The sun is as warm as ever

After I was murdered, my son, whom I’d always treated like dirt, risked his life to avenge me, and my philandering husband, after bankrupting the rival corporation, committed suicide, clutching my urn.

My disembodied soul was spinning with disbelief.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was back in my mansion, screaming at my son for only coming in second in his class, and smashing my husband’s collection of designer watches.

Me: “…”

Time to put the brakes on this toxic behavior and try a different script.

1.

Broken watch glass littered the floor, along with torn-up test papers, while the butler and maids hovered nearby, looking terrified.

I carefully placed the last watch back where it belonged. Instead of pinching my son’s arm, I gently stroked it.

"Okay, let's rethink this," I thought, putting a pause on the villain role.

He flinched, drawing back from my touch. His face, beautiful but still young, held a wary edge. He bent to gather the ripped pieces of his test, clutching them in his fist, and then walked away silently.

I stared after him for a few moments before raising my voice: “Holden! ”

He paused at the top of the stairs, but didn’t turn.

“I know there’s a parent-teacher conference tomorrow. I’m free, I’ll go,” I said, surprising myself.

“No need,” Holden said without a moment’s hesitation and continued up the stairs.

My words caught in my throat. I sighed inwardly, glanced at the mess, and ordered someone to clean it up.

Then, I dialed a number. It rang for ages before he finally picked up, sounding annoyingly laid-back, with loud music blaring in the background.

“What’s up?” He drawled, humming a tune, sounding like some privileged frat boy.

And yet, this was the man who, after my death, had dropped everything to tear down my stepmother’s family’s corporation, leaving them destitute.

I drifted, remembering the images I’d seen when I was a ghost. My always-fickle husband, Harrison, his eyes bloodshot, his lips pale and his usual smugness gone. He had moved with ruthless efficiency to make everyone who had hurt me pay.

I could rationalize that behavior, seeing as I was his wife and a member of his family, but his suicide seemed completely unnecessary.

After getting revenge, he stood by the ocean where we’d gotten married, clutching my urn, for hours. The wind had blown away his usual high-society polish, leaving him looking utterly defeated.

My spirit watched him, thinking, So, Mr. Party-Boy finally grew a conscience?

Then, in a move that shocked me, he walked into the sea, holding my ashes, one step at a time until the water claimed him. No look back, just utter and lonely resolve.

My spectral heart was shaken.

What a melodramatic jerk. Polluting the water like that. When he floats up he’ll be bloated and look a mess.

Late at night by the sea. So quiet. So quiet. I felt an intense loneliness that seemed to cling to me like the salty wind that blew through my hair.

2.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my...