Stars sink, moon sets—no more thoughts of you

The night air on the top deck carried that briny bite you only get far from shore. Somewhere below, the engines thrummed a deep, steady note you could feel in your feet. Stella’s black dress fluttered against Ethan’s legs as she held him from behind, chin resting between his shoulder blades.

“You make me happy, Star,” he said, staring at the ribbon of moonlight laid out on the water. “When I was a kid in the home, every night I’d make the same wish—to have a wife who wouldn’t hurt me, to have a family, to belong somewhere. I thought it’d never happen.” He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her. “But now? I’ve got you. And our baby. I finally have a home.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her arms tightened around him like she was weighing something. “Ethan,” she murmured, “did Gabe really… leave with someone else? Is that the truth?”

He froze. It was the kind of pause that told you exactly what someone didn’t want to say. A flash of raw panic flickered in his eyes before he shoved it down and replaced it with wounded disbelief.

“Why would you even say that?” he asked, voice cracking perfectly, the way people do when they want you to feel guilty. “You think I could lie to you about something like that? I’m not him.”

Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No,” he said sharply, then softened it with a sigh. “You’re all I’ve got, Star. If you don’t trust me…” He let the rest trail off into the night.

“I do,” she said quickly, stepping around to face him. “I do trust you. I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

He turned away, pretending to sulk, letting the tension spool out in just the right way to make her reach for him. What she didn’t see—what only I could see—were his fists, clenched so tight his knuckles looked carved from bone.

She pulled out her phone, typed something quick, then slid it back into her clutch. I caught the faint quirk at the corner of her mouth—the look of someone planning their next move.

Half an hour later, a crack split the sky. Fireworks bloomed overhead, showering the deck in bursts of red and gold. Passengers gasped and laughed, necks tilted back. Stella stepped behind Ethan, wrapped her arms around his chest, and murmured something soft, almost lost to the wind: “Don’t be mad, okay?”

I knew those words. She used to say them to me when I was stubborn, when she wanted to smooth over a fight without actually conceding. Back then, they were mine. Hearing her give them to him was like watching someone else wear your skin.

Ethan’s jaw slackened. The anger melted out of his posture. He turned and pulled her in, kissing her hairline as the next wave of fireworks lit up their silhouettes.

From the far edge of the deck, Bella’s small hand tightened around mine. “Why’s Mommy saying that to him?” she asked, her voice almost lost under the popping sky.

I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t want to, but because there was no answer she deserved to hear.

The show wound down, leaving the smell of smoke and powder clinging to the air. Couples drifted back toward the dining rooms and lounges. Stella and Ethan stayed until the last ember fizzled in the dark water.

When they returned to their suite, the door shut with the heavy click of privacy. I could’ve turned away. I could’ve spared Bella. But death doesn’t come with doors you can close, only thresholds you’re dragged across.

Their laughter spilled into the room before their bodies did. They kissed like the world outside didn’t exist. Ethan’s hands roamed; Stella’s breath quickened. I bent down, pressed my palm over Bella’s eyes, even though she couldn’t really see the way the living do.

This was the part of haunting no one talks about—not the rattling chains, not the cold drafts, but the helpless watching.

Somewhere in the middle of their fever, a knock rattled the door. It started tentative, then grew sharp and insistent. Stella snarled without looking up, “Go away!” The knocking only got louder.

With a groan, she stalked to the door, yanking it open mid-curse. Whatever she was about to say died when she saw the uniforms.

Two officers stood there, caps in hand. “Ms. Summers,” one said, holding up a badge. “East District PD. We need you to come with us. The remains we found—your ex-husband, Gabriel Winters, and your daughter—have been positively identified.”

Her face drained of color. The grip she had on the doorknob tightened until her knuckles went white. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she stepped back and let them in.

Ethan hovered behind her, a ghost of his own, pale and silent.

The ride to the station was quiet except for the low murmur of the officers’ radios. Stella stared straight ahead, every muscle in her jaw tight. Ethan sat beside her, hands clasped so tightly in his lap that the tendons stood out like wires.

In the morgue, the air smelled like antiseptic and cold metal. Two shapes lay under white sheets on the steel tables. When the coroner pulled them back, what was left of our faces wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Stella’s knees buckled. She clung to the nearest table, eyes wide, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, that’s not them. That can’t be them.”

The coroner’s voice was low, careful. “Three years in the ground. We’ve confirmed through DNA. It’s them, Ms. Summers. I’m sorry.”

Her lips moved like she was praying, but the words came out as something else entirely: “No. No, he left me. He took her and he left. They can’t be—” The rest dissolved into a sob that bent her double.

I stood at the far wall, Bella’s hand still in mine, watching the woman who’d once promised us forever unravel piece by piece.

And Ethan? Ethan kept his eyes on the floor, as if the truth might swallow him whole if he met anyone’s gaze.