When I woke, the world was whole again.
The walls were clean. The windows unbroken. Morning light slanted through the curtains, gold and soft, catching the dust in the air like drifting snow. The scent of coffee filled the room. Somewhere in the distance, a kettle whistled.
And then—her voice.
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
I turned.
Emma stood by the kitchen counter, her hair tied back, her red gloves resting neatly beside a steaming mug. She smiled—the same smile that had once undone me. The same warmth, the same spark in her eyes.
For a moment, I forgot everything. The fire, the screams, the years of emptiness. It was all gone. Replaced by this quiet morning and her voice calling my name.
"Hey," I murmured, my voice barely holding steady. "You're here."
"Of course I'm here." She frowned playfully. "Where else would I be?"
I stared at her—half afraid she'd vanish if I blinked. But she didn't. She moved through the room with the same easy rhythm she always had, humming under her breath, sunlight glinting in her hair.
It felt real.
Too real.
The days that followed blurred into something peaceful. We cooked breakfast together, read in the afternoons, watched storms roll over the hills. Sometimes she painted; sometimes I wrote. There was laughter again, quiet and effortless.
At night, we'd sit on the porch wrapped in blankets, watching the fireflies gather by the trees.
She'd rest her head on my shoulder and whisper, "This is what I always wanted."
And I'd nod, my heart full and breaking at the same time.
Because deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Every now and then, I'd catch glimpses of it—edges that didn't fit.
A picture on the wall that changed when I looked away.
A door that led to nowhere.
A flicker in her reflection when she passed the mirror.
Little cracks in the dream.
But I ignored them.
I had to.
Because here, in this house that wasn't quite real, I still had her.
Sometimes, when I woke in the middle of the night, I'd hear whispers from the hallway.
Soft. Distant.
Nathan… wake up.
I'd sit up, heart pounding, but the house would be silent again. Emma would be asleep beside me, breathing evenly, her hand curled against my chest.
I told myself it was nothing. Just dreams. Echoes.
But part of me knew it wasn't.
One evening, while she was painting in the studio, I walked outside. The air was strangely still, the sky frozen in a shade of twilight that never changed.
No wind.
No birds.
No sound but my own heartbeat.
I looked back at the house, and for a moment, I saw what it truly was—charred wood, broken glass, smoke still rising faintly from its ruin.
Then I blinked, and everything snapped back. The house stood perfect and whole again, Emma's laughter drifting through the open window.
I went back inside, shaking.
She turned to me, brush in hand. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just… thought I saw something."
Her smile faltered for the briefest second, then returned. "You think too much."
"I know."
"Come here."
I did. And when she kissed me, everything—the doubt, the fear, the creeping sense of wrongness—fell away.
Days passed. Or maybe weeks. Time didn't move here the way it should have.
The house had no clocks. The light outside never shifted. Every day felt like the same quiet miracle repeating itself.
And I didn't question it anymore.
I told myself I deserved this—after everything I'd lost, after everything I'd done. Maybe this was a second chance. Maybe this was peace.
But sometimes, when Emma thought I wasn't looking, she'd stare out the window with an expression I couldn't read. Sad. Distant.
"Emma?" I'd ask.
She'd smile quickly, too quickly. "Nothing. Just thinking."
About what, I never asked.
Maybe I didn't want to know.
One night, I woke to the sound of her crying.
She sat at the edge of the bed, her shoulders trembling. The air felt heavier, colder somehow.
"Emma?"
She turned, her face streaked with tears. "You shouldn't be here."
My chest tightened. "What are you talking about?"
"You have to wake up."
"What?"
"This isn't real, Nathan."
I reached for her hand. "Don't say that. Don't—"
She pulled away, shaking her head. "You built this place. You made it out of guilt and grief and memory. I tried to reach you, but you won't hear me."
I felt the ground shift beneath us. The house flickered—the light dimmed, the air filled with faint smoke.
"No," I whispered. "You're real. You're here."
She looked at me, eyes full of love and sorrow. "I'm trying to be. But every time I reach you, you pull me back in. You rewrite the ending."
The walls trembled. The scent of ash grew stronger.
"I don't understand," I said.
"You never let that night end," she said softly. "You didn't die, Nathan. You lived. But you couldn't accept that I didn't. So you came back here, again and again, building this house between us."
She reached out, her hand hovering inches from my chest. "I'm not haunting you. I'm trying to save you."
My voice broke. "I don't want to be saved."
Her lip trembled. "I know."
The fire started again—quiet at first, then roaring through the walls. The house melted into its true shape: blackened beams, charred air, the faint outline of ruin.
Emma stood in the middle of it, surrounded by flame.
"Please," she whispered. "Let me go."
I stepped toward her, shaking my head. "I can't. If I do, you'll disappear."
She smiled sadly. "No, Nathan. If you do, you'll live."
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to take her hand and walk out of that burning house, to finally face what was real.
But when she reached for me, I stepped back.
"I can't lose you again," I said, voice breaking.
"Not again."
Her eyes filled with tears, but she nodded—understanding, forgiving, infinite.
"Then I'll stay," she whispered. "As long as you need me."
The flames softened to light. The smoke cleared. The house rebuilt itself piece by piece.
Morning sunlight spilled across the floor again.
She smiled, that same smile I'd first fallen in love with.
"Coffee?" she asked, as if nothing had happened.
And I nodded, pretending I hadn't heard the faint echo still whispering at the back of my mind—
the voice that wasn't hers, calling softly through the illusion.
Nathan… wake up.