Chapter 10
On his discharge day, Andrew refused any ride home.
The media had spun the sea–plunge incident as a brief psychotic break from extreme stress. His team scrambled to contain the fallout, burying it from Trending Topics and managing the crisis—but no one could plug the black hole swallowing his heart.
He started dreaming of Emerie constantly.
In those dreams, she always stood in a halo of light, wearing that white dress, telling him: “Take one more step and I’ll vanish.”
He’d chase desperately, trying to grab her, yet each time she dissolved before his eyes.
Andrew would gasp awake drenched in sweat, chest searing with pain.
Doctors urged systematic counseling.
“I’m not sick,” he insisted.
Yet soon her voice haunted his waking hours.
While showering, he’d hear her murmur: “Too hot. Turn it colder.”
During meetings, he’d see her sketching storyboards by the window.
Entering elevators, her familiar perfume would wash over him–his grasping hand closing on empty air.
His assistant grew uneasy.
“Sir, you seem… off lately.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t gone home in five days. Your office teacup’s always steaming–since when do you drink it hot?”
“She said warmth nourishes the stomach better.”
The assistant froze. “Who?”
“Her.”
His behavior turned stranger still.
Staring blankly at walls. Muttering abruptly: “Don’t go. Please just… stop leaving.”
Whispers spread through the team: “Has he cracked?”
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Chapter 10
“Is the trauma making him lose it?”
The assistant quietly scheduled psychological evaluations.
After three sessions, the doctor wrote:
288 Vouchers.
Patient exhibits profound grief reaction, convinced deceased remains alive. Symptoms include auditory/visual halluci- nations, behavioral replication, cognitive dissonance.
The final note read:
Recommend inpatient treatment.
Andrew refused.
“I’m not ill. I truly see her.”
“She really is still here.”
At 3 a.m., he sat alone in the conference room, staring at the whiteboard where she’d once explained ending story- boards.
Softly, he pleaded: “Emerie… if you’re truly here, give me a sign. Please?”
The lights flickered abruptly.
He rose slowly, staggering forward.
“You’re still here… right?”
“You didn’t leave… right?”
“I feel you. I’ve always felt you.”
Wind moaned through the creaking door. He paused before it, hand lifting gently.
Then a woman’s voice–low, tangible–brushed his back:
“You should sleep.”
He whirled around.
Nothing.
The hallway stretched empty as daylight.
Yet in that moment, his eyes welled–finally embracing the answer he craved.
She was here.
No delusion.
No pathological projection.
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Chapter 10
Her soul had truly lingered.
That night, he slept deeply.
In dreams, Emerie sat by his bed, tucking stray hair behind his ear as she whispered:
“I didn’t leave.”
“I just couldn’t bear to go.”
“So I stayed.”
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