Chapter 3

3

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at Beckett's side.

Except, I was looking at two people tangled together on the bed.

My fingers twitched, and a lump formed in my throat, making it impossible to breathe.

Vivian tilted her head back, smiling mockingly. "Aren't you afraid that dog Lyra actually died in that room?"

Beckett frowned, then leaned down to kiss her neck.

"If she's dead, she's dead. I've been wishing she'd disappear for years."

Vivian let out a soft giggle.

It felt like an invisible hand had slapped me across the face.

I clenched my ghostly fists, wishing for the first time that I was truly deaf.

Suddenly, there was a loud CRASH.

Beckett stopped what he was doing and looked toward the wall.

Our wedding photo had somehow fallen to the floor.

Vivian pushed him away, her face souring. "Forget it. Let's finish this later."

As Vivian left the room, Beckett frustratedly ran a hand through his hair.

He walked over to the fallen photo and stepped on the glass frame, pressing down until it shattered.

"You're such a curse, Lyra. Even your things disgust me. Are you trying to annoy me even now?"

A crack spread through the middle of the photo, separating him from me.

As the glass broke, something inside me finally snapped too.

I laughed bitterly. I was already dead, and yet even my memory was an eyesore to him.

When Vivian returned to the room, she was carrying a birthday cake.

"Happy birthday. I got this specifically for you."

Beckett's face stiffened. It took him a long time to force a smile.

He never celebrated his birthday, and he never ate cake.

When he was a child, his parents died in a car accident while on their way to buy him a birthday treat.

Since then, this day had been his greatest trigger.

As Vivian held a piece of cake to his lips, I held my breath, staring at him.

I saw the clear resistance and pain in his eyes.

But a moment later, he opened his mouth and submissively ate the cake.

I closed my eyes, trying to swallow the bitterness in my soul.

The first year we were together, I spent two weeks preparing for his birthday, hand-making a cake from scratch.

But when he saw it, he slapped me across the face.

He threw the cake on the floor and warned me that if he ever saw a cake again, he'd pull the plug on my mother's ventilator.

That night, I knelt on the floor, picking up the cream bit by bit, just like I was picking up the pieces of my broken heart.

I told myself it was fine. He was just traumatized.

I thought that one day, I would be the one to heal him.

But now I realized it wasn't about the trauma. It was about the person.

I wasn't Vivian Vance. I was just her shadow.

I would never be the one he compromised for.