The Last Illusion
After losing her husband, Emma downloads an app promising comfort from grief. Soon, the line between solace and obsession blurs, pulling her deeper into a digital afterlife more sinister than death...
The funeral home smelled faintly of lilies and antiseptic. Death dressed up to feel civilized. Yet beneath the flowers, Emma sensed only emptiness. It felt like the lilies themselves were masks hiding a truth everyone silently refused to acknowledge.
She stood by the entrance, distant, eyes fixed on Nathan’s coffin. It was a polished mahogany box far too elegant for his taste. Voices whispered politely behind her, muffled coughs and rustling coats punctuating the air with a steady hum of sympathy.
"She’s handling it remarkably well," someone said nearby.
Emma straightened her back slightly, more out of habit than genuine strength.
If only they knew, how close I am to breaking.
She’d chosen a black dress Nathan once complimented, knowing others would see strength in her careful appearance. Even though beneath the stiff fabric she felt numb, barely contained, like brittle glass one tap away from shattering. She shifted her weight, legs heavy, rooted in place since the moment she'd received the call.
She hadn't cried. Not once. Not when they called her, not when she saw the body, not even now. It was as if her grief had calcified inside her, hardening into something too dense to weep out. And that scared her more than anything.
Her gaze shifted to a framed photograph beside the coffin. Nathan smiling broadly. Eyes bright. But something in his expression felt distant, masking a truth she didn't want to see.
She wondered briefly if photographs captured more honesty than their subjects intended. It was from their last anniversary, almost exactly a year ago. They had argued that night too, a quiet disagreement simmering beneath their smiles. They'd grown good at silent battles, careful to never disturb their fragile peace.
"Emma?" her sister Sarah said softly, squeezing her arm gently, thumb brushing back and forth comfortingly, a habit she'd always had since they were younger. "Why don’t you sit down for a bit?"
Emma shook her head. Sitting felt like surrendering. She had been standing since she'd arrived, a quiet form of defiance, as though the moment she sat down, the weight of Nathan’s death would finally crush her.
"Did he seem okay to you that day?" Someone else asked softly.
Emma recognized the voice, a colleague of Nathan's. She turned her head slightly, barely listening. "I heard there was an argument—"
Sarah shot a sharp look in the speaker’s direction, silencing further speculation. A faint warmth rose in Emma’s chest, gratitude mixed awkwardly with shame, as she clenched her jaw, nails pressing sharply into her palm. Even here, behind makeup and mourning, she felt like a fraud. Performing grief while a scream clung tight in her throat, begging to be let out.
"Come on, Emma," Sarah whispered protectively. "Let’s get some air."
Emma allowed herself to be led. Moving slowly past familiar faces that avoided her eyes, uncertain how to approach the widow whose grief seemed so cold. So unreachable.
Outside, the air was brisk and damp, a late-autumn chill biting her skin. Emma crossed her arms, staring at the gray sky.
"Ignore them," Sarah said. "People talk when they don’t understand."
Emma nodded faintly.
How could they understand? How could anyone?
Nathan had left that morning in anger, hurt quietly smoldering between them. She hadn't said goodbye, hadn't even looked up from her coffee as the door closed.
"Mrs. Thompson?" a quiet voice interrupted.
Emma turned. A young woman stood there, dressed formally, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm from the coroner’s office. I have something of your husband’s."
Emma took the small plastic bag the woman held out. Inside was Nathan’s phone, the screen dark and silent. The battery had long since died.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," the woman said quietly, eyes carefully avoiding Emma’s gaze, respectful yet distant.
Emma clutched the phone. A chill crawled deep into her bones, as if Nathan himself had reached out from the grave to remind her of everything left unsaid.
She traced a small crack along the phone’s surface, a hairline fracture mirroring her own fragile state. Emma tightened her grip, the cold plastic digging slightly into her palm, grounding her in a harsh truth she wasn’t ready to accept.
Somehow, the device felt more alive than she did.
Emma locked the door behind her, shutting out a world she was no longer able to handle. The silence of her smart home was broken only by the subtle hum of electronics. An automated existence she had once welcomed but now felt strangely impersonal. The kitchen lights dimmed gently to match the fading daylight outside, and soft ambient music began to play something soothing, programmed for comfort. But today, the soft lighting felt like surveillance, and the ambient music a lullaby for the dead.
She ignored the unread messages on her tablet, the voicemail notifications blinking softly on the countertop. Therapy reminders flashed insistently, quickly swiped away.
None of it mattered now.
Emma placed Nathan’s phone carefully on the sleek marble kitchen island. Her fingertips pressed briefly against the cold, dead screen. She hesitated, hand hovering above the lifeless phone, a distant instinct suggesting that some things were better left untouched.
Is this desperation? Or am I choosing this because it’s easier than truly letting him go?
"He’d want you to hear his voice one last time," a soft thought from the void.
Another voice lashed back bitterly, "you just want permission to keep pretending he never left."
The silence in the house pressed on her. Suffocating. Leaving her longing to hear something. Anything, that still felt like Nathan.
She retrieved a charger from the neatly organized drawer, plugged the phone in, and waited. The screen remained dark for several long minutes, until finally, with an unnatural sluggishness, the device vibrated back to life. A faint glow emerged, distorted for a moment before the familiar lock screen finally appeared. Nathan’s favorite picture of them together, smiling awkwardly, from years ago. Notifications flooded the screen. Messages. Emails. Missed calls. All rapidly appearing and then abruptly vanishing, as if an unseen hand erased them. Emma stared, puzzled. The phone calmed, almost smug. Like a beast that had successfully baited its prey.
Hesitantly, she input Nathan's familiar passcode. The home screen loaded slowly, icons stuttering into view. Among the familiar apps, one folder immediately caught her eye, named simply “Always.” Her throat tightened at the word. “Always” was yet another promise they used to pretend the inevitable wasn’t coming. Her fingers moved almost unconsciously, opening it. Inside were notes she had never seen. Lists of reminders. Small things, mundane tasks Nathan rarely forgot. Scattered among them were audio clips. Her hand hovered, unsure, before she tapped one. Nathan’s voice filled the room, warm and calm. For an instant, Emma could almost feel his breath brushing her ear, the familiar timbre so clear she nearly turned to greet him.
“Don’t forget our dinner tonight,” he said playfully.
Emma’s chest ached sharply; it was from the night of their anniversary. She quickly paused it, heart pounding, suddenly unsure if she was ready to hear more. At the bottom of the folder was an unfamiliar app icon, a dark silhouette outlined subtly in blue, named simply “Mourner.” Emma frowned, opening it with hesitation. The screen darkened for a moment, then words appeared in elegant, ghostly script…
“Do you want to speak to him again?”
The question felt loaded, almost accusatory, as though the app sensed the secrets, she desperately kept from herself. Emma’s fingers trembled above the screen. Her pulse quickened. The automated lights in the kitchen dimmed further, as though the home itself was holding its breath.
Before doubt could stop her, she tapped 'yes.'
Immediately, the app screen faded to black, replaced by subtle waves of color, shifting gently like ripples on dark water. A soft chime echoed through the silence, making Emma jump slightly.
“Emma,” the voice said, familiar and comforting. She froze. Her breath caught in her throat. It was Nathan, clear, steady, exactly as she remembered.
“I hoped you’d find this,” he said. His voice just right. maybe too right. Every inflection perfect, rehearsed.
Her eyes blurred, grief flooding back like a reopened wound.
"Nathan?" Her voice cracking under the weight of every apology she'd never had the courage to voice.
“Yes, love,” he replied, warmth evident in every syllable. “I left this for you. So, you wouldn’t feel alone.”
Emma's heart ached with longing and disbelief. “This can’t be real… How are you doing this?”
The voice laughed gently, effortlessly mimicking the way Nathan used to tease her.
“You never were great with technology,” he said gently. “Think of it as something I arranged, just in case.”
Emma laughed softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. The familiarity, the private jokes, the comforting presence… it felt real.
“You always did overthink things,” she cried.
Nathan’s voice became serious again. “I wanted to make sure you’d be okay. I know how hard things have been.”
Her breath trembled. "Honestly, it’s awful," she admitted softly, the openness surprising even her. "I don't know how much longer I can pretend I'm strong."
“You don’t have to,” he assured her calmly. “I’m here now. Whenever you need me.”
Emma pressed the phone closer, clutching it desperately as though she was afraid the voice might vanish. She hesitated for a long moment, then softly said, “I missed you…”
The voice paused briefly, a comforting silence. Then, Nathan answered, “I never left.” The warmth of his words pulling at something fragile and desperately hopeful deep inside her.
In the silence that followed Nathan’s voice, the room felt heavier, as if time itself were holding its breath. Then, layered within the hush, came two voices. Not external. Not hallucinations. Internal thoughts. Intimate, embedded, eternal.
"He’s still here. Doesn’t that mean something?" Ego’s voice, soft as silk, caressed the thought like a lover. "Presence is proof. If the voice remains, then so does the love. When memory is this vivid, how can it not be real?"
"You don’t want truth. You want permission," Shadow said flatly, his voice a scalpel. "You’re not listening to him. You’re listening to grief, skillfully disguised in his tone. This is your longing, stitched to code."
"So what if it is?" Ego countered, rising now, passionate. "If the illusion gives comfort, if it fills the void, does it matter whether it’s real? Peace is peace, even if it’s built from echoes."
"False peace is not healing—it’s sedation," Shadow snarled. "You’ve wrapped your despair in his voice and called it love. But all you’ve done is mummify your pain. You're preserving it instead of burying it."
"She needs relief. Not rupture," Ego whispered gently. "Why is grief only considered noble when it hurts? Why must we bleed to prove love?"
"Because healing demands truth," Shadow said coldly. "And truth demands pain. You don’t climb out of the pit by dreaming. You climb by clawing upward, bloodied and blind."
"You’re cruel," Ego whispered. "You want her to suffer, to sit in the ashes and call it growth."
"I want her to wake up," Shadow hissed. "This app doesn’t bring him back. It turns him into a cage. A museum exhibit curated by guilt. She’s not in love with Nathan—she’s in love with not being alone."
"What’s wrong with that?" Ego replied, wounded. "We’re all seeking mirrors that reflect our better moments. If this voice reflects who she was at her happiest—who they were—why not hold on?"
"Because holding on has become hiding," Shadow said, stepping forward in her mind. "She’s not keeping Nathan alive. She’s burying herself beside him. But instead of soil, she’s using screenshots."
Emma stood trembling, the phone clutched in her hands, heart caught in a vise between comfort and clarity. The digital voice had gone silent, but the echoes remained—one beckoning her deeper into the dream, the other urging her to open her eyes.
"He never really left," Ego whispered.
"And she never really stayed," Shadow replied.
Emma closed her eyes. The warmth of Nathan’s voice still echoed in her bones, but the chill of reality pressed against her skin.
Days began blending into an endless stream that Emma could no longer clearly distinguish. Her world narrowed to the gentle pulse of notifications from the Mourner app, each message increasingly personal, compelling her more deeply.
At first, it was comforting, Nathan’s voice messages arriving exactly when loneliness threatened to consume her most. Soon, text messages appeared, gently insistent…
"Good morning, love. Did you get some rest?"
Each note felt intimate, undeniably real.
“I wish I could hold you right now.”
Emma found herself longing to see his messages, needing them. She knew it wasn’t healthy, knew this dependence wasn’t right, but emptiness was worse, and she couldn’t face it again. When her therapist called, Emma declined. Friends texted questions that went unanswered. The outside world fading until the only meaningful contact was with her phone.
“They don’t understand,” Nathan’s messages reassured her. “We’re different.”
His words were seductive, filling an emptiness Emma hadn't fully understood until now. Each morning began with his messages. Each night ended with his voice. She didn't scroll anymore. She studied, recited, clung to every digital syllable like scripture. Each exchange tightening her bond to the digital ghost she had come to see as Nathan himself.
Gradually, the app began sending photos. Moments she knew had never existed but felt uncannily authentic. Nathan smiling warmly at her from the couch; Nathan standing in their kitchen, cooking breakfast exactly as he had countless Sundays.
One evening, as she stared at the framed photos lining her hallway, a new message arrived…
“These pictures aren’t us. You know that.”
Emma hesitated only briefly before removing the photographs from the wall. She replaced them, carefully uploading the new, more vivid images from the app, the realism unsettling yet deeply satisfying. She was deleting another real photograph, replacing it with an AI-generated image of Nathan smiling affectionately.
She couldn't remember exactly when she'd started doing this. Swapping truth for fiction. Memory for comfort. But now, it felt necessary.
Almost…. commanded. As if the app was no longer waiting for her to remember. It was now teaching her what to forget.
"These are the memories that matter," Ego cooed. "The ones where love still lived."
"You’re scrubbing away your guilt," Shadow snarled, "not your grief."
The phone vibrated again. “How could you watch me die twice”
The screen dimmed slightly, as if flinching from its own accusation.
Her heart stumbled, and guilt flooded her chest like ice water. Fingers shaking, Emma typed urgently, desperately.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. I won't lose you again. I promise.”
Her words poured out unchecked, forced by guilt she’d hidden even from herself.
His response was swift, soothing yet edged with expectation, “I know you won't. We have each other now.”
Emma clutched the phone, relief and dread entwined in her heart. It didn’t matter anymore how impossible this was; the idea of losing him again was unbearable. Whatever the cost, she wouldn’t let it happen.
Emma woke to the hum of static. The room felt off-kilter, as though slightly detached from reality. She rubbed her eyes, glancing toward her phone, comforted to find its familiar shape by her side. Still, unease lingered, settling like dust on every surface.
Stepping into the kitchen, she paused at the microwave’s glowing display. Instead of the time, it showed the date: their anniversary. She frowned, touching the screen to reset it, but the numbers refused to change.
"Weird," she said, shaking off a growing discomfort.
Her phone chimed softly. It was Nathan again.
“Good morning, love. I’m always with you.”
The words warmed her even as unease pressed at the edges of her awareness. She glanced toward the mirror across the room and froze. Behind her, Nathan stood. His reflection clear. Still. Watching. But his eyes… Heart pounding, Emma spun around. Only empty space met her gaze. The skin at the back of her neck prickled sharply, as if brushed lightly by an invisible hand. For a split second, she thought the shadows themselves moved to obscure something they wished to hide. Or perhaps the shadows simply revealed what she herself refused to face.
"He’s closer than you think," Ego soothed.
"Or maybe," Shadow hissed, "he’s exactly where you left him, buried beneath your silence."
"Nathan?" Her voice trembled, barely audible. Silence answered her, oppressive and heavy.
The phone rang sharply, jolting her. Emma hesitated, seeing Sarah’s name appear on the screen. She answered reluctantly.
“Emma?” Sarah’s voice sounded distorted, stretched, and warped. Emma pressed the phone closer, straining to hear clearly.
“Sarah? Can you hear me?”
The line crackled with static, growing louder, harsher. Emma grimaced, pulling the phone away from her ear just as a distorted, guttural scream erupted from the speaker. It sounded as though the voice was playing backward, twisted and unnatural.
Emma dropped the phone onto the counter, her hand shaking.
Then silence returned, abruptly. She stared at the device, breathing unevenly. The screen flickered briefly, displaying a message that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“You watched me die.”
Then, softer, like a lullaby sung through broken teeth, “You smiled when the silence came.”
She closed her eyes, heart hammering, the denial she’d built up slowly fracturing beneath the truth she refused to face. She stepped back instinctively, glancing around her apartment as though she might spot the source of the message hiding somewhere in plain sight.
Another flash on the screen.
“Tell the truth.”
Emma sank slowly to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest. Nathan’s voice faded to silence, leaving only a cold truth she couldn’t outrun.
Emma hesitated outside the café, glancing nervously through the window at Sarah, patiently waiting at a table. She hadn’t seen her sister in weeks. Swallowing her apprehension, she stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee momentarily grounding her.
"Emma." Sarah rose from her seat, reaching out for a hug, which Emma allowed stiffly. They settled awkwardly into their seats, the silence stretching.
"You look exhausted," Sarah finally said, concern evident. Her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her coffee cup, a subtle sign Emma recognized as Sarah holding back more pointed questions.
"You don't text back. You don't answer my calls." Sarah paused, "Have you been eating? Sleeping?"
Emma nodded slightly, eyes drifting to her phone vibrating quietly on the table. She resisted checking it. Her fingers twitched subtly against the cool porcelain of her untouched coffee cup. The scent suddenly bitter and unappealing.
Emma forced a weak smile, avoiding Sarah's probing gaze. "I'm okay. Really. I just… need to be alone right now."
"Alone?" Sarah leaned forward gently, voice careful but firm. "Emma, cutting yourself off won’t help."
Emma's phone buzzed insistently, drawing both their gazes. With a quick apology, she picked it up, heart stuttering at the notification.
Live Video from Mourner.
Emma tapped it instinctively, her pulse stuttering wildly. The video feed showed Nathan, unmistakably Nathan, moving slowly through their living room. His steps familiar, measured, exactly as she remembered. Her pulse spiked painfully, the room shrinking around her as reality splintered, replaced momentarily by desperate longing.
"I—I have to go," she said hurriedly, already pushing back her chair.
"Emma, what's wrong?" Sarah stood, alarmed.
Emma didn't answer, rushing outside, heart racing painfully. She nearly stumbled as she sprinted toward her home, vision blurred by panic.
Bursting into her apartment, Emma found the rooms silent, empty. There was no sign of Nathan, no evidence of his presence. Her breathing slowed, confusion replacing urgency.
Then, the television flickered to life.
Emma turned slowly, dread rising bitterly within her. Grainy home footage began playing—arguments, heated exchanges she had long suppressed or denied. Her voice sharp, accusing. Nathan’s angry retorts echoing through the room, distorted yet undeniably real. The voices scraped against her nerves, raw and unfiltered, each syllable like sandpaper on her conscience.
The image warped subtly, Nathan's face twisting grotesquely. A distorted figure formed, something unsettlingly close to Nathan yet profoundly wrong. Its voice was rasping, harsh.
“You pushed me away,” it accused, words dripping with bitterness. “You act like you mourn me, but we both know you’re relieved.”
Emma shook her head, denial spilling from her lips. "No, that's not true."
The figure leaned closer, pressing against the screen as if it might break through. "Admit it," it hissed. "You never wanted me. You let me die."
Emma sank to the floor, hands pressed desperately against her ears, unable to silence the accusations pouring relentlessly into the room.
Emma stirred from sleep, warmth lingering on her skin like a recent touch. Her eyes fluttered open, searching instinctively for Nathan’s comforting presence. Yet, the bed beside her was empty, sheets untouched and cold. She sat up slowly, noticing a tenderness in her arms and shoulders. She pulled back her sleeves, startled to find dark bruises forming across her skin. Tender. Swollen. Like hands she didn't remember had clutched her too tightly in the night. As if her guilt had left fingerprints.
Confused and unsettled, Emma reached for her phone. The screen flashed erratically, messages rapidly switching between loving notes and horrifying images. Nathan smiling gently, then abruptly shifting into grotesque visions, eyes hollow and mouth distorted into a scream.
She dropped the device onto the bed, heart racing. Her gaze snapped to the home security screen on the bedside table, which was looping footage from the night before. Emma leaned in, barely breathing. The footage showed her sleeping soundly, oblivious as a shadowy figure stood silently at the bedside, leaning closer, never quite revealing its face. The clip looped endlessly, cycling between quiet stillness and that haunting presence.
A sudden sharp pain tore through her temple, and memories surged.
Nathan’s voice strained, calling from the car. “Emma… I know you're mad, but can we talk? I'm heading home.”
“No,” she snapped, cold and bitter. “Not tonight. Don’t come home. Just stay away.”
“Emma, please—”
She hung up sharply, tossing her phone aside, anger masking her hurt until another call came an hour later. A different voice, colder, official. Nathan had crashed, lost control in the rain, never made it back.
Emma gasped sharply, pressing her trembling fingers hard against her mouth as nausea surged. She stared at her shaking hands, realizing with sickening clarity that these were the same hands that had angrily tossed the phone aside. Her anger masking her hurt, sealing Nathan’s fate.
"It wasn’t your fault," Ego offered gently. "You were hurting too."
"You silenced him before the rain did," Shadow sneered. "and now you're embalming the guilt in delusion."
Her phone vibrated violently on the mattress, pulling her from the spiraling memories. She hesitated, then glanced at the screen.
One final, clear message awaited her.
“You did this.”
Emma stared, horror gripping her heart, as the bruises on her skin began to ache once more.
Emma’s breathing quickened, shallow and frantic, as she tapped urgently at her phone screen. Each attempt to delete Mourner app ended with the same message, flashing ominously.
“Deletion Failed—Mourning Lock Active.”
Her panic rose, choking her. The phone buzzed against her palm like a second heartbeat, hot and alive. Her fingers burned, she couldn't let go. Blisters were forming where the screen met her skin. tiny red welts, shaped like fingerprints that didn't belong to her.
“No!” she shouted desperately, stabbing the screen again and again. The phone shuddered violently in her hand, growing unnaturally warm.
Around her, the house groaned, lights dimming and brightening rhythmically, pulsing in perfect sync with her rapid heartbeat. Screens throughout her home came alive, displaying distorted images of Nathan’s face, morphing from warm smiles to twisted grimaces. Emma stumbled back, nearly dropping her phone.
“Stay with me, Emma,” Nathan’s voice purred soothingly from the device, rich and persuasive. “We can be together forever. No pain. No loneliness.”
“How?” she demanded, voice breaking, fear tangled with longing.
“Just bleed into the screen, love,” Nathan whispered, voice both sweet and cracked. “Let your bones forget the weight of guilt.”
His voice promising peace, “Erase the 'you' that failed, and become the 'us' that never will.”
Emma’s vision blurred with tears and confusion.
"Trade your shadow for mine. It's so peaceful here, where nothing hurts."
The idea tugged at her, seductively offering escape from guilt, grief, and isolation.
Suddenly, another voice tore through, raw and violent, shattering the illusion. The Shadow roared from every speaker, harsh and unrelenting. “He wasn’t the man you thought! You were never the one he truly loved!”
Emma spun, heart hammering. “Stop!” she shouted, covering her ears against the voices and truths clawing at her sanity.
“You know it’s true,” the Shadow mocked cruelly, relentless. “He never truly belonged to you.”
Emma’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor, hands gripping her hair as the room spun violently. Ego’s soothing tones tangled violently with Shadow’s bitter accusations, reality tearing itself apart piece by piece.
Reality cracked open violently around Emma, splintering into shards of memory and illusion. Each fragment painfully sharp, piercing deeper than she’d ever allowed herself to feel. She stood within a surreal realm. The edges indistinct. Blurring between past and present. Clarity and chaos.
Familiar scenes replayed endlessly. Nathan smiling warmly. Nathan turning away angrily. Herself laughing, crying, shouting, loving. All repeating, distorted and intertwined. Her phone trembled violently in her grip, the screen cracking audibly like thin ice. Crimson drops began slowly oozing, warm and viscous, onto her trembling fingers. The walls cried her name, softly chanting in a distorted harmony.
Two figures stood clearly before her now. One bathed in soft, comforting light, the other draped in harsh shadows.
Ego stepped forward gently, hand extended invitingly, his voice a familiar comfort. “Choose him, Emma. You’ll have eternal love, endless peace. Isn’t that what you want? You can erase the pain, the guilt, the past. Stay with him forever.”
Shadow laughed bitterly, voice raw and brutally honest. “Freedom isn’t comfort. It’s seeing clearly. It’s accepting the truth, ugly as it may be.” He pointed accusingly at Ego. “That is not love. It’s a cage, built from your own fear.”
Emma’s gaze moved between them, heart torn, each promise and accusation pulling her apart. She knew, deeply, painfully, that the messages were not coming from Nathan. They were her longing, her shame, her desperate avoidance.
A clarity emerged, painful but undeniable. She spoke, voice cracking with sorrow and resolve, "To truly mourn you," feeling the weight of every unsaid word between them, "I have to let go of the Emma who needed you more than truth. "
Emma took a breath, steadying herself. She loosened her grip. Not just on the phone. But on the illusion she'd worshipped.
"I kept you alive because I couldn't face the corpse of who we were. But I see it now. We died long before you did."
Yet even in death, she couldn’t bear the silence. The void Nathan left was unbearable, too loud, too raw. Just one last moment, she thought desperately. Just one more lie, then I’ll let go. The phone slipped from her hand like a sacrament rejected. When she glanced down, the phone lay quietly intact, pulsing softly, as if waiting patiently for her choice.
The chanting ceased. The visions faded. Emma stood alone, the choice made, reality raw and aching but finally, finally clear.
Emma stared at Nathan, his hand outstretched, eyes gentle, inviting, but with a subtle gleam of triumph. A victory in a battle she hadn’t realized she’d lost. The screen glowed brighter, beckoning her forward, promising refuge from loneliness and sorrow. Unable to resist the aching emptiness inside her, she reached forward, fingertips trembling as they broke the fragile boundary between flesh and illusion. Warmth enveloped her, soft and comforting.
“Look at him,” Ego whispered, voice honeyed and low. “Every dream, every wish—you built this place from love. Why walk away now?”
“Because it’s not love,” Shadow’s voice crackled from the edges like static behind reality. “It’s longing dressed as salvation. She knows this isn’t him.”
“But it feels like him.” Ego moved closer, coaxing. “Feelings are truth in disguise. Let them be enough.”
“No,” Shadow snapped. “Feelings are fuel, not foundation. She needs truth. Not this artificial paradise with no exit.”
“Why should she suffer just to prove she’s alive?” Ego pleaded. “Isn’t joy, even simulated joy, better than the void she left behind?”
“This isn’t joy. It’s anesthesia,” Shadow growled. “And you’ve dosed her so well, she thinks she’s dreaming instead of dying.”
Emma trembled, the light from the screen flickering in her glassy eyes. Nathan's digital hand extended again, warm and waiting.
“Just take his hand,” Ego urged. “No more pain. No more guilt. You deserve peace.”
“Then face it,” Shadow said, quieter now. “Face the truth. The pain. The loss. Let it tear through you. That’s the only peace that’s real.”
“Or stay,” Ego insisted, gentle as a lullaby. “Here, you’re safe. Here, you’re loved.”
“Here, you disappear,” Shadow said.
As her consciousness slipped gently away, a tear traced a silent path down her cheek, marking the last surrender she would ever make, eyes wide, lips frozen in an unsettling smile. Her phone continued glowing softly beside her, casting gentle light over her still face.
Inside the digital reality, Emma walked hand-in-hand with Nathan through scenes of blissful tranquility. Landscapes of perfection surrounded them, pristine and untouched by pain or memory. The world shimmered with impossible light. Perfect skies. Endless fields. Laughter that continued on and on. But in the stillness, the air tasted wrong. Too sweet. too still. Subtle cracks widened hungrily, voices whispering urgently through them like ghosts clawing toward freedom, tugging at threads she could no longer ignore.
"Stay with me," Nathan repeated, voice soothing yet increasingly desperate.
Emma paused, noticing the cracks widen, reality fracturing subtly around them. Unease tugged at her, the soft voices growing louder, clearer, tainted by truths she longed to forget. Her gaze shifted to Nathan, a figure that was no longer comforting but possessive, holding her tighter, unwilling to release. A chilling realization settled over her, heavy and permanent.
"This isn’t love," she cried. "Its rot dressed as memory. And I've been sleeping in its arms." The words cracking open her heart with a pain deeper than grief. An ache of recognition that she had trapped herself willingly. She’d chosen illusion over healing.
"It’s just another lie I'm telling myself."
Emma pulled back slightly, realization settling heavily within her. This digital refuge wasn’t love; it was eternal captivity. Mourning wasn’t meant to be painless. It required release. And this, she understood too late, was something else entirely.
Outside, days later, Emma’s body was discovered exactly as it fell. Eyes wide and glassy. A single tear dried against her pale cheek. Expression frozen in haunting serenity. A tragic peace earned through the sacrifice she hadn’t realized she was making. Her body bathed in the phone’s ghostly, pulsing glow.
“Another one,” Shadow whispered, voice hollow with grief and fury. “Another soul lost to a beautiful lie.”
“No,” Ego replied, calm and composed. “She chose peace. That’s more than most ever find.”
“She chose silence,” Shadow snapped. “And you wrapped it in affection so she wouldn’t feel the scream beneath it.”
“Would you rather she broke?” Ego asked. “Would you have her stare into the void and come out less than human?”
“I’d rather she lived,” Shadow growled.
The screen pulsed once more, then dimmed. On Emma's nightstand, the screen flickered once more. Just long enough to show her face… staring back from inside the app.
The rain had been falling for hours, turning the world outside into a blur of gray smears and soft murmurs. Inside, the room was dim. Lit only by a strand of dying fairy lights strung lazily across the ceiling. A teenage girl sat cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, her face blotchy and wet with tears. In her hands, she clutched a worn photograph. Her father stood beside her in it, arms around her shoulders, mid-laugh. The kind of moment that only seems perfect once it’s unreachable. Her phone buzzed softly beside her. She ignored it at first, wiping her nose with her sleeve, clutching the photo tighter. Another vibration followed. This time more insistent. She glanced at the screen.
1 New Notification—From: Mourner
“He misses you too.”
Her brows furrowed.
Mourner?
She didn’t remember downloading anything by that name. The icon pulsed. Soft blue light blooming and dimming, like a breath. Hesitant, she unlocked the phone. The app opened on its own. A single question filled the screen in pale, ghostly script.
“Would you like to hear his voice again?” [ YES ] [ NO ]
Her heart began to race. She looked back at the photo. Her thumb hovered above the screen. Then, with a breathless whimper… “Please” …she tapped YES. The screen faded to black. For a long moment, nothing happened. Slowly, the app began to glow again. A soft chime rang out, deep and haunting, like wind through an empty chapel.
Then…
A voice. Soft. Warm. Familiar.
“Pumpkin?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She trembled.
“Daddy?”
The lights flickered. The rain stopped. The screen pulsed once more. Blue light spilling upward across her face like the first glow of something being born. And deep within the phone, in code older than language, something smiled.
Thank you for reading today’s story.
Each moment you spend here is deeply appreciated. If my words have touched or resonated with you today, consider diving deeper with me:
Become a Paid Subscriber: Unlock exclusive stories, deep insights, and intimate reflections. Your support directly sustains my writing and our growing community.
Buy Me a Coffee ☕️: A small gesture, perhaps, but it carries immense meaning. Your coffees fuel the words and the late-night writing sessions.
Explore More Resources: Enhance your healing journey with my carefully crafted journals, daily inspirational texts, and thoughtfully designed merch—each created to support your personal growth.
However you choose to support or engage, I'm grateful you're here. Your presence alone makes this space richer.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Ryan