THE SPIRIT THAT STILL LINGERS HERE

Chapter 001 Clara's Point of View Sitting at the kitchen table, I fix my gaze on the void Jonas used to be. The room feels eerily silent. It's my wedding anniversary, and I find myself alone here. I try to fill the void by lighting a candle, but it only highlights how empty everything feels without him. It has been weeks since I last touched his side of the bed. The silence engulfs me, as if the walls are closing in on me. I require a diversion. I then grab my phone and begin aimlessly flitting around pictures of people I know on i********:, trying to keep my mind off the way my heart hurts in my chest. I found it at that point. Victoria Roth. She fell in love with Jonas during her high school years. The sunlight bathes a field, revealing her radiant beauty. "Finally going to be a mother," the caption says" I appreciate Jonas helping me to become the mother I have always imagined. My heart freezes. A cold wave of nausea washes over me. There are thousands of likes, all of which are compliments on their efforts. However, I find myself excluded. A thousand questions fill the silence in my chest; none of them appeal to me for the responses. Jonas— he did this. As I leave the flat, my pulse races; my legs move before my head can catch up. I have no idea how I ended up at the hospital. Though it is a swirl of glass and steel, I am there. I burst through the door to his office, not caring if anyone’s around to see. Looking at his paperwork, Jonas looks. His expression is frigid and incomprehensible. I murmur, attempting to keep my voice calm, "You knew about this." He doesn’t even hesitate. "Yes," he responds, like it’s nothing. “She’s pregnant, and I helped.” He treats it as only another truth. He treats it as if it holds no significance. I clench my fists at my sides, striving to keep my voice from shaking. "You—you helped her get pregnant?" IVF stands for. Not an accident, Clara, was it? I paid for the treatment alongside you. She deserves a family." His words are weighing me down, and I want to shout. Though my hands start to shake, I hold myself together. "I'm responsible, aren't I?" I utter these words, struggling to articulate them clearly. "The reason we couldn't have kids... it's my fault." Jonas doesn't even try to make it sweeter. "I was looking for a legacy, Clara. I found it in an unexpected place. I get shivers running down my back. I want to yell and demand more information. However, I choose not to. I turn instead and head out. Back in the flat, the emptiness covers me like a stifling blanket. With still shaky hands, I settle on the couch. I close my eyes to breathe, but I only hear my name whispered. It sounds like a breath in my ear. “Oksana,” it says, the sound of it so distinct, so real. Open my eyes, and the room remains still. It’s quiet. The silence is overwhelming. The air feels cooler, as if someone else is standing next to me. It feels as if someone else is standing right next to me, despite the venue being empty. Rising, my feet move of their will; I check the corners and shadows in the flat's rooms. Zero. Though I can still feel the weight of the whisper, it is no more audible. I have experienced this sensation before, not once. This emotion. I am under observation right now. I find it terrible. I try to brush it off, but it hangs on me cold and thick. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I jump, shocked. I pull it out, expecting a message from a friend—anything to pull me out of this spiral. Still, it is a warning—an email derived from Jonas. The topic is straightforward: We need to have a discussion. Though I'm not sure why that causes my heart to rush, it does. I do not want to open it. I am not interested in learning what more he has to say. You do, though. I swipe the open message, and the first sentence freezes me. "I never planned for you to learn this way. But now that you have..". Why? As I read through the remainder of the email, I found myself breathless. The email is filled with guilt, apologies, and justifications that resemble a burden rather than a genuine apology. He seems to be trying to defend all he has done. I never intended to inflict damage on Oksana. Oksana is not Clara; instead, When he is serious, he constantly calls me by that name. Such behavior is a sign that he is trying to capture my attention. But this time it is different. I cannot locate the rage this time. I can only feel the pain. My ideas start whirling too quickly once more. My chest tightens. Why now did he forward this to me? Why am I still reading it? I erase the message without responding, although the words—his words—keep coming back to me. Once you have read this message, please let me know your thoughts. WHAT? Is knowing the truth expected to make things simpler? I don’t know what’s worse—the betrayal itself or the way Jonas is attempting to spin it like it’s nothing. It seemed like just another stage in his journey. In his life, he always considered me a footnote. Though I have nowhere to go, I want to run. The flat doesn't feel like it's closing in on me, either. I cannot leave. I'm imprisoned. I find myself trapped in this relationship, in this town, in a life that no longer makes sense. And then, abruptly, the whisper is back. Even though it's louder, the sound is soft, like a breeze against my skin. "Oksana," Freeze. The buzz is no longer in my ear. It feels as though someone, or something, is standing behind me in the room. I whirl around fast, my heart thumping in my chest, but the room is empty. What on earth is going on with me? Ghosts are not anything I believe in. I am not. But the situation is real. There’s a shadow, a dark figure, flickering in the corner of the room. Blinking causes it to vanish. My breath is shallow; my heart quickens. I'm not breathing. There is dense, heavy air. The room seems to be closing in on me. Not caring where I go, I dash from the flat. I'm uncertain about my destination. I merely have to get away. Still, it follows me everywhere I visit. The emotion. The whisper. The winter. I'm not sure what's worse—my broken heart or whatever is haunting me. And what exactly does it want? From me, what is your desire? I can't run from it. It doesn't matter how far I manage to run.