15May2025 Manchester
Im writing this because the weight of the past few years feels too heavy to keep bottled up. It all started when Emily, my wife, leaned over my shoulder while I was scrolling through Facebook. Who are you chatting with? she asked, curiosity bright in her eyes.
I flinched and slammed the laptop shut. What are you doing, sneaking up on me? Are you spying? she pressed.
Its nothing, I muttered, trying to sound casual. Just a friend from school. You know, Lucy Hart the girl I used to have a crush on in Year11.
Emily rolled her eyes. A friend, huh? The worlds full of lookalikes, but I dont recall ever meeting her. Why dont you warm up the dinner rather than standing there like a statue?
She left the kitchen without another word, lips pursed. I heard her mutter under her breath, He doesnt remember huh. I could see she wasnt buying my vague denial.
The truth was that I had been infatuated with Lucy since we were teenagers. I kept a photo of her tucked away, even after Emily and I married. When she spotted that fragment of my past, she ripped the picture into tiny pieces, hoping I couldnt piece it back together.
I hid the remnants in the back of a drawer. Anyone else might have kept quiet, but the guilt gnawed at me, making me slam furniture in frustration. The argument that followed was fierce enough to drive Emily back to her parents house; we nearly called it quits.
Then Emily discovered she was pregnant. She forgave me after a brief separation, and we never spoke of Lucy againuntil the internet made the old ghosts reappear.
Social media was exploding in popularity, and, like countless others, I fell into its endless scroll. Emily, having once caught me midchat with Lucy on the screen, began to notice I spent more time in the virtual world than in the living room. I laughed at messages, brushed off her questions, passwordprotected my phone and computer, and lingered later and later at the office.
Emily grew frantic. Mum, whats wrong with me? Everyones on social media now. Should I sign up? she asked.
Enough, she snapped, weve already got one lunatic at home who lives behind a screen all day. She tried everythingcut the internet cable, turned off the lights, even smashed a socketto pry me away from the blue glow. Nothing worked. I grew harsher, snapped at her, and stormed out, slamming doors.
One night, after a long day at work, I walked into the flat to find everything dark. Our son, Charlie, was away at his grandmothers for the holidays, and I was alone on the sofa. For the first time in months, Emily saw me not glued to a monitor. She let out a small laugh, then, with a bite of irony, said, And now were sitting in the dark?
Dont joke, Emily. Im not in the mood, I snapped, feeling a strange nausea.
Her tone turned sharp. Whos having a good time now? Going to cook dinner?
My stomachs full enough, I replied, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.
She stared at me, confused. Whats wrong?
Im sick, I croaked. The doctors sent me a note. Look. I handed her a crumpled piece of paper.
She read it, tears welling up. When did this happen?
Ive decided, I said, my voice steadier. You need to understand my position.
What are you talking about?
The flat, I said, as if that explained everything.
Why bring the flat into this?
The flat we both own the one at my motherinlaws place in Yorkshire is mine to decide about. My mother gave me a separate house, and Im the sole owner. I can sell it for treatment, or I can give it to Lucy. She needs it more than we do.
Emilys face went pale. What? How can you say that?
I rose from the sofa, anger flashing. Consider this my final will! Im the owner, and Ill decide who gets the house!
Lucy? Emily gasped. The Lucy I caught you talking to? The same Lucy you chased after in school?
Yes, her. She mattered to me. Perhaps our lives would have been different if she hadnt moved away years ago.
Emily froze, then spoke coldly, If thats what you want, fine. Let Lucy chase after you. I have nothing left here. She packed a bag, called a taxi, and left for her mothers cottage on the outskirts of town.
I never expected her to walk out so fast. I thought that, once she learned my health was failing, shed stay by my side. For three months I drifted, my spirit crushed by her words.
Charlie still visited his father from time to time, despite Emilys protests. Mum, you wont believe it, hed say, Dads lying down, and Aunt June is looking for buyers for the flat.
When the hospice called, offering to move me in, my father, who had always been a proud Yorkshire man, turned a shade of green with anger. He and I clashed like cats and dogs, and I walked away.
I tried to drown my thoughts in nights out with old friends, in pubs, in dancing, in drinks, anything to forget. The routine of workhomework that had defined my life for years finally gave way to a chance to step out and enjoy a night with the women Id barely spoken to before. We sang, we laughed, we let a few tears fall, sharing stories of our own burdens.
When I finally returned home past midnight, the house was quiet. My mother and Charlie had gone to bed early, so I was alone. I stepped out of the taxi under a cool summer night, the streetlamp opposite my flat flickering out as if to warn me. I walked to the terrace, humming a tune, feeling the weight lift a little.
From the shadows, a voice called, Emily, Ive been waiting! I turned and saw a figure perched on a low wall near the gate, dressed in white shirt, dark trousers, his sleeves rolled up. It was Lucy, looking as though shed stepped straight from a memory.
She whispered, Im sorry, I didnt mean to frighten you.
My heart hammered. I realized she wasnt a specter but a real person, standing there, eyes full of remorse. I fell to my knees, the night air cold against my skin.
She explained that she wasnt ill at all; the diagnosis was a mistake. A malfunctioning scanner had led the hospital to label her with a serious condition. Shed been trying to get the flat transferred to her so she could afford the care she thought she needed. The hospice had been ready to admit her, but shed been waiting for the paperwork.
I listened, humbled, as she confessed everything, even the lie about my health. She begged forgiveness, tears spilling over.
Emily, meanwhile, had not yet returned. I stayed there, waiting for her, wondering whether we could ever rebuild what had shattered.
Now, looking back as I write this, I see how my selfishness, my need to hide behind a screen, and my reckless promises have cost me the love of my wife, the trust of my son, and the peace of my own conscience. I learned that chasing ghosts of the past only drags you deeper into a mire of lies. The only real freedom lies in honesty, in facing the present, and in letting go of imagined futures that belong to no one.
Lesson: when you let the virtual world replace the real one, you lose the very people you were meant to protect.
