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Six Years Paying For A Ghost

Chapter 5 

Word Count: 982    |    Released on: Today at 14:07

Coope

an expensive restaurant at the top

private room with

covered with empty glasses, the wreckage o

air left for me a

lone, sat a wooden folding stool

th a dinner knife. "The waiters are slow tonight. When

stool and s

ngers at me across t

bring the

ded over the velvet box with

the lid, and let out a s

Your little girlfriend

his mouth and scrolled his phone

d stood, tapping a silver sp

ced, glowing with self-importance. "I have someth

"Oh, Kellan! Did the ne

llan smiled and glance

ritable foundation, I came acr

ive pass away recently, leaving behind a

. Social services are currently l

at Cassie and I

wo full seconds. Then Eff

ood heart! Taking in a child w

with his napkin. "This is providence.

ng tall, arranging himself into

d needs constant c

'll hand in yo

, keep the house, and raise N

to step out of the shadow of t

job and become a free full-time nanny for t

change his daughter's diapers so Kins

my throat. My f

thing, Kellan," I said f

y, plainly delighted by how agreeable I was being. "

spear of asparagus. "After everything she has

e check in a leather folder a

dred and twe

oying with an earring. "We're goin

from the stool. "The company is in the middle of an interna

waved a hand magnanimously

ll get it. Cassie can

ng on their coats, treating me like

turned around

street, flagged a cab, and rode b

was silent

shell suitcase o

y birth certificate, and the sapphir

, the big television, the clothes Kell

g room and stood at t

copy of the claims file, Kinsley's nam

had taken through the window of

round her waist, and three-year-old Nora sits

n platinum band off

pushpin from

l point went through the band and pu

e photograph, pinning the wh

up the suitcase, and walk

e key. I put it i

dor behind me, the

his spare key and open it, the way

aph on the table, and th

and hear that the num

never fin

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Six Years Paying For A Ghost
Six Years Paying For A Ghost
“That rainy night I was in a car wreck with my stepsister. Only I came out alive. Kinsley vanished in that pileup, and I became the scapegoat the whole city could point at, carrying all of it. Then yesterday, a routine audit at work turned up the truth - she never died. I followed the trail to her new address and found her living in a house with a yard. Beside her were my fiancé and their three-year-old daughter. In the children's photography studio she runs, my father and stepmother were laughing over coffee, dressed in things my salary paid for. Then the fiancé who had postponed our wedding again and again to make me "atone" walked in and bent down to kiss Kinsley. "Daddy!" the little girl crowed, and threw herself into his arms. For six years they watched me drive a car that stalled at every light and hand over eighty percent of my income every month to pay down their debts. They turned my survivor's guilt into a business. They let me believe I was a killer, and bled me dry to fund a life they could never show anyone. I didn't scream. I didn't walk in and confront them. Instead I quietly accepted the executive posting to London, liquidated every apartment in my name, and drove the engagement ring straight through Kinsley's smiling face in that photograph.”