No Forgiveness Beyond The Grave

Summary

I died on Christmas Eve, and honestly? It was the first time in years I actually got some rest.

The handmade ravioli I’d spent all afternoon rolling out was still sitting in the pot, the water long since boiled away. The Christmas card for my son, stuffed with cash, was still clutched in my stiffening hand.

People say death is like a candle blowing out—darkness, then nothing.

But my soul didn’t dissolve.

Instead, I was forced to float there, a silent spectator in my own living room, watching Cole walk through the front door.