My Ed best friend’s husband proposed to me at her funeral. I said yes. Now her ghost is haunting my house. I’m Skyler and I need to get this out before I lose my mind completely. Three months ago, I stood in a cemetery watching them lower my best friend, Paige, into the ground. The sky was that weird gray color it gets before snow.

I was wearing her favorite scarf because I couldn’t bring myself to take it off after she d!ed. It still smelled like her perfume. Carter, her husband, stood across from me during the service. He looked destroyed, completely broken. His eyes were red and swollen, and he kept touching his wedding ring like he was making sure it was still there.

We’d been texting every day since Paige passed. Grief has a way of binding people together. You know, we were the two people who loved her most. After everyone threw their flowers on the casket, people started heading back to their cars. It was freezing. My fingers were numb, even in my gloves. Carter caught my arm as I turned to leave.

Skyler, wait, he said, his voice cracked. I need to ask you something. I thought he wanted to talk about the reception at Paige’s mom’s house. or maybe he needed help going through her things. But then he got down on one knee right there in the cemetery in the mud and de@d grass and pulled out a ring. Not Paige’s ring, a different one. I know this seems insane, he said, and tears were streaming down his face, but Paige made me promise.

Before she d!ed, she made me swear that if anything happened to her, I’d take care of you, that I’d make sure you weren’t alone. She said you and I were the only people who really understood her and that we’d need each other. My brain couldn’t process what was happening. People were still walking past us. Paige’s aunt Carol literally gasped.

“Carter, what are you doing?” I whispered. She told me you loved me. He said before the accident. She said she’d seen the way you looked at me and that she wanted us to be happy. She made me promise, Skylar. She made me promise. The thing is, Paige had been acting strange in the weeks before she d!ed. She’d gotten really sick really suddenly.

Some kind of aggressive infection that just destroyed her body in a matter of weeks. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong until it was too late. She’d been saying weird things near the end when the fever got bad, talking about making arrangements, about making sure everyone would be okay.

And I had loved Carter years ago. before he and Paige got together. I’d introduced them at my birthday party and watched them fall in love. And I’d buried those feelings so deep I thought they were gone. Yes, I heard myself say. Okay. Yes. I don’t know why I said it. Grief makes you do crazy things. Or maybe some part of me had been waiting for this my whole life.

Carter stood up and hugged me and I could feel him shaking over his shoulder. I swear I saw something move near Paige’s grave. A shadow that didn’t match any of the trees. The first weird thing happened that night. I got home to my apartment around 9:00. The reception had been awful. Paige’s mom, Patricia, wouldn’t even look at me.

Her sister Lily had actually pulled me aside in the bathroom and asked me what the hell I was thinking. But Carter had held my hand the whole time and kept saying Paige would have wanted this. I made tea and sat on my couch staring at the ring on my finger. It was beautiful. A sapphire, which is my birthstone. How did Carter know that? Then I heard it from my bedroom.

The sound of someone crying. I froze. I live alone. I’d locked the door when I came in. I grabbed a kitchen knife and slowly walked toward the bedroom. My heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The crying got louder. It was a woman’s voice, sobbing like her heart was breaking, and it sounded exactly like Paige.

I pushed open the bedroom door. Nothing. The room was empty, but it was freezing cold, like someone had left a window open in winter, except all my windows were closed. And then I smelled it. Paige’s perfume, that specific rose and vanilla scent she always wore. “Hello,” I called out. My voice shook. The crying stopped. Just like that, complete silence.

But the cold remained, and so did that smell. I didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I texted Carter, told him I heard weird noises, but didn’t mention the perfume or the crying. I didn’t want him to think I was losing it. He came over that afternoon with coffee and bagels. He looked better than he had at the funeral. Almost relieved, actually.

I’m glad you said yes yesterday, he said, sitting on my couch. I’ve been so alone since she got sick. And Paige really did want this, Skyler. She talked about it constantly at the end. What exactly did she say? I asked. Carter looked down at his coffee. She said she knew she wasn’t going to make it. The doctors had told her privately that the infection was too advanced, and she said she’d had this feeling for a while that something was going to happen to her.

She made me promise to propose to you at the funeral. said it had to be then that the timing was important. I didn’t understand it, but I promised. That’s really specific, I said slowly. Paige was always specific about things, Carter said. He reached over and took my hand. She loved us both so much.

She wanted us to be happy. His hand was warm. Paige’s perfume was still lingering in my apartment, but I didn’t mention it. Instead, I let Carter hold my hand and tell me stories about Paige’s last days, how she’d made lists of things she wanted done, how she’d recorded voice messages for her family, how she’d seemed almost peaceful at the end, like she’d accepted what was coming.

He left around 5:00. I made dinner and tried to watch TV, but I couldn’t focus. The apartment felt wrong. Too cold, too empty, too full of something I couldn’t see. At midnight, I woke up to the sound of knocking. Not on my door, on my bedroom wall. From the inside, knock knock. Three measured taps, then silence. Then three more.

I turned on every light in my apartment and didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. This went on for a week. Strange sounds, cold spots, the smell of pages perfume in random places, objects moving when I wasn’t looking. I’d leave my keys on the counter and find them on the coffee table. I’d close the bathroom cabinet and hear it open again after I left the room. And then I found the journal.

I was going through some boxes I’d taken from Paige’s apartment after she d!ed. Carter had asked me to sort through her clothes and decide what to donate. I was folding one of her sweaters when a small notebook fell out. I almost didn’t open it. It felt like invading her privacy, but something made me flip to the first page.

The entry was dated 3 months before she d!ed. I know what Carter is doing, it said in Paige’s handwriting. I’ve known for weeks. Found the texts on his phone. The receipts from hotels. The lies about working late. He’s been cheating on me with someone from his office. a woman named Quinn. My stomach dropped. I flipped through more pages.

Entry after entry about Carter’s affair. How Paige had hired a private investigator. How she’d gotten photos. How she’d confronted him and he’d sworn it was over, but she knew he was lying. The last entry was dated 2 days before she got sick. I don’t know what to do anymore. She wrote, “I thought about leaving him, but I’m so tired.

I’ve been feeling sick for weeks. Dizzy, nauseous, headaches that won’t go away. Maybe it’s the stress. Or maybe it’s something else. Carter made me tea tonight. Said it would help me feel better. It tasted bitter.” The entry ended there. I read that last line three times. It tasted bitter.

I grabbed my phone and called Carter. He didn’t answer. I called again and again. Finally, he picked up. Skyler, it’s late. What’s wrong? When did Paige get sick? I asked. Like, what day exactly? Um, I think it was a Tuesday. She woke up feeling terrible, and it just got worse from there. Why? And you were making her tea to help her feel better.

There was a pause on the other end. Yeah, I made her chamomile. She loved chamomile. Skyler, what’s this about? Nothing, I said. Sorry, I just miss her. Found some of her things. We hung up. I stared at the journal in my hands. It could mean nothing. Paige could have been paranoid from the stress. The bitter taste could have been the chamomile. But something felt wrong.

Really wrong. That night, the haunting got worse. I woke up at 3:00 in the morning to find all the cabinets in my kitchen open. Every single one. And written in the condensation on my bathroom mirror was one word. Look. I screamed. I actually screamed. Then I grabbed my phone and started taking pictures of everything.

Evidence that I wasn’t going crazy. But when I looked at the photos, the word on the mirror wasn’t there. The cabinets appeared closed. Paige, I said out loud to my empty apartment. If you’re here, if this is really you, you need to tell me what’s going on. I found your journal. I read what you wrote about Carter. About the tea.

The temperature in the room dropped so fast I could see my breath. And then I heard her voice clear as day. Not crying this time. Angry. Check his computer. I spun around. Nothing there, but I’d heard it. I knew I’d heard it. The next day, Carter invited me to his house for dinner. Our house technically since Paige had lived there.

I’d been avoiding going over because it felt too weird, too soon. But I needed to get onto his computer. I showed up at 7:00 with wine. Carter had made pasta. Paige’s recipe. We ate in the dining room where he and Paige had eaten a thousand meals together. Her pictures were still everywhere. Her coffee mug was still in the cabinet.

It felt like she just stepped out and would be back any minute. I’ve been thinking we should get married soon, Carter said over dinner. Not wait. Life’s too short, you know, Paige taught me that. Don’t you think that’s a little fast? I asked. She’s been gone less than a month. She wanted this, Carter insisted.

He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. She made me promise Skyler. And I think moving forward is the best way to honor her memory. We could have a small ceremony. Just us. Maybe her family. Her family hates me, I said. They’ll come around once they understand this is what Paige wanted.

After dinner, Carter went to take a shower. This was my chance. I waited until I heard the water running. Then I slipped into his office. His computer was password protected, but I knew Carter. He was terrible with passwords. I tried Paige’s birthday. Nothing. Their anniversary, nothing. Then I tried Paige’s middle name combined with the year they met.

The computer unlocked. I opened his email first. Scrolled through looking for anything suspicious. Lots of work emails, some spam. Then I saw a folder labeled Quinn. My hands were shaking as I clicked it. Hundreds of emails going back over a year. Love letters, plans to meet, photos I really wish I hadn’t seen.

But what made me feel sick was the date of the last email. It was from two weeks ago. 2 weeks after Paige d!ed. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. Quinn had written, “I know this has been hard, but soon we won’t have to hide anymore.” Carter had responded, “I know. Just need to tie up a few loose ends. She’s already wearing the ring. She me.

I was the loose end.” I heard the shower turn off. I quickly forwarded the entire folder to my own email, deleted the sent message from his outbox, and closed the computer. I was back on the couch scrolling through my phone when Carter came out in his bathrobe. “Hey, I was thinking,” he said.

“Why don’t you stay over tonight? You could sleep in the guest room. I just don’t want to be alone.” Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I needed to know more. “Sure,” I said. “Let me just grab some things from my car.” I went outside and sat in my car, breathing hard. I pulled up the emails on my phone and read through them more carefully.

The whole thing was there. The affair, Carter telling Quinn how Paige suspected, but couldn’t prove anything. how he needed to deal with the situation before it got out of hand. And then buried in an email from three months ago, I found it. I did some research. Carter had written, “There’s a plant called wolf’s pain.

It causes symptoms that look like infection or organ failure. Hard to detect unless they specifically test for it. Takes a few weeks to work. Tasteless if you prepare it right, though there can be some bitterness. I thought I was going to throw up right there in the car.” Carter had k!lled Paige, poisoned her slowly, and now he’d proposed to me.

Not because Paige wanted it, not because he loved me, but because I was her best friend and his alibi. If he married me quickly, no one would suspect him, who murders his wife and then immediately marries her best friend. It was the perfect cover, and I’d said yes at her funeral. I sat in that car for 20 minutes trying to figure out what to do.

I should call the police, but what evidence did I have? Emails about an affair and some creepy research, his word against mine, and I’d already agreed to marry him. I’d looked complicit or crazy. I needed more proof of the poison, the actual plant material, something concrete. I went back inside.

Carter was in the kitchen making tea. I thought we could have some chamomile before bed, he said, smiling at me. Help you relax. The same tea he’d made for Paige. Actually, I’m not feeling great, I said. I think I’m going to head home. Rain check. His smile faltered just slightly. Oh, okay. Sure. Are you all right? Just a headache. Probably just tired.

He walked me to the door. As I was leaving, he kissed my forehead. Drive safe. Text me when you get home. I drove home going 20 over the speed limit the whole way. When I got to my apartment, the first thing I did was pour out any tea or coffee I had. Then, I deadbolted the door and pushed my couch in front of it.

I sat on my bed and opened my laptop. I needed to find out everything I could about Wolf’s Bane poisoning, how it would show up in an autopsy, whether Paige’s body could still be tested, if there was any way to prove what Carter had done. That’s when I felt it. Someone sitting down on the bed next to me.

The mattress actually dipped like there was weight on it. I looked over, nothing visible, but I could smell her perfume, and I could feel a presence. Warm where there shouldn’t be warm. Page, I whispered. The laptop screen flickered. Then words started appearing in my open document, typing themselves. I watched in frozen horror as message appeared letter by letter. He k!lled me. basement.

Blue jar. Take it to police. Don’t marry him. He’ll k!ll you, too. The typing stopped. The presence lifted from the bed. My bedroom door swung open. Even though I’d closed it. I don’t believe in ghosts. I didn’t believe in ghosts. But I just watched my de@d best friend type a message on my computer, and I knew it was real. All of it was real.

She was trying to warn me, to save me. I grabbed my phone and texted Carter. Hey, I left my charger at your place. Can I swing by tomorrow and grab it? He responded immediately. Of course. I’ll be at work, but the spare key is under the flower pot. Let yourself in. Perfect. The next morning, I waited until Carter’s car left his driveway.

I watched from down the street. Then I drove over, found the key, and let myself into the house that used to be Paige’s. The basement door was in the kitchen. I’d never been down there. Paige used to joke that it was Carter’s domain, full of his tools and camping equipment and things she had no interest in organizing.

I turned on the light and went downstairs. It was exactly like she’d described. Shelves of camping gear, a workbench, boxes of holiday decorations, and then in the back corner, I saw it. A small blue jar on a shelf behind some old paint cans. I pulled it down. It was unmarked, but inside was a dried purple plant material. Wolf Spain, it had to be.

I took the jar and practically ran out of the house. I drove straight to the police station and asked to speak to a detective. They put me in a small gray room and a woman named Detective Morrison came in. I told her everything, the proposal, the journal, the emails, the plant. She listened without interrupting, taking notes.

When I finished, she looked at me carefully. These are serious allegations, she said. Do you understand what you’re accusing Carter Wilson of? I know it sounds crazy, I said. But I have the emails and this plant and Paige’s journal. Can’t you test her body? See if there’s poison in her system.

Detective Morrison took the blue jar. We’ll need to analyze this and we’ll need those emails. But I have to warn you, unless we can prove this plant material was actually the source of Miss P Wilson’s illness. This could be circumstantial. People research poisonous plants for all kinds of reasons. Gardening, novels, general curiosity. He murdered her, I said.

My voice broke. He poisoned her slowly over weeks and watched her d!e. And now he’s trying to marry me. Probably for the same reason. You have to believe me. I’ll open an investigation, she said. In the meantime, do not tell Mr. Wilson you’ve spoken to us. Do not go to his house alone. Do not eat or drink anything he gives you.

Can you do that? I nodded. She took my statement, copied the emails from my phone, and took the jar of plant material. Then she let me go. I drove home in a days. This was really happening. The police were investigating. Paige’s body would be exumed and tested. Carter might actually go to prison for what he’d done. When I got to my apartment, there was someone waiting outside my door.

Paige’s mother, Patricia. We need to talk, she said. I let her inside. She’d been crying. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she looked like she’d aged 10 years since the funeral. “I know you think I hate you,” Patricia said, sitting on my couch for agreeing to marry Carter so quickly. “It seems so disrespectful to Paige’s memory.” “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.

I wasn’t thinking clearly, but there’s something you need to know.” Patricia reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. Paige mailed this to me 2 days before she got sick. “I only opened it yesterday. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her things before now.” She handed me the envelope. Inside was a letter in Paige’s handwriting.

“Mom,” it read. If you’re reading this, it means something happened to me. I know that sounds dramatic, but I need you to listen. Carter has been cheating on me for over a year. I’ve known for months, but that’s not the worst part. I think he’s trying to make me sick. I’ve been having these symptoms that the doctors can’t explain.

Dizziness, nausea, confusion, and it only happens after Carter makes me tea or dinner. I know how insane this sounds, but I’ve been documenting everything. I’ve hidden evidence in my safety deposit box at First National Bank. The key is taped under the drawer in my nightstand at home. If anything happens to me, please take the key and look in the box.

I’ve collected everything. The texts, the photos, samples of the tea he made me, everything. And mom, I need you to know that I love Skyler like a sister. If Carter tries to get close to her after I’m gone, please protect her. He’s dangerous. I know he is. I can feel it. I love you, Paige. My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the letter.

I went to the bank this morning, Patricia said quietly. Paige’s box was full of evidence. Text from Carter about the affair. Photos of him with another woman and three sealed containers labeled with dates. She’d been saving samples of the tea he made her. Skylar. My daughter knew he was poisoning her and she was collecting evidence the whole time she was dying. I started crying.

Couldn’t help it. Paige had known. She’d known she was being murdered and she’d spent her last weeks making sure Carter wouldn’t get away with it and trying to protect me. Why didn’t she leave him? I asked. Why didn’t she go to the police? She did, Patricia said. She filed a report 3 weeks before she d!ed. But Carter was smart.

He’d covered his tracks. The police said without proof of actual poisoning, they couldn’t arrest him for having an affair or making his wife tea. They told her to get a restraining order if she felt unsafe. She was trying to build an airtight case. She was so close. I went to the police today, I said. I found wolf spain in his basement and emails where he researched how to poison someone.

They’re opening an investigation. Patricia grabbed my hand. Then we finish what page started together. We spent the next 3 hours going through everything Patricia had retrieved from the safety deposit box. It was damning. Dates and times, samples, photos, journal entries, a detailed timeline of when Carter was meeting Quinn and when Paige’s symptoms would spike.

She’d even gotten copies of Carter’s credit card statements showing purchases from specialty plant nurseries. Paige had built a case against her own husband while he was slowly k!lling her, and she’d done it alone, knowing that if she moved too soon, he might get away with it. Why did he propose to me? I asked. What’s the point? Patricia’s face hardened.

Because you’re her best friend. If he married you quickly, who would suspect him? It makes him look like he’s moving on with his life, not covering up a murder. Plus, I think he knew you had feelings for him once. Paige told me years ago, she said she’d seen the way you looked at Carter when they first got together.

She wasn’t mad about it. She thought it was sweet. But Carter noticed, too. He probably thought you’d be easy to manipulate. The manipulation. That’s what made me angriest. He’d used my old feelings for him. Paige’s de@th and grief to trick me into being his alibi. My phone buzzed. Text from Carter. Hey, beautiful. Dinner tomorrow night.

I want to talk about setting a wedding date. I showed Patricia. She looked at it and then at me. The police investigation will take time. Days, maybe weeks, and he’ll get suspicious if you suddenly avoid him. We need to keep him thinking everything is going according to his plan. You want me to keep seeing him? I asked.

Keep pretending I’m going to marry him until the police have enough to arrest him. Yes. Can you do that? I thought about Paige. about her spending her last weeks collecting evidence while poison destroyed her body, about her reaching out from beyond de@th to warn me, about her making her mother promise to protect me.

Yes, I said I can do that. So, I did. For the next 2 weeks, I played the role of grieving best friend, turned happy bride to be. I had dinner with Carter, looked at wedding venues, let him hold my hand and talk about our future together, all while wearing a wire the police had given me. I tried to get him to confess, asked leading questions about Paige’s illness, about the tea he’d made her, about his relationship with Quinn.

But Carter was smart. He never said anything incriminating. He’d talk about how sad Paige’s de@th was, how unexpected, how he’d tried everything to help her feel better, how the doctors just couldn’t figure out what was wrong until it was too late. But the police were working in the background. They’d exumed Paige’s body, testing her tissue for toxins, analyzing the tea samples she’d saved.

Building their case, Detective Morrison called me every few days with updates. They’d found traces of a conotine, the poison from wolf spain in Paige’s tissue. The concentration matched a slow poisoning over several weeks. The tea samples were full of it. They just needed one more piece, direct evidence that Carter had purchased or possessed Wolf Spain.

The plant material I’d found was suspicious, but his lawyers could argue it was for legitimate purposes. They needed proof he’d bought it with intent to harm. That’s when the haunting started getting helpful instead of just scary. I’d come home and find files pulled up on my computer. Research pages about Carter’s credit card numbers.

Then my printer would turn on by itself and print out screenshots of Carter’s online purchase history that I definitely hadn’t accessed. Bank statements would appear on my kitchen counter. Phone records. Paige wasn’t just haunting me. She was helping me, feeding me information from beyond the grave. And I know how insane that sounds, but I’d stopped questioning it.

My de@d best friend was hacking into her husband’s accounts and printing out evidence for me. One night, I was sitting at my kitchen table going through the latest batch of mysteriously printed documents when I smelled her perfume again, stronger than ever. And then I heard her voice, not just a word or two this time. Full sentences.

Look at his work computer. He ordered the seeds through his office account. Expensed them. Said they were for the office garden. April 15th last year. Paige, I said to my empty kitchen. Are you really here? I’m so sorry. Her voice was sad, tired. I should have left him sooner. Should have told you what was happening, but I thought I could prove it.

Thought I could make him pay. You did, I said, tears running down my face. You collected everything. Your mom gave it all to the police. You’re going to make him pay. I need you to be careful. Her voice was fading. He knows something is wrong. He’s getting paranoid. Don’t eat anything he gives you. Don’t be alone with him. Paige, wait. But she was gone.

The temperature went back to normal. The smell of perfume faded. I was alone again. I called Detective Morrison immediately and told her what Paige had said about the work computer and the April 15th purchase. She sighed, “Skyler, I know you believe your friend is communicating with you, but just check it.

” I said, “Please, what do you have to lose?” She agreed. 2 days later, she called me back. “I don’t know how you knew this, and I don’t want to know, but you were right.” Carter Wilson expensed Wolf Spain seeds through his office account last April. Listed them as garden supplies for office landscaping project. We’ve got him. They arrested Carter the next morning at his office.

I watched from Detective Morrison’s car as they walked him out in handcuffs. He looked shocked, genuinely confused about how they’d found the evidence. Quinn was there, too. She’d come to visit him at work, apparently. When she saw the police, she tried to run. They got her for conspiracy after they found texts where Carter had told her about his plan.

She’d known the whole time. She’d known he was poisoning Paige, and she’d encouraged it. Told him he deserved to be happy. Told him Paige was holding him back. The trial took 6 months. I testified. Patricia testified. They brought in experts on plant toxins. showed the jury pages, journal entries, her evidence, the tea samples full of poison, Carter’s purchase records, the emails between him and Quinn.

The jury deliberated for two hours. Guilty on all counts, murder in the first degree. Carter got life without parole. Quinn got 25 years. Paige’s family held a memorial service after the trial, a real one, where we could celebrate her life instead of being manipulated by her murderer. We planted a garden in her memory, roses, and vanilla plants because of her perfume.

Everyone shared stories. We laughed and cried and remembered how amazing she was. That night, I went home to my apartment, the place I’d lived for the past year with my de@d best friend’s ghost. I sat on my couch and said out loud, “Paige, are you here?” Silence. No cold spots, no perfume smell, no strange sounds, just my normal apartment.

“I think you can rest now,” I said. “We got him. Justice for you. You don’t have to stay anymore.” Still nothing. She was gone. Really gone this time. She’d stayed long enough to make sure Carter paid for what he did to protect me from making the same mistake she had. And now she could finally be at peace.

I found a box under my bed the next morning. I don’t know how it got there. I definitely hadn’t put it there. Inside was Paige’s journal, the real one with all the evidence. A note on top in her handwriting said simply, “Thank you for finishing what I started. I love you. Tell my mom I’m okay now. I brought the journal to Patricia.

We sat together and cried and laughed and talked about Paige for hours about how brilliant she’d been to document everything. How brave. How she’d outsmarted a murderer even while she was dying. “She loved you so much,” Patricia said. She told me once that you were the sister she’d always wanted, that if anything ever happened to her, she knew you’d take care of things.

She took care of things herself. I said. I just followed her breadcrumbs. 6 months after Carter’s sentencing, Patricia called me. She’d been sorting through more of Paige’s things and found something I needed to see. It was a letter sealed in an envelope with my name on it. Dated from 3 days before Paige got sick.

My hands shook as I opened it. Skyler, it read. If you’re reading this, I’m probably gone. I know you’ll blame yourself. You’ll think you should have seen the signs. Should have saved me somehow, but this isn’t your fault. Carter is a monster and I stayed too long. I thought I loved I thought I could fix things. I was wrong.

By the time I figured out what he was doing, it was already too late. But I want you to know something important. I never told him to propose to you at my funeral. He made that up. I would never ask him to do that. What I did do was make sure that if he tried to hurt anyone else, especially you, there would be evidence to stop him. I documented everything.

I hid everything because I knew he’d get suspicious if I suddenly left or went to the police with half a case. I needed time to build something airtight. I just ran out of time. But you’ll figure it out. I know you will. You’re brilliant and loyal and you don’t give up on people.

And when you do figure it out, when you find all my evidence and put the pieces together, I need you to know I’m not haunting you because I’m angry. I’m watching over you because I love you. Because you’re my sister in every way that matters. And I’ll keep watching until I know you’re safe until that bastard pays for what he did. I’ll always love you, Skylar.

Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for finishing this, Paige. I read that letter five times before I could breathe normally again. She’d known. She’d known she was running out of time, and she’d spent her last days setting up an elaborate trap for Carter. She’d sacrificed herself to build an airtight case and she’d trusted me to figure it out and finish what she started.

That was 3 years ago now. I still think about Paige every day. I kept her scarf, the one I wore to her funeral. On bad days, I wrap it around my shoulders and I swear I can still smell her perfume, just faintly. I never date it again after that. The idea of trusting someone that completely the way Paige trusted Carter terrifies me.

Patricia says I shouldn’t let him win by making me afraid of love. But I’m not afraid of love. I’m just more careful now about who deserves it. I visit Paige’s grave every month. Bring fresh flowers. Tell her about my life, about her family, about how her garden is thriving. Sometimes I swear I feel her there listening.

A warmth in the air that wasn’t there a moment before. And sometimes on quiet nights when I’m home alone, I hear three soft knocks on my wall, three measured taps, then silence. Not scary anymore. Just Paige’s way of saying she’s still watching over me, still protecting me. Even now, I knock back three times. Our signal from when we were kids. I hear you.

It means I love you, too. The knocking stops. Satisfied. My de@d best friend’s husband is in prison for the rest of his life. Her ghost hasn’t haunted my house in 3 years. Not since the night Carter was convicted. But I know she’s still out there somewhere at peace finally knowing she saved me from making the same mistake she did.

And if you’re reading this because you’re in a relationship where something feels wrong, where you’re getting sick and can’t figure out why, where your partner is acting strange and you’re starting to question everything. Document it. Save everything. Tell someone you trust. Build your case and get out before it’s too late. Paige didn’t get out in time.

But because of her, I did. That’s her legacy. Not the way she d!ed, but the way she fought back. The way she made sure her murderer would pay. The way she protected everyone she loved, even after de@th, I carry her with me every day. In the scarf I wear, in the garden I tend. In the way I trust my instincts now when something feels wrong.

In the three soft knocks that still echo through my apartment on quiet nights. She’s gone, but she’s not really gone. She’ll never really be gone, and neither will the love we had. The kind of friendship that transcends de@th itself. The kind that solves its own murder and saves your best friend’s life from beyond the grave. That’s the story.

That’s what happened when my de@d best friend’s husband proposed to me at her funeral. and I said yes and her ghost started haunting my house. I said yes to a murderer and my de@d best friend saved my life. And honestly, I wouldn’t change a single thing because it means Carter is behind bars where he belongs. It means Paige got justice.

It means her de@th wasn’t in vain. The ring Carter gave me is evidence now locked away in a police storage facility. But I don’t need it. I have something better. I have Paige’s memory, her strength, her love, and the knowledge that true friendship really can conquer anything, even de@th itself.