The man she buried is back and knocking.

She hears the slow, deliberate knock at her back door. It is not a scream from the past but a soft, rhythmic pounding that sinks deep into her core. In the dim light of the early morning, her hands, still dusted with flour from the pie she was making for him, begin to tremble. That pie was meant as a final, cruel token: the same one he had cherished that fateful night when everything unraveled.

She opens the door and sees him standing there. James, once a man she believed to be full of charm and promise, now appears as a ghost from her buried past. He is coated in earth and clad in a bloodstained shirt, his fingers still carrying traces of the soil from the shallow grave she had dug in a desperate bid to rid herself of him. His smile is the same as ever, but his eyes hold no warmth. Instead, there is a chilling emptiness that speaks of secrets and unforgiven betrayals.

"Hello, darling," he says in a calm, almost familiar tone.

Three days ago, in a hidden clearing beyond the backwoods, she had lowered his body into a hastily prepared grave. The night was cold and unforgiving as she scooped freshly turned earth onto the coffin of her deception. Every clump of dirt falling on his chest reminded her of the weight of her guilt. She stood over him, her breath shallow and rapid, and said a final goodbye, urging him to remain in the silent depths of the ground. Yet, even as she sealed his fate with that final turn of the soil, the echo of his eventual return haunted her.

A week before that incident, she had been inside her small kitchen, frantically scrubbing bloodstains from the tile with harsh bleach. The once-pristine surface was now marred by the evidence of their final encounter. She recalled the desperate moment when she had taken the screwdriver and forced it into his eye. The act had not been swift enough to silence him immediately. Instead, he had gasped in agonizing pain and sputtered in disbelief, a sound that would forever be lodged in her memories. "I know about her," she had screamed, lashing out in a mixture of rage and betrayal. His only reply was a broken, mocking laugh that seemed to echo the pain of all their shared lies.

Two weeks before the confrontation with the screwdriver, she had discovered the second phone hidden among a jumble of forgotten tools in the garage. The device had buzzed unexpectedly, drawing her curious fingers to flip it open. Inside were countless messages, photographs, and videos that confirmed what she had long suspected. Different women, all of them entangled in his web of deceit, had received similar messages. One voice message, older than the rest, chilled her to the bone: "The insurance cleared. We just need to wait a little longer. She has no one left." That single message was the turning point, shattering whatever illusions she had clung to and forcing her to confront the dark truth.

A month before that dreadful discovery, she had begun to notice strange sensations after her nightly cup of tea. The tea, once a source of comfort, now left her feeling sluggish, her mind drifting into an unsettling haze. She eventually found evidence to back her suspicions. Using a cheap reagent kit she had purchased from an online supplier, she tested a drop from her tea. The results confirmed her fears: the tea was laced with a sedative known for its debilitating effects. She realized that someone had been tampering with her beverage, slowly numbing her senses when she was most vulnerable. The evidence of her own careful experiments and the subsequent death of their beloved pet, who had unwittingly consumed the laced tea, added another layer to the deception. James wept inconsolably over the loss of the dog, yet his grief felt both insincere and manufactured.

Two months earlier, the gentle knock on her door one evening had come from Evelyn, the ever-watchful neighbor. Evelyn had confided in her that she had seen James in the driveway with a vivacious redheaded woman, far too late into the night to be anything innocent. At first, she had dismissed it as a simple misunderstanding. However, as days passed, she began to piece together the discrepancies. Phone records, hotel receipts, and mysterious transactions all pointed to a hidden life James had built behind her back. It was a secret so cleverly arranged that it threatened to unravel everything she had ever believed about him.

Three months ago, hope had briefly stirred within her when she discovered that she was pregnant. The news had arrived as a bittersweet reminder of their union, and for a fleeting moment, she had dared to believe that this child could be the catalyst for change. Over breakfast one cold morning, with trembling hands and a heavy heart, she had revealed the truth to him. His response was as cold as his actions: "You are not keeping it. It will ruin everything." The callous indifference in his tone shattered any illusions of commitment or shared dreams. Left alone with the implications of her decision, she arranged to attend the clinic by herself, each step punctuating the growing void between them.

Six months ago, when they had stood together in front of friends and family, the promise of forever had seemed so tangible. In a modest ceremony filled with smiles and vows, she had believed that love was meant to endure all things. James had looked at her with an intensity that had once filled her with profound warmth, and he had vowed devotion. But behind those vows lay a cold calculation. In the echoes of that joyful celebration, the seeds of betrayal had already taken root, hidden beneath a veneer of affection and sweet promises.

In the years that followed, she had been trapped in a maze of lies, unaware that every step she took had been leading her toward this grim moment. The tapestry of deceit, constructed with threads of betrayal and regret, was slowly unraveling. Every lie she had told herself about his true nature had finally caught up with her. She had been complicit in creating a life filled with shadows and sorrow, a life where the wounds of betrayal never truly healed. James had played his part perfectly, feigning love while weaving a network of deceit that left her isolated and desperate.

Now, here he stands in her doorway, a silent reminder of every failed promise and every pain inflicted in the name of love. The man she once buried in the depths of her determination has defied death and returned to confront her with the bitter fruits of her misdeeds. His appearance is a grotesque mirror of a life they had built on lies, a life that was never meant to survive.

She reaches out with a mix of terror and resignation, understanding in that moment that this is not a ghost come seeking forgiveness. It is the personification of the betrayal, the living embodiment of all the secrets and sorrows that had piled up over months of deception. The same kitchen knife that had become a symbol of her resolve now trembles in her hand as she faces the inevitable confrontation. Their eyes lock, and in his, she sees the reflection of every decision that had led them here.

The house seems to shrink around them, every shadow and every muted whisper a testament to the hidden chapters of their story. With every passing moment, the past seeps into the present, and the harsh reality becomes impossible to ignore. There is no escaping the truth. The tangled web of lies, betrayal, and regret has reached its final act, demanding acknowledgment and atonement.

In the silence that follows, as she stands on the precipice of a decision that could either redeem or forever damn her, she finally understands that the road to this moment was paved long ago. Every lie, every act of cruelty, every ounce of betrayal had led to this solitary and crushing confrontation. And as she meets his gaze with a fragile yet unyielding determination, the truth becomes clear: the man she thought she had buried forever is a constant reminder of the cost of deceit.

Her past is not a memory that can simply be locked away and forgotten. It has come back to knock on her door, bearing the weight of her sins and the relentless march of fate. And now, there is no turning back.

Christian Haines

@K.Haines90

Christian Haines has not written a story.