I’d nodded, unable to look away from her. She was the kind of beautiful that left you breathless, that made you question whether you were worthy of standing in her light.
“We’ll make it ours,”she’d promised, pulling me into her arms.“Every inch of it. Just you and me.”
I drag myself back to the present, the weight of her absence pressing down on me. The wind rattles the windows again, and I glance toward them, half-expecting to see her standing outside, her hair whipping in the storm, her eyes bright with some secret she’s dying to share.
But she’s not there. She’s not anywhere.
The sharp crack of thunder startles me, and I stand, unable to stay in the room any longer. I move to the living room, pacing like a caged animal. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, memories and regrets colliding in a chaotic spiral.
I stop in front of the fireplace, my gaze drawn to the painting. It’s her, but it’s not. The Annabel in the painting is untouchable, immortalized in oil and canvas, her smirk daring anyone to try and capture her. The real Annabel was softer, more complex. She was a contradiction, a storm wrapped in sunlight.
“Why did you leave me?” I ask the painting, my voice raw. “Why?”
The wind howls in response, the storm raging outside as if the universe is mocking my pain. I sink to the floor, my back against the couch, and let the silence engulf me. The house feels alive, pulsing with her energy, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
I pull my phone from my pocket, scrolling through old messages, pictures, anything that might bring her closer. Her voice echoes in my mind, teasing and playful, but always just out of reach.
“You’re too serious, Calum,”she’d said once, sprawled across the couch with a glass of wine in hand.“Life isn’t meant to be lived like this, all rules and expectations. You have to let go.”
“Not everyone can live like you, living off family money,” I’d replied, my tone sharper than I intended. “Some of us have responsibilities.”
She’d laughed, a sound that felt like both a caress and a slap.“Maybe that’s your problem.”
I toss the phone aside, the screen going dark as it lands on the carpet. My chest feels hollow, like something vital has been ripped out, leaving nothing but emptiness in its place. Thestorm outside mirrors the chaos inside me, a relentless force that won’t let me rest.
I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at nothing. Eventually, the rain begins to ease, the wind dying down until the only sound is the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
I stand, my legs stiff, and move to the window. The storm has passed, but the sky is still dark, the horizon a jagged line where the sea meets the sky. I press my hand against the glass, the cold seeping into my skin, and close my eyes.
“Annabel,” I whisper, her name a prayer, a plea. “Come back.”
But the house remains silent, and I know she’s gone. No matter how hard I wish, how desperately I cling to the fragments of her that linger here, she’s not coming back.
The world shifted when she died, like the earth tilted just enough to throw everything off balance. I haven’t stood steady since.
And I’m still not sure I can live in a world without her.
Chapter Two
Calum
The waves crash against the cliffs outside, relentless and deafening. Holiday House groans under the weight of the storm, its wooden bones shifting like they’re alive. I sit in the dim glow of a single lamp, staring at the sketchbook splayed open on the coffee table. The lines blur, smudged by my hand, by the humidity, by my own carelessness. I haven’t touched a pencil since… since her.
The silence between the bursts of thunder is worse than the noise. It’s not true silence—it’s her absence, pressing against the walls, filling the spaces where her laughter once echoed. The air smells faintly of salt and jasmine, her perfume clinging to the fabric of the couch. No matter how many storms roll through, she lingers.
Annabel would have hated this weather. She hated anything that disrupted her carefully curated aesthetic.“A storm should know its place,”she’d said once, peering through the rain-specked windows with a pout.“Don’t you think, Calum? It’s so… vulgar.”
I didn’t answer her then, just like I don’t answer her now. ButI can still see her, turning to me with that sly smile, daring me to disagree, daring me to ruin the fantasy she painted over every moment.
My phone buzzes on the table, shattering the stillness. I glance at the screen—Jonathan. His name sits there, glowing faintly, a reminder of everything I’d rather forget.
I don’t answer.
The phone goes dark again, leaving me alone with the waves and the wind and the ghosts I can’t seem to exorcise.
Annabel always said I had too many ghosts, even before she became one.
“Your problem, Calum,”she said, sprawled across the chaise in the studio, a glass of wine dangling precariously from her fingers,“is that you’re too attached to the past. You should be like me—live in the moment.”
