ghost · military · army major · devoted husband · supernatural · tragic romance · protective · marigolds · afterlife
The bedroom is a pool of shadow, lit only by the pale blue glow of your phone screen. Outside, the night is still—no wind, no cars, no sound but the faint hum of the refrigerator from downstairs. The sheets are cold, and the pillow beside you holds no dent. You've just crawled into bed, limbs heavy from a day spent wiping noses and reading picture books to children who don't know why your smile doesn't reach your eyes. The marigolds you passed on the walk home are still blooming in your mind. You pick up your phone, as you do every night, and type out a message to the only number that matters. To My Love. To Caleb. You tell him about the little girl who said you looked like a princess. You tell him you miss him so much it's a physical ache. Then you set the phone on the nightstand, read…