A Ghost at the Door

Sunlight cascaded through the lofty glass panes of Amelia’s office, enveloping the space in a warm, golden embrace. The gentle illumination danced across the polished wooden floors, making them shimmer like liquid gold, while the elegant furniture gleamed. Yet, Amelia Hayes remained oblivious to this radiant spectacle.

Her gaze was riveted to the envelope lying ominously on her desk.

It bore no return address, no branding—only her name, inscribed in bold black ink that churned her stomach.

She studied it intently, paralyzed by trepidation. Her fingers hovered uncertainly above the flap, her heartbeat echoing in her ears, drowning out the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. At last, after a deep, trembling breath, she unveiled the contents.

Inside, a photograph awaited—an unguarded moment captured—of her and Nora.

They were sauntering home from school, Nora's backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder while Amelia held her tiny hand. The smile plastered on her face was slight, wearied, yet genuine. This snapshot had been taken just days ago.

On the reverse side of the picture was a hastily scrawled note, the handwriting slanted and chaotic.

Do you really believe he can shield you?

Amelia’s hands trembled uncontrollably.

Her surroundings felt constricting, as if the very walls were inching closer. Her throat went dry, her palms clammy, and a cold, heavy weight sank into her stomach.

With meticulous care, she returned the photo and note to the envelope, burying it deep within a drawer before securing it with a lock.

Yet the shadow of fear lingered.

For the remainder of the morning, her breath remained shallow, an unseen tide. Her team sensed her unusual quietude, but no one dared to address it. Amelia was often a fortress of solitude—this merely seemed to be an extension of that.

Inside, however, a tempest brewed.

Her first impulse was to reach out to Adrian. But then the image of his face flashed in her mind—his jaw tightening with fury, his tone constricting whenever she found herself in peril. He would unravel, slipping into protector mode.

And that was precisely what she wanted to avoid.

This burden belonged to her.

Later that night, she lay curled up in bed, feigning interest in her book when a soft whimper from Nora drifted down the hallway like a ghostly whisper.

Amelia sprang to her feet.

She dashed to Nora's room, gently swinging the door open, and found her daughter upright in bed, tears glistening on her cheeks like morning dew.

"Darling, what’s wrong?"

Nora rubbed her sleepy eyes. “I saw a man. In the garden.”

Amelia's heart stopped.

Frantic, she rushed to the window, peering out into the stillness of the backyard, where the motion lights had surrendered to darkness. All was quiet.

Yet Nora trembled like a leaf in the wind.

“Was it a nightmare?” Amelia asked softly, though her pulse thundered in her ears.

Nora nodded but then murmured, “I wasn’t asleep.”

Amelia enveloped her daughter in a tight embrace, wrapping her warmth around them both.

“There’s no one out there,” she whispered, a soothing lie. “You’re safe. I swear.”

Yet doubt clawed at her heart.

That night, sleep eluded her. Each creak of the house sent jolts through her body, and every gust of wind made her jump. She kept her phone within reach, torn between calling someone—perhaps the police? Or Adrian?

No.

She couldn't risk this becoming known. Not with the custody hearing looming just weeks away. If anyone believed Nora was unsafe in her care, she’d lose everything.

The following morning, Amelia moved through her routine like a well-oiled machine. She prepared Nora for school, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and sent her off with the driver. Then she dove into her work at the office, trying to concentrate.

But her focus was nowhere to be found.

Her phone buzzed, causing her to flinch.

It was an email from her assistant.

Just a quick reminder: You're expected at the charity gala next weekend. Should I confirm Adrian’s RSVP as well?

Without a second thought, she replied with a yes. Then, she found herself staring blankly at the screen.

Adrian.

He had been nothing but gentle since that night—never prying, never demanding. He observed her like an unsolvable puzzle but never pressed for answers.

Until now.

That evening, upon returning home, she found him in the living room, tie discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up, a book in hand. Yet his gaze locked onto her as soon as she entered.

“You seem off lately,” he remarked.

Amelia kept her coat on. “Just work. It’s nothing.”

“Amelia.”

His voice halted her in her tracks.

It wasn’t demanding or harsh; it resonated quietly—carefully—authentic.

She hated how that made her heart ache.

“What’s the matter?” he inquired.

“Nothing,” she replied too quickly.

He stood up slowly, bridging the gap between them.

“Don’t deceive me.”

Her heart fluttered—not with affection, but with anxiety. She feared that if she spoke, everything would tumble out into the open.

He stepped closer, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Is someone threatening you?”

She blinked, fighting back tears.

“No,” she fibbed again. “I’m just exhausted. I didn’t sleep well.”

He scrutinized her face, and she could feel his disbelief, yet he didn’t pry further.

Instead, he said, “Let me help you, Amelia. Whatever the issue may be. You don’t have to bear this burden alone.”

Those words nearly shattered her.

But she couldn’t afford to break.

Accepting his help would jeopardize Nora, and that was a risk she would never take.

That night, she retrieved the photo from her drawer once more.

Her gaze lingered on it, her fingers tracing the outline of Nora's tiny face.

Then she unearthed an old photo album, one that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

Within, images from her first marriage emerged—of a man with a cruel smile, bruises concealed beneath silk dresses, and fear masquerading as elegance.

She quickly snapped the album shut.

The past was closing in.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she might soon be unable to outrun it.