he never said—into her shoulder, her skin, her breath.

“You’re my heart,” he murmured. “My whole heart.”

“Always,” she mumbled, half-asleep.

Rowan closed his eyes. He felt it happening—the slow pull of sleep, the fade of this impossible world. He fought it, begged to stay a little longer, but his body betrayed him.

Sleep came like a tide.

When he opened his eyes again, the light was gray. The bed beside him was empty.

Her side was untouched.

And in his fist, clenched so tight his knuckles burned, was half a broken necklace.