BETWEEN ME AND YOU

THE WEIGHT OF WHAT REMAINS

Banjo reached out, catching her trembling shoulders. “Ma,” he said softly, “it’s her. I don’t know how to explain, but it’s really her.”

Lucia shook her head, choking on disbelief. “This is a trick. A spirit wearing her face. Dios mío…”

Kristine stepped closer, slow and trembling. “Lucia, I remember the day you taught me how to make tamales for Banjo’s birthday.

You said I was too impatient to fold them right.” She smiled faintly through tears. “You were right.”

Lucia froze. The memory was one no one else could know.Her hand rose, shaking, and touched Kristine’s cheek. Warm. Alive.

“Kris…” Lucia whispered, the words trembling. “You’re really here.”

Kristine nodded. “I came back. but I don’t know for how long...”

Banjo’s arm slipped around her shoulders. “We’ll find out together.”

Outside, the sea murmured as if listening. The air shimmered faintly, a trace of mist curling at the horizon... not threatening this time, but watching. For now, they had this moment. The living and the lost were one family again.

The house had gone quiet after the shock. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the distant breath of the sea outside.

Kristine had gone upstairs with Yuan to help him settle down. He refused to let go of her hand, afraid she’d vanish if he blinked.

Lucia sat at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped tightly around a cup of coffee gone cold. Her rosary lay coiled beside it like a lifeline. She couldn’t stop staring at the stairway, half expecting the woman she’d buried to drift down like a ghost.

Banjo stood by the window, watching the waves. He hadn’t spoken since the others went upstairs. Finally, he turned, his eyes hollow but burning with something fierce.

“Ma,” he said quietly, “I need to explain.”

Lucia looked up, her expression torn between disbelief and exhaustion. “Explain what, Banjo? How my dead daughter-in-law is standing in this house again? How my grandson’s crying tears of joy over a woman who shouldn’t exist?”

Banjo walked to her, kneeling beside the chair like a child again. “I know how it sounds. I know what it looks like. But she’s not a dream. She’s not some spirit come to trick us.”

He hesitated, swallowing the tremor in his throat. “When she died, I thought I could move on. I tried. For Yuan. But every night, I heard her voice in the mist... calling my name, whispering like she was caught between worlds. And I answered.”

Lucia’s lips tightened. “You played with something you don’t understand.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I just... couldn’t let her go. I prayed, Ma. I begged. And one night, the mist came for me. I followed it. I saw her.”

Lucia closed her eyes, whispering a prayer under her breath. “And now she’s here. Flesh and blood. Dios nos proteja.”

Banjo took her hand, his grip desperate. “Ma, I don’t care how or why. She’s here, and I can’t lose her again. Not after all these years. Yuan needs his mother. I need her.”

Lucia opened her eyes, full of pain and fear. “And what if it’s not really her, Banjo? What if this thing wearing her face takes you both away?”

He shook his head. “Then let it. Because living without her already felt like dying.”

The silence between them deepened. Lucia studied her son... the man he’d become, all those lines carved by grief, and she saw in him the same wild devotion his father once had.

Her voice softened. “You always loved too fiercely, mijo. Even as a boy, you’d hold on to things that were already broken.”

Banjo smiled sadly. “Maybe that’s why she came back. Because I refused to stop holding on.”

Lucia looked down at her rosary, then back toward the stairs. A faint creak echoed, the sound of Kristine’s footsteps above, gentle, careful, almost hesitant.

“She’s different,” Lucia said quietly. “Her eyes. They look... older. Like she remembers dying.”

Banjo’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “She does. But she also remembers us.”

Lucia’s voice trembled. “What if she fades again?”

“Then I’ll follow her,” he said simply, echoing his old vow. “Wherever she goes.”

Tears filled Lucia’s eyes. She reached out, cupping his face like she used to when he was small. “I can’t lose you too.”

He leaned into her touch. “Then help me keep her. Please, Ma. Don’t fight this. Just... stand with me. For Yuan. For all of us.”

Lucia’s breath hitched, torn between faith and love, reason and miracle.

Finally, she nodded. “Alright,” she whispered. “I’ll stand with you. But promise me this, Banjo... if the mist comes again, if something feels wrong... you don’t face it alone.”

Banjo took her hand and kissed it, eyes shining with gratitude and sorrow. “I promise.”

Just then, Kristine’s voice floated softly from the stairs. “Banjo?”

They both turned. She stood there, wrapped in one of his old shirts, her hair loose, her expression fragile but warm.

Lucia rose slowly. For the first time since her arrival, she didn’t flinch.

“Come sit with us, hija,” she said, her voice trembling but kind. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Kristine smiled faintly, and though the light around her seemed steady, Lucia couldn’t help noticing the faint shimmer behind her, like the air itself was remembering her departure. But she said nothing. Because for now, her family was whole again. And sometimes, faith meant learning to love even the impossible.

The first night with Lucia in their home was too quiet.

Kristine lay awake beside Banjo, listening to his breathing, that familiar, steady rhythm that once anchored her to the world. She traced the outline of his shoulder with her fingertips, marveling that he was real, that she was. The bedsheets rustled when she moved, the faint weight of her own body pressing into the mattress. She breathed deeply, trying to memorize the scent of the room: sea salt, old wood, and Banjo’s soap.

It was everything she remembered. And yet, it wasn’t. Because beneath it, beneath the stillness, something hummed.A low, pulsing sound, soft as a heartbeat but coming from somewhere else. She turned her head toward the window. Outside, the mist was thin, curling over the waves in pale ribbons that glowed under the moonlight.

Don’t look too long, she told herself. Don’t listen.

But the mist was listening.

It moved like breath, like a thought trying to finish itself. And when it shifted, she thought she saw shapes, outlines of faces she almost remembered, voices whispering her name. “Kristine…”

She flinched, her hand flying to the locket on her chest. It was cold again. Beside her, Banjo stirred. “You okay?” he murmured, half-asleep. Kristine forced a smile. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Just can’t sleep.” He turned toward her, eyes still closed, and pulled her close until her forehead rested against his. “Then don’t sleep,” he murmured. “Just stay.”

Her chest ached. Stay. Such an easy word for something so impossible. When morning came, sunlight spilled across the room, golden and cruel in its ordinariness. Yuan burst in, laughing, dragging her downstairs to help with breakfast. For a while, it almost felt normal. Lucia was at the stove, making coffee, her movements careful but warmer than the night before.

“Good morning, hija,” Lucia said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite hide her searching eyes.

Kristine smiled back. “Good Morning, Mama Lucia.”

The older woman nodded, softening at the sound of it. “You remember,” she murmured.

“I remember everything,” Kristine said, but the lie caught in her throat before she could finish. Because she didn’t.

She remembered the taste of Banjo’s lips, the sound of Yuan’s laugh, the warmth of the sun on their porch. But she didn’t remember how she got back. Only flashes, white light, the mist, the feeling of being pulled through something vast and endless.