She hadn’t meant to say I feel like a ghost in my own house . But she had. And Mark hadn’t denied it. He’d just looked at her with that new, tired expression—the one that said here we go again —and walked away.

Her throat tightened. “Yeah.”

She’d cried. He’d kissed her frozen nose. And they’d walked home wrapped in the same coat, clumsy and giddy and so sure that love was a thing that burned hot enough to melt any winter.

“But I’ve been thinking,” he continued. He pulled his knees up to his chest, made himself smaller. “About the pond. The proposal. You remember?”

She didn’t turn around. She heard Mark sit down a careful two feet away. He was wearing his old college hoodie, the one with the frayed cuffs. She’d bought him a new one last Christmas. He’d never worn it.

“You were shivering so bad your teeth were chattering. And I asked if you were cold, and you said—” He stopped, swallowed. “You said, ‘Only my feet.’”

They sat with that for a moment. The wind picked up, rattled the bare branches of the oak tree. Emma shivered.

The door was still open. The light was still on. And for the first time in a long time, Emma didn’t feel like a ghost.

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Cold Feet May 2026

Her throat tightened. “Yeah.”

She’d cried. He’d kissed her frozen nose. And they’d walked home wrapped in the same coat, clumsy and giddy and so sure that love was a thing that burned hot enough to melt any winter. Cold Feet

“But I’ve been thinking,” he continued. He pulled his knees up to his chest, made himself smaller. “About the pond. The proposal. You remember?”

“You were shivering so bad your teeth were chattering. And I asked if you were cold, and you said—” He stopped, swallowed. “You said, ‘Only my feet.’”

They sat with that for a moment. The wind picked up, rattled the bare branches of the oak tree. Emma shivered. He’d just looked at her with that new,

The door was still open. The light was still on. And for the first time in a long time, Emma didn’t feel like a ghost.