Chapter 3Three Years After I Disappeared, My Boyfriend Got Engaged to the Love of His Life—but My Brother’s Words Shattered Him

My Spirit Stood Behind Lila Hayes, Watching the Chaos Unfold

I sighed as I watched the scene around me spiral into disorder.

Lila, visibly shaken, instinctively stepped back—straight through my incorporeal body.

My brother, Noah, didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. Afterward, he calmly pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his hand as though he’d just touched something filthy.

It was a heavy slap.

Her nose was crooked.

When the men in black finished smashing everything in sight, Alex finally snapped out of his stupor. His gaze darted between Lila’s swollen, tear-streaked face and her now-bent nose. Quickly, he stepped in front of her, shielding her, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at Noah.

“What the hell are you doing?” Alex demanded, his voice sharp and shaking. “Our families have no grudges against each other! Why are you ruining my engagement party? And what’s this nonsense about Emma being dead? Maybe you should stop throwing around accusations and go figure out if she ran off with some loser instead of dragging my fiancée into your lies!”

Behind him, Lila whimpered, clutching her face as she leaned pitifully against Alex. But I could see the glint in her eyes—the calculation, the malice.

Noah glanced at Alex, his expression cold and unbothered. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

I reflexively lifted my foot to follow him but froze in place, fear gripping me.

For as long as I could remember, I’d been trapped, tethered to Lila’s presence like a ghost bound to its captor. Every time I tried to leave the area she occupied, I was struck with unbearable, lightning-like pain that left my soul writhing in agony.

For three years, I’d endured this torment, watching others like me—young girls, children, even the elderly—trapped, beaten down, and desperate to return home. Just like them, I had only one wish: to go home.

Today, I decided to try again.

This time, there was no resistance.

My soul broke free of the invisible shackles with ease. The searing pain I’d braced for never came.

I was free.

Finally, I could go home.

A wave of overwhelming emotion hit me, and my vision blurred. I followed Noah to his car, climbing in behind him.

As he drove, I noticed him pull out an old, worn wallet—the soft pink leather faded with age.

It was the first gift I had ever made for him, back when I’d learned how to do crafts. He had kept it all this time, taking care of it as if it were something precious.

I leaned closer and saw him staring at a family photo tucked inside.

In the picture, Dad looked young, Mom radiated beauty, and Noah, barely a teenager, had a boyish face untouched by the weight of adulthood.

And there I was: a chubby-cheeked little girl, sitting in Mom’s lap with a big, carefree grin.

I sighed. Those were the days when life was simple, when happiness was easy to find.

When we got home, my black-and-white photo and urn sat at the center of the table. Surrounding them were offerings of fruit and snacks—all my favorites.

Mom lit three sticks of incense, her hands trembling as she whispered, “Emma, sweetheart, if you’re not doing well, come to us in a dream. Tell us what you need. We’ll send you more offerings, more money, anything to make sure you’re okay out there.”

Her voice broke as she continued.

“Just the other night, I dreamed of you crying—crying so hard it broke my heart. You said you wanted to come home. Oh, Emma, if only we hadn’t gone abroad, or if we’d sent Noah back sooner, would you still be here with us? Would you still be safe?”

Her tears flowed freely now, and I reached out instinctively to wipe them away. But my hand passed right through her.

Mom had always been so meticulous about her appearance, but now her once-black hair was streaked with gray.

Noah crossed the room in long strides, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” he said firmly, though anger boiled beneath his calm tone. “It’s their fault—the Hayes family, the Pierces. They’re the ones who destroyed her. They cremated her body so quickly, without a second thought, before we could even see her one last time. All they left us with was ashes.”

At the mention of ashes, Mom’s grief turned to fury. She pounded her fists against her chest, screaming, “Those monsters! We trusted them! They didn’t just kill my baby—they robbed her of peace, even in death. They’re murderers!”

Noah’s hand tightened on her shoulder, his voice low but resolute.

“Don’t worry, Mom. Everyone who hurt Emma will pay. Every single one of them. The Hayes family, the Pierces—they’ll give back what they owe us. What they owe her.”

I floated above them, staring at the urn that held what was left of me.

A chill ran through me, colder than anything I’d ever felt.

I was dead. I knew that.

But hearing them talk about my cremation, about how my body had been burned without dignity or respect, filled me with dread.

Why?

What was I afraid of?

I couldn’t remember how I died. The details were blurry, slipping through my fingers like water.

Was it… unnatural?

Later that evening, Dad came home.

The family gathered around the dinner table, but the atmosphere was heavy, the air thick with unspoken sorrow.

Mom’s eyes were swollen from crying. Dad’s face was lined with exhaustion. Noah’s jaw was clenched, his anger barely contained.

Grief and hatred had consumed them, leaving scars that wouldn’t fade.

I wanted to tell them, I’m okay. I’m home now. I’m right here with you.

But no matter how hard I tried, they couldn’t hear me.

They couldn’t see me.