Only A Ghost Could Save Me Chapter 1

When my wife, Sienna, lost her family and her fortune, I walked away.

After she rebuilt her empire, I showed up at her door every year.

The first year, I held our son, Leo, and she tossed me fifty thousand dollars, telling me to get lost.

The second year, I brought my terminal cancer diagnosis. She didn't even glance at the report, gave me a hundred thousand, and told me to disappear forever.

For the third and fourth years, I did as she wished and vanished from this world.

It wasn't until the fifth year that she received a call from our son.

“Dad, when are you bringing the food? I’m hungry.”

* * *

“Dad, I’m so hungry.”

I watched as my four-year-old son, Leo, having slipped away from the shelter, found my old phone, charged it, and mimicked me making a call.

When I was bedridden and dying, I had relied entirely on DoorDash. My orders, often cheap, were always the last to be delivered. When Leo was hungry, I would call the rider to rush them.

So, he thought that calling would magically fill his tummy.

He dialed again and again, the faint screen glow illuminating his innocent face, but this time he had called the emergency contact—Sienna.

I wanted to stop him, but my hand passed right through his small body.

A flicker of annoyance. Three years, and I still forget that I am only a soul.

“Leo, don’t call her. She won’t answer.”

She probably still believes I’m just a gold-digger who ran when things got tough.

“Go open the small wooden box on the table. I left you some money in there.”

Most of the money I’d taken from Sienna was put into a trust for his future. The box held a thousand dollars in cash for any immediate needs.

As if he could hear me, Leo walked over and picked up the box.

Just then, a cool, crisp voice answered from the phone.

“Dean Harrison?”

I froze, realizing the call had been active for over a minute.

“Didn’t I tell you to go die in a hole somewhere?”

Her tone was utterly flat, as indifferent and cold as ever.

I curled my fingers, feeling a deep, spectral shame. My son’s mother was cursing me out right in front of him, even though they didn't know who the other was.

She sneered. “Want more cash? Fine. Come beg me for it.”

Leo’s eyes lit up as his tiny voice chirped into the receiver. “Ma’am! When will you bring my food? I’m hungry!”

Silence stretched on the other end.

“Put Dean on the phone.”

“You mean Dad?”

Leo’s face instantly dropped. “But he can’t answer the phone.”

Sienna’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean, he can’t?”

“Dad says he’s sleeping.”

A four-and-a-half-year-old has no concept of death.

A harsh, dismissive laugh came through the phone. She clearly didn’t believe this pathetic excuse.

“Is that so? I’m curious to see what new trick he’s pulling now.”

I tried to curve my lips into a smile, but I couldn't.

What trick could I possibly pull? I didn't even have the energy left to float over and scare her.

Leo hung up, his mouth curled up in anticipation. He curled into a ball on the edge of the worn sofa, waiting patiently.

But I was frantic. Sienna hated me so much. What would she do to our son?

An hour later, a knock sounded.

My non-existent heart pounded. “Don’t open the door, Leo!”

Leo already had the door open.

Outside were no delicious meals, only several men in dark suits—security.

They swept the small room, confirmed no one else was there, and took my son away.

“No!”

I was utterly helpless, watching Leo being carried off.

When Sienna opened her own front door, she saw Leo, tear-stained and crying. She then peered over his head, scanning the empty space behind him.

“Where is that man?”