Letting You Go: A Short Story Read Free Page A

anymore. There he was, sitting at a desk in the corner, his little office set up by the window, in exactly the same way he'd kept it when he was alive. A girl sat across from him holding her one year old son and signing papers. She looked real. Everything looked real. I knew if I walked up and touched her dark hair, she'd turn around and stare at me. Did she know what was going on? How could she not know she was talking to a dead man? Did I create that scene? Had I taken to heart the words in Ken's letter and somehow transcended the barriers of reality?
                  Ken smiled at me, and held up his hand to gesture that he'd be done in a minute. He acted like we'd just seen each other this morning at breakfast. Like we'd only been separated for a couple of hours. He waited until his client finished. “Sorry to run off, but my wife is waiting for me. If you have any questions or concerns, you have my card. Don't hesitate to call.” He shook her hand, shook the baby's hand, and I watched her walk right pass me without looking up.
                  Ken approached me. I nearly fainted, but he caught me just before I broke down. At long last, he was in my arms. He felt so real. The way he squeezed me. The scent of his cologne. The rise and fall of his chest. And he was so warm. The same warmth I'd found shelter in when we laid in bed together. The same gentleness that slid a ring on my finger. The same dedication that helped build our home. But not the same love, as I'd hoped. Our connection felt stronger. Love had taken deeper roots. Love had conquered death and tore down the barriers separating life and that unknown void life fades into when we take our final breath. Fire took my husband away, but fire had melted our relationship into something indestructible. Into something like steel. At that moment, nothing could break that bond. Nothing could separate us. I kissed him everywhere. His lips, his hair, his eyes, his nose. My tears left nothing untouched.
                  “Ken, what's happening? What's going on?” I asked, looking him over and over. He was still dressed in his turnouts, but not as the monster who crept into my nightmares. He was the same Ken I remembered.  No ash. No burns. No scars. My hands shook as I touched his face. I still got that same shock of electricity. I still melted inside with the same affection and tenderness I'd swooned in since our first kiss.
                  “Are you real?” I  whispered. “Am I schizophrenic? Is this really happening?”
                  “Don't be scared. It's ok,” he assured me.
                  But it wasn't ok. Something about it was off. I pulled my hand away and shook my head. “No, this isn't right. This isn't how things work. You died. You burned to death in a collapse three months ago. How is it you're standing here in front of me?” I was horrified. I turned to walk away, thinking I'd really gone over this time. I needed to get outside and get some air.
                  “Please, don't shut me out, Meg,” he said. “I don't know how much time I have. I just needed to see you. I needed you to know I'm still here. I didn't mean for it to upset you. I know it's a lot to take in right now. I don't understand it myself, but bear with me. Don't go. Baby, please, just talk to me for a minute.”
                  “I can't! It's impossible because you're dead ,” I said firmly, more to myself than to him. “This is all just some sick twisted hallucination going on in my head. It's the medication. I swear to God, it's the medication. I'll close my eyes, count to three, and everything will go back to the way it should be. One...two...”
                  I blinked. The only thing standing in front of me was the window. A taxi pulled up next to the curb. A lady walked by with her dog. A pigeon poked at a piece of bagel. Ken was gone. A tempest of emotion