[ WP ] You possess the rare gift to see and talk to dead people , and have kept this hidden from everyone your entire life , including your spouse . Now your spouse dies and is quite surprised .

Marc took a few days to show up. They usually do. I do n't know where they go in the interim; neither do they. I've asked enough of them. They do n't know where they go after, either. I'd like to think there's a heaven. I doubt it, though. Either way, all I know is what they tell me. The spirits of the dead, that is. They've told me they feel a pull -- some feel it stronger than others -- that compels them to leave our realm. The realm of the living. Ultimately, they do n't belong here. But some choose to stay. Some longer than others. 
 
 
 Not everyone stays. Not by a long shot. After Marc died, I almost hoped he would n't come back. Because if he did, how would I explain to him that I had seen the dead since I hit puberty? Nearly fifteen years, fifteen years of walking in two worlds -- half of which I had known my husband for -- and I never thought to mention it? 
 
 
 He died on a Wednesday, his funeral was on a Saturday, and he came back on a Monday. Work expected me to take a few weeks to be alone with my grief; I just wanted to get on with it. Grief is a complicated thing. In my situation, especially so. But I needed the day to myself. I had an appointment at 10. Work could wait one more day. 
 
 
 Standing by the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds and water... it was a soothing science to me. If Monday came and went, I'd be in the clear. They never took more than five days to come back. A couple of hours and -- 
 
 
 Stepping through the threshold looking just as he did that fateful Wednesday was Marc. Dark hair with just a touch of product, suit tailored for the perfect slim-fit. 33-years-old but could pass for younger. Hot. Smart. My perfect husband. 
 
 
 I let him walk around the house a little bit. He went from the kitchen to the living room, mumbling to himself as he did so. I continued making my coffee. Back in the kitchen now, I could make out some of what he was saying. `` The car...'' He whispered angrily. `` I told her she needed new brakes.'' My shoulders stiffened for a moment; my lip twitched. Marc moved in closer as I poured my coffee into a mug. It was his favorite mug, when he was alive. Stirring in the sugar, I winced as I felt the cold chill that meant I was making contact with a ghost. My dead husband poked my arm several times before giving up with an angry sigh. 
 
 
 `` That was *my* mug.'' He whined. I pivoted to face him, making eye contact for the first time. 
 
 
 `` And you'd still be able to drink from it had you not died in that car accident with your little whore.'' 
 
 
 His jaw dropped, and his brown eyes seemed to bulge from his head. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, eyes adding to the effect -- it was almost comical. 
 
 
 `` You -- you --'' 
 
 
 `` See you? Hear you? Surprise.'' I took an angry sip from ~~his~~ my mug, raising my eyebrows accusingly. 
 
 
 He lifted his arms and hands in response, trying to placate me. `` Hey, hey. It -- It was n't --'' 
 
 
 `` It was n't what, Marc? You were supposed to be at work, but instead you were in a car that was n't even yours with a woman I'd never met. You're dead. Please do n't lie to me now, too.'' 
 
 
 Fish face again. Mouth open. Mouth closed. Finally he stopped. Lowering his arms and biting his lip slightly, he shook his head. `` Kelly, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'' 
 
 
 Anger welled up inside me. `` Sorry for what? Sorry I caught you cheating, that you do n't get to go into death with me mourning you as the paragon of virtue, the model husband? Or just sorry you died at all?'' 
 
 
 He pulled a chair from the table and sat down. A look of surprise flashed across his face. `` Nothing I touched before I got home would move.'' 
 
 
 `` It's because I'm here.'' I said matter-of-factly with a shrug. `` You can interact with the physical world more when I'm around. Before you ask, no, I do n't know why or how it works.'' 
 
 
 `` So -- So I'm not the first --'' He hesitated, and cringed. `` *Dead* person you can see?'' 
 
 
 I shrugged again. 
 
 
 A pained-look contorted his nearly perfect features. `` Kelly, please. You should know -- you should know something. Something important to me. Yes, I was cheating on you. Yes, I'm sorry I did n't get to go down known as the perfect husband. And yes, I'm sorry I died. I had... There was so much more I needed to do. But you need to know --'' 
 
 
 Hot tears rolled down my cheeks; my eyes stung a bit as my eyeliner smeared into them. `` They said she was 20. Was I really getting too old for you at 28 that you needed a younger, newer version of me?'' The paper had printed her obituary in the same issue as Marc's, her smiling face seeming to mock me. Mocking the grief I still had for the man who cheated on me with her. She was blonde, like me. Had light-colored eyes, like me. Was majoring in international studies, apparently. My major, along with political science. Same university. `` Did you really have to go find another me? You could n't have fucked someone completely different, someone I would n't have to feel like an inferior knock-off of?'' 
 
 
 `` I have no excuses. There are n't any I can make that would make you not hate me like I'm sure part of you --'' He caught my glare. `` Maybe all of you does. There are no excuses. I do n't even know if I have a reason, not a good one, at least. I was wrong. It was a mistake. But you need to know: I was ending it. That day. That's why I took off of work early. To go tell her it was done. And then to come home to let you plan a surprise for you.'' 
 
 
 `` Sure.'' 
 
 
 Hurt etched into his features the same as if I had slapped him. `` Is that so hard to believe? After what happened that morning?'' 
 
 
 `` I do n't know what to believe.'' I stated flatly. `` The man I knew loved me and was faithful.'' 
 
 
 `` I never stopped loving you. Not for a minute. And after that morning: the sex, us talking about trying to start a family... I just felt sick about Anna. Sick about the thought of even seeing her again. I spent the morning writing and re-writing out what I planned to say to her. You might not believe or want to hear this, but she was a nice girl. A decent person. She did n't know about you for a long time. I did n't want to hurt her any more than I had to, so I...'' His eyes lit up. `` Here. Come here.'' He got up quickly from the table and ran into the living room. I followed with reluctance. 
 
 
 He sat at his desk, laptop opened in front of him. I had tried to get into it after he died, but it had been password protected. For obvious reasons, most likely. Clicking around at a ferocious speed, he went to a note-taking program I knew was linked to his phone. He often used it to make lists: lists for shopping, lists for appointments. The Wednesday morning of his death he had started a new one; I was there for its creation: A list of potential baby names. 
 
 
 Instead of bringing up one of the lists, though, he went into a folder marked as private. He opened a file that was indeed dated the previous Wednesday. He scooted his chair over slightly. 
 
 
 `` Please read it. Please, Kelly.'' 
 
 
 I did n't want to do it. But even as in life, the man could have made me do anything with that voice. I stepped closer to the computer and began to read. 
 
 
 *'' Listen, Anna. You're a wonderful person: inside, and out. I truly believe and mean that. But, I need to end things between us. I would n't last a day without the woman I love, and that woman is my wife. You are amazing. You're funny, talented, beautiful -- but you're not her. I was trying to fill a space in my life I finally realized does n't actually exist. I did n't appreciate what was in front of me, and I'm sorry that I'm going to end up hurting a second person because of my own flaws and selfishness. You do n't deserve that. But neither does she. And I love her so, so much. `` * 
 
 
 There was more, but the tears obscured my vision too much for me to continue. I turned away from the computer, from Marc, wiping away proof of my emotions best I could with my sleeve. 
 
 
 `` I love you.'' Marc said. `` Always have, always will. Whether I have eternity or not. Wherever I go after this, if I go anywhere or not, I guess. And I'm sorry I did n't get to tell you that while I was alive, and I'm sorry I hurt you. You did n't deserve any of that --'' 
 
 
 An alarm on my phone interrupted his next words. I pulled it from my back pocket to verify what it was for, then cleared my throat. 
 
 
 `` I have to go. I have an appointment.'' 
 
 
 `` An appointment?'' 
 
 
 I shrugged once more, feeling about a decade younger and like I was a surly teen and not a young, professional woman. `` The clinic. I have something that needs to be taken care of.'' My words dripped with innuendo. 
 
 ``... The clinic? Kelly, what does that mean?'' 
 
 `` I think you know.'' I said icily, part of me -- the part was was n't still desperately in love -- wanting to hurt this man like he had hurt me. The part of me that not an hour before was sure she wanted no part of that man growing inside her, a reminder of the hurt, the pain, the shame. `` The *clinic*, Marc.'' And with that, I turned on my heel and left the room. I grabbed my keys from the table where I had thrown them after the funeral on Saturday and went to the garage. 
 
 
 Marc followed me, pleading the entire way. `` Please, Kelly. Please do n't do this. You do n't have to do this.'' 
 
 
 I pulled open the car door, slid into the driver's seat, and slammed the door shut. Marc got into the passenger side. `` Kelly, you hate me. I get it. I would hate me, too. But please do n't do this. Not because -- not because I think there's anything wrong with it. There's not. It's your life, your body, your choice. But I know that it's not the choice you would make under any other circumstances. You wanted a baby. You can have the baby. Don ’ t cut off your nose to spite your face. You deserve some happiness out of all this.'' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

