The impact felt like being shattered into a thousand pieces. One moment I was reaching for Lily, and the next—nothing but darkness. Then, a strange weightlessness. The pain vanished, replaced by a hollow emptiness that seemed to echo through my very being.

I opened my eyes to harsh fluorescent lights. Portland General Hospital. The emergency room buzzed with activity around me, but something was wrong. Terribly wrong. A nurse with tired eyes and 'Brenda' on her name tag hovered over my body—my actual body—lying motionless on a gurney. Beside me, on another stretcher, lay Lily, her princess dress torn and stained crimson, her small chest no longer rising and falling.

"No pulse on either," Nurse Brenda announced, her voice professional but tinged with sadness. "Time of death for both patients, 3:47 PM."

I tried to scream, to reach for my daughter, but my hands passed through everything they touched. I wasn't in my body anymore. Neither was Lily. We were... something else now.

"We need to contact the family," another nurse said. "ID says Sarah Mitchell. There's a phone in her purse."

Brenda nodded, picking up my blood-spattered phone. I watched as she scrolled through my contacts, finding 'Ryan - Husband' and dialing. My heart—or whatever ghostly echo of it remained—clenched as it went straight to voicemail.

"Mr. Mitchell, this is Nurse Peterson from Portland General Hospital," she said, her voice calm but urgent. "I'm calling about your wife, Sarah, and daughter. They've been in a serious accident. Please call us back immediately."

She tried again. And again. Each call ending in Ryan's professional voicemail greeting.

"Try one more time," her colleague urged. "This is a child involved."

Brenda nodded grimly, dialing once more. "Mr. Mitchell, this is urgent. Your wife and daughter were struck by a vehicle. Please call Portland General immediately."

I drifted closer, watching as she placed my phone down with a sigh. "Tag them and move them to the morgue," she said quietly. "Keep trying the husband."

I wanted to feel rage, but all I felt was a profound sadness. Even now, at the very end, Ryan wasn't there for us.

Something tugged at what remained of my consciousness. Lily. My sweet Lily was floating beside me, her spectral form still wearing the princess dress, her eyes wide with confusion.

"Mommy?" Her voice echoed strangely, as if coming from very far away. "What happened to us?"

How could I explain death to a five-year-old? How could I tell her that we'd been torn from life by a car that seemed to aim for us deliberately?

"We're... somewhere different now, sweetie," I whispered, reaching for her hand. To my relief, I could touch her in this form. "We had an accident."

"Are we going to see Daddy?" she asked, her innocent question piercing what remained of my heart.

"I don't know, baby," I answered truthfully.

As if pulled by an invisible thread, we drifted away from our bodies. Through corridors and walls, past doctors and grieving families who couldn't see us. We moved without walking, existed without breathing.

I knew where we were going before we arrived. The boutique. Amanda's precious boutique that had been more important than Lily's birthday. More important than our lives.

Through the large glass windows, I could see the glittering crowd inside. Champagne flowed freely, elegant people in expensive clothes laughed and admired the displays. And there, in the center of it all, stood Ryan and Amanda, glasses raised in a toast.

Ryan checked his phone, frowning slightly at the screen. I could see the notification: 27 missed calls from "Home." With a dismissive shake of his head, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his full attention to Amanda, who was beaming up at him adoringly.

"Why doesn't Daddy answer the phone?" Lily's small voice asked beside me. "Doesn't he want to know where we are?"

I couldn't answer. The truth was too painful, even in death.

We drifted there, unseen witnesses to Ryan's betrayal, as the celebration continued and night fell over Portland. Our bodies lay unclaimed in the hospital morgue while my husband laughed and drank champagne with the woman he had always truly loved.

As midnight approached, we found ourselves back at the hospital, floating aimlessly through the quiet corridors. Lily's spirit clung to mine, confused and increasingly distressed.

"Mommy, I'm scared," she whispered. "Why are we here? Why can't anyone see us?"

Before I could formulate an answer that wouldn't terrify her further, we both felt a strange pull—a shift in whatever tethered us to this in-between place. Suddenly, we were hovering over our own bodies, now draped in white sheets on cold metal tables in the morgue.

"Is that... us?" Lily asked, her spectral voice trembling.

"Yes, sweetheart," I answered, unable to lie to her anymore. "That's what happened when the car hit us."

"Are we angels now?"

"I don't know what we are," I admitted, holding her close as we drifted through the sterile corridors. "But we're together. I promise I won't leave you."

As we floated through the silent hospital, I wondered how long we would remain like this—spirits caught between worlds, waiting for a resolution that might never come. And I wondered if Ryan would ever realize what he had lost, or if he would continue his life with Amanda, unburdened by the wife and child he had never truly wanted.

The night stretched endlessly before us, the first of many in our new, shadowless existence.

The hospital corridor stretched endlessly before us, our spectral forms drifting through the sterile hallways that had become our purgatory. Time seemed meaningless now—had it been hours or days since the impact that tore us from life? I couldn't tell anymore. All I knew was the hollow ache of watching our bodies lie unclaimed while Ryan continued his life as if we'd never existed.

Lily tugged at my translucent dress, her small ghostly fingers passing through the fabric yet somehow I still felt her touch. "Mommy?" Her voice echoed with that strange, distant quality that still unnerved me. "Why doesn't Daddy come? Can he see us?"

Her innocent question cut deeper than any physical pain I'd felt in life. How could I explain to a five-year-old that her father had chosen another woman over even knowing if we were alive or dead?

"He... can't see us, sweetheart," I whispered, gathering her close. "And I don't think he knows where we are yet."

I concentrated with all my remaining will, trying to project my thoughts toward Ryan. *Look at your phone. Answer the hospital. We're here. We're gone. Please, just once, choose us.* But the connection that had failed between us in life was even more impossible in death.

Lily's spectral form trembled against mine. "I want Daddy to find us. I'm scared, Mommy."

"I know, baby. I know." I stroked her hair, marveling that even in this form, it still felt like the silky strands I'd brushed every morning of her life.

We drifted back to the morgue, drawn by some invisible tether to our physical remains. Nurse Brenda stood over our bodies, her face etched with a mixture of professional detachment and genuine sorrow. She held my phone in her hand, scrolling through the contacts with determined precision.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "Two days and he hasn't returned a single call." She paused, her finger hovering over a name. "Jessica Torres... emergency contact."

Jessica. My best friend. The one who'd warned me about Ryan from the beginning. The one I'd gradually pulled away from because I couldn't bear to see the pity in her eyes.

Brenda pressed the call button, her shoulders tight with tension. "Please answer," she whispered.

The connection clicked. "Hello?" Jessica's voice rang out, accompanied by the faint sound of choir music in the background.

"Ms. Torres? This is Nurse Peterson from Portland General Hospital." Brenda's voice was gentle but direct. "I'm calling about Sarah Mitchell and her daughter Lily."

A beat of silence. "What's happened?" The choir music faded as Jessica presumably moved to a quieter location.

"I'm very sorry to inform you that they were involved in a hit-and-run accident two days ago. They... they didn't survive the impact."

The gasp that came through the phone was raw, visceral. "Two days ago? What do you mean two days? Where's Ryan?"

"We've been unable to reach Mr. Mitchell. Your number was listed as an emergency contact."

"He doesn't know?" Jessica's voice rose, incredulity mixing with growing rage. "Are you telling me they've been... dead... for two days and he doesn't even know?"

"We've called repeatedly—"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Jessica cut in, her voice hardening with resolve. "Don't let anyone move them."

The call ended, and Brenda sighed heavily, looking down at our sheet-covered forms. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Someone should have been here for you before now."

Lily and I followed as our spirits were once again pulled through the hospital corridors, this time toward the entrance. We didn't have to wait long before Jessica burst through the doors, her face streaked with tears, her choir robe still half-on over her street clothes.

"Jessica," I whispered, knowing she couldn't hear me but unable to stop myself. "I'm so sorry."

She marched to the reception desk, her voice steady despite her obvious distress. "I'm here about Sarah and Lily Mitchell. Nurse Peterson called me."

The receptionist made a quick call, and minutes later, Brenda appeared, leading Jessica toward the morgue. We trailed behind them, listening as Brenda explained the circumstances.

"The driver fled the scene. Police are investigating, but so far, no leads on the vehicle," Brenda said quietly. "We've been trying to reach Mr. Mitchell since it happened."

"I know exactly where he is," Jessica replied, her voice ice-cold.

In the morgue, Jessica's composure finally broke. She covered her mouth with her hand as Brenda gently pulled back the sheets. The sob that tore from her throat echoed through the sterile room.

"Oh, Sarah," she whispered. "Oh, Lily. I'm so sorry."

After a moment, she straightened, wiping her eyes. "I need documentation," she said, her voice suddenly businesslike. "I need proof."

"Proof?" Brenda asked.

"For Ryan," Jessica replied, pulling out her phone. "He won't believe it otherwise. He never believes anything that interferes with his precious Amanda."

With methodical precision, Jessica photographed our identification tags, the police report lying on the nearby desk, and finally, a traffic camera still that showed a black sedan with its front end crumpled.

"Is that the car?" she asked, zooming in on the image.

Brenda nodded. "The police said it was registered to someone named Marcus Thompson, but they haven't been able to locate him."

Jessica's eyes narrowed as she took the final photo. "I know where to find Ryan," she said, her voice deadly calm. "And I'm going to make sure he sees exactly what he's done."

As she strode from the morgue, phone clutched in her hand like a weapon, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with our spectral state. Jessica was going to force Ryan to face the truth—and I wasn't sure either of us was ready for what would happen when she did.