Chapter 8
Two days later, they finally let me out. All because Yvonne’s hair clip turned up–she’d just tossed it somewhere and forgotten about it.
Honestly, all I ever wanted was a simple apology. Just one. But I never got it.”
Instead, I got lectures. Warnings about what I should and shouldn’t do, as if that would fix anything.
I felt like Rapunzel, trapped up in this cramped attic. Only she got to escape, and I was stuck here–maybe forever.
The next day, just like I’d asked, they brought me to the crematorium. It was the fancy kind, of course.”
I followed my own body into the furnace, watched as the flames curled around me and turned me into ash, bit by bit.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I thought I heard someone crying outside.
But I didn’t bother to care. I was more focused on making sure I ended up in the urn I’d picked out for myself before I died.
Part of me figured if they couldn’t even get that right, I’d just haunt their dreams and give them some trouble.
But it all went pretty smoothly. Which was good–I didn’t want any more ties to them anyway.
James carried my urn to the cemetery. I looked around–rolling hills, clear water, quiet air. A beautiful place, really. I could rest here.
He touched my photo, lips barely moving. I drifted closer and caught a soft, shaky, “I’m sorry.”
But what does “sorry” matter now? I was done hoping for anything from this family.
And besides, I was dead. they wanted to apologize, they could wait until they joined me on the other side.
For some reason, my soul just lingered near the Roman family. I floated from one to another, never too far away.)
Is this what happens to everyone after they die? I had no way to know.
James started a foundation in my name, helping girls from the mountains. He even organized a charity auction–every item sold sent more money to the fund. That auction put my name in the spotlight. Suddenly, people realized the Roman family had a daughter after all.
I could hear the whispers, people quietly asking each other, “Didn’t everyone think she was already gone?”
After that, the Romans threw themselves into charity work. Maybe they thought it would make up for everything they’d done.
Another year passed. On the anniversary of my death, they all gathered at my grave. Robert still wore that old scarf, the one that had started to unravel ages ago.
Someone laid a fresh bouquet, still shining with dew, right in front of my headstone. The marble had been cleaned, too.
I felt myself fading, turning almost see–through. I guessed it wouldn’t be much longer before I could finally move on. “Louisa, I’m sorry,” someone said softly.
“We owe you so many apologies, but maybe you don’t need them anymore.”
“I hope next time around, you’ll have a safe and happy life, far away from a family like us.”
My vision blurred. I always thought ghosts couldn’t cry.
I wiped my eyes, and as my body turned nearly invisible, I actually felt at peace.
I’d finally heard the apology I waited for.
Hopefully, in my next life, I’ll never have to see them again.
