Mourning A Ghost Who Never Died

Summary

On the eve of our wedding, Ted Alexander died protecting me. A mugger’s blade tore through his chest in a dark alley, and he bled out right in front of my eyes.

I collapsed, my mind fracturing from the trauma. By the time I finally woke up in a sterile hospital bed, his funeral had already ended. He was gone, buried without me.

For the next ten years, I lived like a ghost.

I dragged myself to thirty-five. My grandmother—the matriarch of the Virgil family and the only person who truly cared for me—fell terminally ill.