Sarah approached Emma and placed a hand on her shoulder. From the touch, the girl became even more transparent.
“I thought I could take you too. You’re a kind person. Descended when I called. Helped me out. Isn’t it fair if I repay the same?”
“I don’t want to.” “Want or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is it will happen. But you have a choice—agree voluntarily or resist. That determines if it hurts.”
James realized time was running out. Emma was fading, her breathing slowing. He remembered the book Mrs. Clara gave, the words about appeasing the spirit by giving what it wants—not a child, but peace.
“Sarah,” he said calmly. “I understand why you do this. You’re lonely. It hurts. But taking us won’t rid you of pain.”
“It will. I’ll have a family.” “But we won’t love you by force. Love doesn’t work that way. You know—Michael didn’t truly love you, or he wouldn’t have left.”
Sarah’s face twisted in anger. “Don’t mention his name!” “Why? Because it still hurts? Fifteen years have passed, and you can’t forgive.”
“He ruined my life. He acted cruelly.” “But you ruined your life when you decided you couldn’t live without him.”
“Because living was unbearable.” “Pain passes if you let it go. You cling to it like treasure.”
James saw his words touched her. Sarah was losing control, and her power over Emma weakened. The girl became more material again. “You’re not afraid of pain,” he continued. “You’re afraid to forget. Afraid if you release the grudge, nothing will remain of your love.”
“Not true!” “True. Love isn’t a grudge. Love is wishing happiness to another, even if they caused you pain. You can love Michael and let him go.”
Sarah sank to her knees, tears flowing from her eyes—glowing like molten silver. “I don’t know how,” she whispered. “This pain became part of me.”
“Then let me help. Not by force, but humanly.” James felt the invisible wall disappear. He sat beside her carefully. “Tell me about him. Not how he left you. What he was like when you were happy.”
Sarah began telling. She spoke of Michael not as a betrayer, but as the young man she loved—his laugh, how he read her poems under the old oak, their plans together. “He wanted to be a teacher,” she said, tears streaming down her transparent cheeks. “Dreamed of opening a school for rural kids. And me? I wanted to help him. Wanted our own children.”
James listened, and a story unfolded—not of betrayal, but of two young people who loved but couldn’t cope with circumstances. “What happened then? Why did he choose another?”
Sarah paused, gathering strength. “Her parents were richer. Had connections in Lincoln. Could get him a good job. Me? I had nothing but love. He said it was temporary. He’d marry her, get the job, then we’d be together. As lovers.”
Her voice trembled with pain. “He didn’t understand he was offering me something I never wanted.”
James began to understand. Michael wasn’t a villain; he was weak, trying to have it all, not thinking of consequences. And Sarah was a young girl for whom love was everything. “I refused,” she continued. “I said if he marries another, it’s over. I thought he’d choose me. But he chose her.”
“And you decided to end it.” “I couldn’t live without him. Better to die than live with that pain.”
Sarah raised her eyes to James. “I was a fool. Young, stupid fool.” “You were a person who loved too much.” “Yes, and that love killed me. And then it wouldn’t let me rest.”
James felt they were approaching the heart of it. “Sarah, do you still love him?” She was silent, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I hate and love him at once. I can’t choose one.”
“Do you know what became of him?” Sarah shook her head. For 15 years underground, she knew nothing of the living world. “He lived an unhappy life,” James said softly. “Mrs. Clara told me. He married that girl, got a job in Lincoln. But the family didn’t work. His wife was capricious and cruel, no children. The job brought no joy.”
Sarah listened without interrupting. “And he never forgot you. Every year, on the day of your death, he brought flowers to the well. Until his own death five years ago. His heart failed. They say his last words were about you, asking forgiveness.”
Sarah sobbed quietly, hopelessly. With her tears, something changed. The bluish glow from her softened, warmed. Emma, who had stood motionless, blinked and looked around, confused. “Dad? What am I doing here?” she asked in a normal, lively voice.
James felt incredible relief. The bond between Sarah and Emma weakened. “So he suffered too,” Sarah said. “We both suffered. All for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. You loved each other. You just couldn’t preserve it. Now it’s too late to change anything for you two. But you can release this pain. Forgive him and yourself.”
Sarah looked at James, then at Emma, who clung to her father. “She’s a good girl,” Sarah said quietly. “Kind. Like I was once.”
“Yes. And she has a chance to live a happy life. Don’t take that from her.” “I’ll try. But I’m scared to let go. What if no one waits for me there?”
“Someone waits. Those who loved you. Your parents, your grandmother. And maybe Michael, to ask forgiveness.”
Sarah stood and approached the well, gazing into the darkness. “James,” she said without turning. “Thank you. No one ever talked to me like that—with understanding, without fear, without judgment.”
“Everyone deserves understanding. Even those who made mistakes. Especially ghosts, because they couldn’t find peace.”
Sarah turned and smiled—a warm, alive smile. “Tell the girl I won’t come anymore. And… forgive me for the fear.”
“I will.” Sarah stepped toward the well but stopped. “And tell her life is a gift. The greatest gift. It must be valued, no matter what.”
With those words, she stepped into the well. Instead of falling, she dissolved into thousands of glowing sparks. The sparks rose to the stars and vanished, leaving a warm breeze and the scent of wildflowers. The well darkened, the bluish glow gone, and no sounds came from the depths—only ordinary night silence.
Emma approached the well’s edge and looked down. “Dad, will Aunt Sarah find peace?” she asked quietly. “I think so, sunshine. She could finally release her pain.”
“I feel sorry for her. She was very lonely.” James hugged his daughter. Emma was an ordinary child again—warm, alive, with clear eyes.