Her perfume spread through the air... something soft and floral, the kind that lingered long after she left. My hands were trembling so hard I had to hide them behind my back.
She wandered through the hall like she was taking a trip down memory lane. When she stepped into the garden, her face lit up. “These orchids. I can’t believe he’s still growing them. They’re my favorite.”
My throat burned. I remembered Dominic misting those orchids every morning, trimming their roots with surgical care. I used to think it was his way of finding peace before work.
He never told me they were her favorite.
We moved toward the veranda, where the wind chimes danced in the breeze.
Loriana smiled, tilting her head. “Still hanging here. I remember the day we bought them in Kyoto. He said the sound reminded him of me.” She looked at me then, “Don’t you just love how sentimental he can be?”
The sound that once calmed me now scraped against my heart. Every evening, Dominic would open the windows to let the wind move through them. I used to think he liked the sound. Now I knew he was listening for her.
In the living room, her fingers drifted across the piano. “Oh, he kept this too. I used to play every night after dinner. He hated it at first… said it distracted him from work. But after a while, he’d just sit there, listening.”
Her smile deepened. “Does he still do that? Sit here while you play?”
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
She strolled toward the shelf, tracing the spine of an old vinyl record. “My favorite album,” she murmured. “He used to say it was too melancholic. Funny how men pretend to forget what they can’t let go of.”
I followed her quietly, every word of hers slicing through me. My home didn’t feel like mine anymore. Every corner, every sound, every detail? It all belonged to her first.
Then she went to the bedroom.
She opened the wardrobe and let her fingers graze the neatly folded shirts. “He’s still using the linen ones. I bought those for him in Florence. He swore he’d never wear anything that soft, but look at him now.” She glanced at me over her shoulder, her smile sweet as honey. “You must take good care of them. He likes his things kept just the way I left them.”
My chest ached so badly I thought I might shatter. I’d ironed those same shirts, thinking I was building a life with him. But all I’d really been doing was preserving a ghost.