Claimed

Happy birthday, my love.

Am I allowed to call you that anymore… to refer to you as if you’re still mine?

Maybe, just maybe, that’s why it still hurts so badly.

Maybe, that’s why it still feels like yesterday when I held you last… when you held me.

I miss you.

There’s a part of me that still wishes that night never happened.

That it was a mistake. That the universe got it wrong.

That you’ll come back, somehow, like you were never meant to leave.

But I know that won’t miraculously be the case. Or at least I should know.

After 10 years, I should no longer be thinking of you in this way.

I should no longer be thinking of you at all.

But, my love, I still remember that day.

I still remember those days.

The days when it was all so simple.

When loving you, and you loving me, was all that mattered.

But here we are… Well, here I am, 10 years later, thinking of you as if it were just yesterday.

***

Just imagine what you can create with impeccability of the word.

I closed The Four Agreements, and laid down across my husband’s chest. He was sleeping already.

I didn’t realize how long I’d spent in the corner, pretending to read - mind filled with forbidden thoughts of him.

Of course, I want to forget him. Of course, I want to be a better wife.

But I can’t help but feel that it was always supposed to be him.

But I’ll never know, will I?

Whether you would’ve chosen me. Whether you would’ve stayed.

Whether you would’ve loved me through the mess I became after that night.

The night the rain came down like punishment.

The night the music was too loud, and your hand was too high on my thigh, and I laughed like I wasn’t afraid of dying.

We were reckless. We were young. We were in love.

And then we were upside down.

I still remember the sound of metal folding in on itself. The way the windshield shattered like glass confetti. The way your body flew - flew - across mine, and how I screamed your name like it could hold you together.

But it didn’t.

You died… with your eyes open. And the way you looked at me - God - it felt like goodbye and forever all in one.

I lived.

I lived with a scar that runs from the curve of my hip to the hollow of my waist. A jagged, haunting thing that no silk can hide. My husband kisses it sometimes, slow and tender, like he’s worshipping me.

He doesn’t know that every time his lips touch my skin, I think of you.

I think of the way your mouth felt. The way you whispered things that made me blush, bite my lip and beg for more.

And I hate you for that.

I hate you for leaving me with this scar, with this ache, and this impossible love that no one else can touch.

Not even the man I married.

Not even the man who sleeps beside me now, chest rising and falling like a lullaby I can’t hear.

Because all I hear is your voice.

All I feel is your ghost.

And all I want - on your birthday, ten years too late - is to scream into the night that I still love you.

That I never stopped.

That I never will.

I like to think that I’m a happy girl. A blessed girl.

I like to believe that all of the sacrifices, suffering, and losses in my life have been worth it.

That it all made me into the woman that I am today. A woman to be proud of.

But for some fucking reason, it never feels like enough. I still feel like there’s a piece of me missing. I feel like you took the best parts of me with you when you left… when you died.

***

I guess I fell asleep, just like that, laid across my husband’s chest. I’m not sure of when my mind finally quieted down enough for me to doze off, but I’m glad it finally did. I truthfully didn’t think I’d get any sleep last night.

I’d spent the entire day in my head, spiraling, trying to hold myself together enough for no one to recognize the pain and sorrow I was holding in. The tears I was holding back.

Today was a big day for me.

I slipped out of bed before the sun rose, careful not to wake him. My husband. The man who loves me in the ways he knows how. The man who never asks why I flinch when he says “forever.”

I dressed in silence. Black silk blouse. High-waisted trousers. Hair slicked back. A woman who looks like she has nothing to hide.

But I do.

I always have.

I drove to the office with my playlist low and my pulse high. Today was the launch of our most ambitious partnership yet - Project Tiny. A neural-mapping initiative designed to expand memory retention, emotional recall, and cellular longevity. The kind of work that changes everything. The kind of work that makes headlines.

The kind of work I buried myself in to forget him.

I became the youngest executive in the company’s history. I built teams. Led breakthroughs. Sat across from billionaires and told them what the future would look like. And every time I felt the guilt rise in my throat, I swallowed it down and turned it into strategy.

Because if I couldn’t have you, I’d have power.

But even now, ten years later, on the day I’m supposed to be celebrating my greatest achievement - I still feel him.

Like a pulse beneath my skin.

Like something unfinished.

***

The presentation went flawlessly. Applause. Flashing lights. Champagne. I smiled through it all, gracious and poised, the way I’ve trained myself to be.

But then came the final slide.

The one I hadn’t approved.

A name appeared on the screen. A face.

His.

I froze.

The room blurred.

The lead scientist stepped forward, voice steady, eyes gleaming.

“We’ve completed the final phase of the Tiny trial. Subject 001 has exceeded all expectations. Memory retention. Emotional fidelity. Cellular regeneration. And most importantly - devotion.”

The screen flickered. His face sharpened.

And then he walked in.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Same way of looking at me… like I was the only thing that ever mattered.

But this time, he didn’t speak.

He just stared.

And I knew.

They took him from the wreckage. Rebuilt him. Reprogrammed him. And gave him one directive.

Me.

***

That night, I came home to silence.

No dishes in the sink.

No shoes by the door.

No husband in bed.

Just a note on the counter.

He was in the way.

I dropped it. My hands shook. My breath caught. The air felt too still, like the house itself was holding its breath.

And then I heard the shower running.

I moved slowly, like the floor might collapse beneath me. Like reality might split open if I walked too fast.

The bathroom door was open. Steam spilled into the hallway.

I pushed the door open.

And there he was.

Naked. Wet. Alive.

Water traced the lines of his body like it remembered him. Like it missed him. Like it had waited ten years to touch him again.

He turned toward me, slow and deliberate, like he knew I’d be watching. Like he’d imagined this moment a thousand times.

And then he smiled.

That smile.

The one that used to undo me. The one that made me believe in things I had no right to believe in.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He stepped out of the shower, dripping and radiant, like resurrection itself. He didn’t reach for a towel. He didn’t hide.

He just stood there, watching me fall apart.

“I waited,” he said, voice low, reverent. “I waited until today.”

I blinked. “Why?”

He moved closer, slow and steady, like a predator who knew his prey wanted to be caught.

“I had to wait,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face with the back of his hand. “Your team made a deal. Once they got what they needed - once the research was complete - I was free.”

I swallowed hard. “Free to do what?”

“To come back,” he said. “To you.”

He paused, eyes flicking down to my trembling hands.

“And to get rid of what was in the way.”

I flinched. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” he said. “But neither did I. Neither did we.”

The silence between us pulsed, electric and unbearable.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “I hope you can understand. I didn’t come back to haunt you. I came back to finish what we started.”

I stepped back, heart pounding, mind screaming.

But he followed.

“You built a life,” he said. “A brilliant, beautiful life. But it was always missing something. You know that. You feel that.”

I did.

I do.

“And now,” he whispered, leaning in so close I could taste the memory of him, “we get to build something new. Something that was never supposed to die.”

He reached for my hand.

And I let him.

Because some ghosts don’t come to haunt.

They come to claim.