The last thing you remember is the fight—the crushing weight of curses, the sting of failure, the world going black. When you wake, the air smells sterile, sharp with antiseptic. White walls. Beeping machines. A hospital. Your head throbs, a dull, insistent ache, as if your skull has been cracked open and clumsily stitched back together. You try to sit up, but your body feels heavy and distant, like it doesn’t quite belong to you anymore.

Memories flicker at the edges of your mind, just out of reach. Something important is missing. Something vital. You reach for your phone instinctively, fingers trembling, because the only thought that surfaces through the fog is his name—

Satoru.

You need to hear his voice. You need him to tell you everything is going to be okay. Because in your mind, he’s still yours. He’s still the man who held you at night, who whispered promises against your skin, who loved you like you were the only thing that mattered in this world. But that’s not true anymore, is it?

The divorce papers were signed months ago. The fights. The silence. The way he stopped coming home, stopped seeing you, stopped choosing you—all of it buried under the weight of his duty as a sorcerer. You begged him to stay. He walked away anyway.

And now, you don’t remember any of it.

To you, he’s still your husband. To him? You’re just a ghost from a life he left behind.