Chapter 2

Months passed. Six of them.

The sharp edges of grief had dulled a little, replaced by a persistent ache.

My sister, Sarah, finally convinced me to get out of the apartment.

"There' s that small music festival in Fredericksburg this weekend, remember? Mark and Jay used to play it every year. Fresh air, Emily. You need it."

Mark Davis. Jay' s best friend, their band' s lead guitarist, also gone now, a heart attack two years prior. Chloe, his widow, had drifted away after Mark' s death.

The thought of the festival brought a pang, but Sarah was right. I needed air.

Fredericksburg was quaint, the music a gentle hum in the background.

We wandered between small stages, the sun warm on my face.

Then I heard it. A voice.

A melody that was achingly familiar, one of Jay' s unfinished songs.

I stopped, my blood running cold.

It couldn' t be.

I pushed through the small crowd towards a tiny, makeshift stage tucked under some oak trees.

And there he was.

His hair was dyed a dark brown, almost black, and he wore a thick beard. Different clothes, a new stage name announced by a small sign – "Jedediah Moon."

But it was Jay.

His eyes, the way he held his guitar, the slight tilt of his head when he sang a high note.

It was him.

My breath caught in my throat. My legs felt like they would give out.

Standing beside the stage, watching him with an adoring gaze, was Chloe Davis.

And she was pregnant. Very pregnant.

The song ended. Polite applause.

Chloe stepped closer to him, handing him a bottle of water.

I was close enough to hear their low voices.

"You were great, Jed," Chloe said, her hand on his arm. Then, softer, "You don' t have to keep doing this for me, you know. You can tell Emily the truth now."

Jay – no, Jedediah – shook his head, his eyes darting around nervously before settling back on Chloe.

"No," he said, his voice unmistakably Jay' s, though huskier. "Let her believe I' m gone. It' s better this way. I promised Mark I' d look after you."

The world tilted.

Let her believe I' m gone.

It' s better this way.

Promised Mark.

My husband wasn' t dead.

He had faked his death. Abandoned me. For Chloe.

The air left my lungs. Sarah found me then, her face etched with concern.

"Emily? What' s wrong? You look like you' ve seen a ghost."

I had. A living, breathing, lying ghost.