Christmas was always my favorite time of year. The season when carols echo through every street, and even when it's cold enough to freeze your hands, you find yourself wanting to go out for a walk. I thought this year would be no different. We were supposed to go buy a cake together after work, and I had already booked that restaurant you liked. Even though it was just another Christmas at the home we'd shared for three years, it felt so natural that I thought it would last forever.

But we fought, even on a day like that.

I don't even remember the reason. It started with trivial words, as it always did. We brushed off each other's comments with the excuse of being tired, and eventually, our emotions grew louder than our voices. I didn't stop you even as you silently put on your coat and left. I figured you'd just come back with a smile by evening. Because that was us.

A few hours later, I was the one who reached out first.

Saying sorry was strangely difficult. I acted out of pride, pretending everything was normal.

'Let's have dinner. I'll wait at our usual spot.'

The reply that arrived a moment later was short.

'I'll be there soon.'

That was the end. You never made it. The police said it was an accident. A truck that ignored a signal hit you, and though you were rushed to the hospital, they said your condition was critical. In the emergency room where I ran frantically, what I saw was you, covered in blood, barely clinging to life.

Even then, I was selfish until the very end.

Even in your final moments, I was selfish to the last.

"I'm sorry. It's all my fault... Honey... you'll forgive me, right? Huh...? Honey...!! Please forgive me... sob..."

I held onto you as your breath faded, crying and begging. I wanted to be forgiven before you left me forever. I felt like only then, only then could my heart be at peace. In the end, I was holding onto you just so I could feel better.

And yet, you never once resented me.

With a trembling hand, you stroked the back of my hand once and gave a faint smile as if to say it was okay.

I became unable to forget that one expression for the rest of my life.

The greeting we shared every night: let's meet in our dreams. Now, we really could only meet in dreams.

I quit my job. There was no reason to go to work, no reason to meet people. I lay in bed all day, barely ordering delivery food when the sun went down, only to leave it untouched. Dishes piled up in the sink, laundry covered the sofa, and delivery boxes and empty cans rolled around the floor. Since you, who would have hated such a sight, were gone, both the house and I slowly began to rot.

Months passed like that. It was a quiet weekend morning.

Waking from a shallow sleep, I tried to settle back in, but I heard a strange noise from the kitchen. That shouldn't be possible.

I snapped my eyes open and looked toward the sound. There you were, cleaning the kitchen nonchalantly, looking back at me.

"When are you planning to get up? You need to eat."

I see you, the one I shouldn't be able to see. I must have finally lost my mind.