The dead hope inside me flickered back to life.

God, I wanted him to see the truth so badly.

I wanted him to piece together the clues and realize he still loved me.

But his lips trembled for a long time, and in the end, he said nothing.

I wasn't allergic to lotus seeds.

But in my memory, Lucy was. She'd told Neil about it more than once.

And he'd forgotten.

Did that mean some part of his heart still belonged to me?

Kent looked back and forth between us, then tugged on Neil's sleeve and whispered.

"Daddy, the one who likes warm lotus seed porridge is Mommy."

Heat rushed behind my eyes. I bit down hard on my lip and turned away.

I couldn't name what I was feeling.

Neil set the bowl down and pulled me into his arms, apologizing over and over.

"I'm sorry, Lucy... I forgot."

"Rachel used to love this. Every time she was on her period, I'd make it for her and she'd be happy for the rest of the day."

"I just haven't adjusted yet. I'm really sorry."

"Give me a little more time. I promise I'll memorize everything you like and forget Rachel completely. Okay?"

I bit through my lip and let the taste of blood sink all the way down to my heart.

Fine. Let it go.

Stop hoping. Stop torturing yourself over Neil Butler.

I leaned against his shoulder and nodded. "Don't let it happen again."

Kent wriggled over too, his little voice soft and earnest. "I'll keep an eye on Daddy from now on. I'll make sure he remembers everything about Mommy."

The two of them kept their word.

They never got "Lucy's" preferences wrong again.

After I was discharged, Neil brought me home.

In the years since my death, I'd stayed by their side as a spirit, watching over them.

I knew Neil couldn't bear to throw away anything I'd left behind. He'd kept the house exactly the way it was and refused to let anyone change a thing.

Once, Lucy had the nerve to come over uninvited and toss out the bead art project I'd been halfway through making with Kent. Neil lost his temper completely.

Afterward, he went digging through the trash himself, not caring how it looked, and sat down with Kent to piece every bead back together before returning it to its spot.

But now...

I looked around the living room.

The bead art on the entryway shelf was gone.

The vase I'd bought for the coffee table had vanished.

And the family portrait that should have been hanging on the living room wall, the one of the three of us, had been taken down.