Ghost of a Good Thing

She said, “You know why you’re doing this, don’t you? Because you can never let go otherwise.” But he just closed his eyes and looked away, pretending not to see her. She persisted, but never touched him. “Years and years of devotion. I love you. We had vows. And now, you can’t even look at me. Because you will never let it go.”

She won’t let me, he thought, but merely shook his head, continuing to ignore her golden hair and piercing gray gaze. He collected his papers and licked his chapped lips, straightening his tie.

“You can’t do this,” she begged. “Please. This is our home. Our life. I lived and died in that house. Gordon, please, you love it like I do. I just want to go home again, Gordon. If you do this, I won’t have anywhere to go.”

The sooner I do this, the sooner she will be gone, and the sooner I can mend the pieces of the soul she shattered, he thought. He took a deep breath and smiled, straightening up in his chair.

She touched him and he felt her ice cold hand on his. “Gordon, you can’t do this to me, to us. We’re supposed to be together forever. Forever is a long time.”

For an instant, he remembered her, how she used to be, young, sweet, free, alive. He remembered the house, the first time he carried her over the threshold, the first time they made love on their bedroom floor because they hadn’t moved in yet, and the time he came home and found her motionless with glass eyes on the couch, staring at something he would never see. And that was all he needed.

He yanked his arm away from her, stood up abruptly and threw the papers down on the table. The men looked at him curiously.

“Burn it to the ground,” he said and left the room.