A Man Haunted by What He Lost
1007 Words
Gabriel did not sleep the night after the argument with Prisca.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head, his jaw tight. Prisca had turned her back to him, pretending to sleep, but he knew she was awake. He could feel it in the stiff way she lay there, in the silence she forced between them.
The house felt too small.
Too loud.
Every sound—prisca turning in her sleep, the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking clock—felt like an accusation.
He closed his eyes.
And Victoria appeared.
Not as she had been near the end—weak, pale, tired—but as she used to be.
Smiling, calm, and steady.
The woman who believed in him when he had nothing.
Gabriel sat up suddenly, his chest tight.
“Damn it,” he whispered.
At first, Gabriel told himself this feeling was normal.
Regret always followed loss. That was human.
But this was different.
This wasn’t regret.
This was obsession.
It started with small things.
He went into the study one morning and pulled out an old drawer he hadn’t opened in years. Inside were papers Victoria had neatly arranged long ago—documents from when they were building their life together. Business plans. Old contracts. Notes written in her handwriting.
He sat on the floor and read them.
Line by line.
Her handwriting was careful, thoughtful, and always clear.
She had believed in structure, in planning and in making things work.
His chest tightened again.
“She really built all this with me,” he muttered.
That day, he couldn’t focus at work.
He went home early.
By the end of the week, the drawer was no longer enough.
Gabriel started opening boxes.
Old photo albums.
His phone gallery.
Archived messages.
He scrolled through years of conversations with Victoria.
Messages where she encouraged him.
Messages where she apologized even when she wasn’t wrong.
Messages where she begged him to talk to her.
His throat burned.
“How did I miss this?” he whispered.
He saved the photos again. Copied them into a new folder.
He named it Victoria.
He told himself it was harmless.
Just memories.
But every night, he opened the folder and stared at her face until his eyes hurt.
Prisca noticed.
“Why are you always on your phone?” she asked one evening, trying to sound casual.
Gabriel didn’t look up. “Work.”
It was a lie.
And he knew it.
Soon, the house felt unbearable.
Every corner reminded him of the woman who was no longer there.
So he began leaving.
He drove without direction at first. Then instinct took over.
The café Victoria loved.
He parked across the street and sat in the car, watching people go in and out. He remembered how she liked her tea warm, never too hot. How she always sat by the window.
He didn’t go inside.
He just sat there.
Another day, he drove past the bookstore she used to visit. He stood outside, hands in his pockets, staring at the door.
“She used to stand right here,” he murmured.
It felt wrong to enter.
Like he didn’t deserve to.
Gabriel stopped sleeping properly.
When he did sleep, his dreams were cruel.
Victoria stood just out of reach.
She turned away every time he called her name.
Sometimes she looked at him with eyes that held nothing.
No anger.
No love.
Just absence.
He woke up drenched in sweat.
He began drinking more coffee. Skipping meals.
At work, people praised him.
“Strong man,” one colleague said.
“Great father,” another added.
The words made him sick.
Because deep down, he knew the truth.
His love for Victoria wasn’t pure anymore.
It was tangled.
Mixed with fear.
With ego.
With the terrifying thought that if she survived without him, then he was no longer the hero of the story.
Gabriel didn’t just want Victoria back.
He wanted to matter again.
To prove—to her, to himself—that he hadn’t been replaced.
That she hadn’t escaped him.
That thought frightened him when it surfaced.
But it didn’t go away.
One afternoon, unable to sit still, Gabriel drove to the hospital.
Not to make a scene this time.
Just to ask questions.
He told himself that was all.
He walked through the familiar halls slowly, his heart pounding. The smell of disinfectant hit him, and memories rushed back.
He stopped near the nurses’ station, pretending to check his phone.
A conversation floated toward him.
“…she was lucky,” a nurse said quietly.
“Yes,” another replied. “That donor came just in time.”
Gabriel froze.
His phone slipped slightly in his hand.
Donor?
His pulse thundered.
He took a step closer without thinking.
“—otherwise, she wouldn’t have made it.”
Gabriel’s breath caught.
They weren’t talking about Sandra.
They were talking about her.
Victoria.
He backed away slowly, his mind racing.
Another donor.
Not him.
Not his family.
Someone else.
Gabriel stumbled out of the hospital, his legs weak.
His head buzzed.
“She survived,” he whispered.
“She survived without me.”
The truth hit harder than any slap.
Victoria didn’t need him to live.
She didn’t need his sacrifice.
She didn’t need his choice.
Something inside him cracked.
Relief surged first.
Then panic.
Then something darker.
If she survived without him…
Then she could leave without him.
Live without him. and expose him.
His hands shook as he got into the car.
This wasn’t just about love anymore.
This was about control.
That night, Gabriel went home and opened the Victoria folder again.
But this time, he added something new.
A note.
Find out who helped her.
Because if Victoria had survived on her own…
Then she was no longer the woman he left behind.
She was someone dangerous.
And Gabriel was no longer sure whether he wanted forgiveness—
Or redemption before the truth destroyed him.
- Writer
