Chapter 3: Restless Night
I shook my wife awake, my hands clammy. "Look at this photo. What does the outline on the wall look like to you?" I whispered, phone trembling in my grip.
She squinted at the screen, her voice thick with sleep. "Mike, it’s the middle of the night. It’s just some dumb stain, okay? Let it go."
I hesitated, then pressed, "Doesn’t it look a little like Lily?"
She shot me a glare, the blue light catching the worry lines around her eyes. "Mike, seriously. It’s just a stain. Are you really doing this now?"
I was stunned, the sting of her words rooting me to the spot. "Stop thinking about it... It’s been so many years... If you have energy, think more about our son..." She rolled over, pulling the blanket to her chin, shutting me out.
I sat there, gutted. Ben’s treatments were draining us dry, and nothing was working. But my mind wouldn’t let go. That morning, years ago, I’d waited for Lily at the bottom of the stairs—because my wife had called down, wanting Lily to get some exercise. I’d waited, stupid and hopeful. Now I couldn’t let it rest.
I paced the hallway, fingers raking through my hair, the ache in my chest twisting tighter. The house was quiet except for Ben’s soft breaths. I scrolled through old photos of Lily on my phone, replaying her laughter from a saved video, desperate to hold onto her memory, to stop her from slipping away for good.