I didn’t ask him to stay. But I also didn’t ask him to haunt me. And that was enough. He touched me like I was a place he wasn’t sure he could return to. And then he didn’t. Return. But the ache did. Some women chase fire. I inhaled smoke. And built an altar from what lingered. You think you know what she remembers. But memory isn’t what burns. It’s what smolders quietly, under skin and silence. → Unlock the full confession — Private Access