Letters From a Ghost, Love From a Twin

My husband and I were praised as the model arranged marriage couple in our circleuntil I developed postpartum depression.

I fled the nursery, trying to escape my son's relentless crying.

Wandering aimlessly through the house, my footsteps stopped outside the study.

At some point, a password lock had been installed on the study door.

Instinctively, I raised my hand and entered my husband's birthday, then our son's. Neither worked.

My nerves tingled with a strange excitement as I prepared to enter my own birthday.

But my hand trembled, and I pressed 0817 instead of 0517that was my sister's birthday.

I stiffly pushed open the door that had opened by chance. The next moment, I froze in place.

In the center of the study sat a portrait identical to my husband's facea memorial portrait.

The nameplate clearly bore my husband's name: Quinn Harper.

For a moment, my mind went completely blank.

I didn't know whether to be angry that my husband used my sister's birthday as his password.

Or whether to be angry that my husband kept his own portrait and memorial tablet in his study.

A terrible thought flashed through my mind, but I immediately suppressed it.

I knew Quinn had a twin brother named Kieran, but he had died in a car accident at eighteen.

I had never met either brother before marriage because I had lived abroad with my grandparents as a child.

I only returned home after graduating from college.

Just days after returning, the Harper family came with the engagement token, and my parents readily agreed to the marriage.

No one asked what I wantedexcept Quinn, who walked up to me.

"Are you willing to marry me? If you're not, you can refuse."

In that moment, I fell for this fianc I was meeting for the first time.

Ours was a business alliance. Even though I liked him, I was willing to maintain a respectful distance.

I respected his space and never entered his study without permission.

But he had locked it. This was blatant distrust and defensiveness.

Realizing this, my already fragile rationality completely shattered.

I raised my head and surveyed this study I had never set foot in before.

The study wasn't cleaned by the housekeeper, yet it was spotlessly clean.

He, who never cared about his surroundings, had arranged flowers and plants here, kept goldfish.

A notorious workaholic, yet the study had an entire wall of collectible figures and the latest gaming console.

In this study, there was a man I had never known.

He wasn't dull and boringhe had romance and passion for life.

Footsteps sounded behind me, followed by an explosive shout.

"What are you doing? Who gave you permission to enter my study?"

I turned around. My husband's eyes burned with rage, his fury turning them bloodshot.

This was the first time he had lost his temper with me, yet I felt no fear.

I almost wanted to laugh. In three years of marriage, this was the first time I'd seen such vivid expression on his face.

The man who had always been restrained and controlled, even during intimate momentshis mask shattered when I opened his study.

Seeing I didn't answer, my husband walked over to pull me away.

His large hand clamped around my arm, using no restraint. The pain made me furrow my brow.

I used all my strength to shake off his hand, stubbornly staying in place.

My gaze fell on the photo in the center of the study, and on the tablet bearing my husband's name.

"Are you Quinn or Kieran?"

I asked calmly. The atmosphere instantly became tense.

I should have stared intently at his expression to catch any lies.

But in that moment, I didn't dare turn around.

Silence spread through the air, stretching time, tormenting me.

"I'm Quinn."

He answered in a voice that sounded like surrender. I sensed something, but I didn't want to dig deeper.

I turned back to face Quinn again, asking him to give me a reason to explain the memorial tablet.

"I was in that car accident with Kieran, but I was the one who survived."

"All these years, I've carried guilt, so I made this tablet. I wish it had been me who died instead."

His flat tone made it sound like he was discussing the weather, yet I heard the bone-deep self-torture.

My heart seized with sudden pain. I couldn't control the sympathy I felt for this man before me.

But my questions weren't finished.

"Why did you use Aria's birthday as the password?"

I hoped desperately that he would give me a reason I could accept, like he had with the tablet.

Whatever he said, I could accept it. I would choose to believe.

But he didn't. His tightly pressed lips were like the door to his heart, closed to me.

The baby's cries rang out. My tears also burst forth.

I took my still-crying son back to my mother's house.

Quinn watched us leave without movement or words.

Though the Hayes house was my parents' home, I felt incredibly out of place there.

Counting the days, I had lived at the Hayes house for less time than I'd lived at the Harper house.

Seeing me suddenly return, everyone in the Hayes family seemed at a loss.

In the past, I certainly would have had the sense to leave.

But the son in my arms was still whimpering, rain poured outside, and I needed a safe harbor.

I hadn't grown up with my parents. When my grandparents sent me back, they said, "Your parents will treat you well. They'll love you like we do."

I believed them, so I shamelessly stayed.

And the first person in this house to reach out to me was my sister, Aria Hayes.

"Aria, come in quickly. I'll find you some clothes. Go take a hot shower first."

Until my sister pulled me upstairs, my parents standing to the side never said a word.

At dinner, they finally seemed to remember to ask why I'd come home.

I couldn't explain. Whether it was the memorial tablet or the password, neither was appropriate to mention to them.

I could only respond dryly, "Quinn and I had a fight."

Mr. Hayes's face darkened. He put down his fork.

"Friction between husband and wife is normal. Running back to your parents' house over every little thing isn't appropriate."

Mrs. Hayes nodded beside him. "We know Quinn. He's not an unreasonable person. As a wife, you need to be more accommodating. Family harmony is most important."

The already unpalatable meal became even more tasteless.

I simply put down my bowl and fork, looking at my parents who were criticizing me.

"This is my first time coming home because of a fight. Where does 'every little thing' come from?"

"Quinn's not unreasonable, so does that mean I am? Why should I have to accommodate everything just because I'm the wife?"

Hearing my rebuttal, my parents froze in shock.

Since returning home, I had always been obedient and well-behaved around them.

Over time, even I had forgotten that abroad, I had been bold, unrestrained, and free-spirited.

Aria looked at me, then at our parents, smiling as she smoothed things over.

"Don't you know what kind of person Aria is? She must have been wronged to come back. We should back her up."

Aria's words calmed our parents down. Mom looked at me with some guilt.

Before she could speak, I stood up. "I'm going to check on the baby."

In the rare quiet of the room, I stared blankly at my son's sleeping face.

My mind was crammed with chaotic thoughts, pressing down until I couldn't breathe.

The door lock clicked. Aria walked in.

She carried a blanket and pillow, sitting beside me. "Aria, can we sleep together tonight?"

Though my conflict with Quinn involved Aria, I didn't want it to affect our sisterly relationship.

"Of course."

With my permission, Aria was as happy as a child.

We lay side by side in bed when an inappropriate question suddenly escaped my lips.

"Aria, what kind of person do you think Quinn is?"

She seemed surprised but still answered. "Someone excellent in every way."

It was high praise. An even more inappropriate question burst out.

"If someone like that loved you, would you accept him?"

She fell silent.

Just when I thought she wouldn't answer, I heard her response.

"No."

Rationality returned. I said nothing more.

The breathing beside me gradually became even. I still had no desire to sleep.

So when her phone vibrated, I heard the sound and glanced over.

[It's getting cold. Cover yourself with the blanket at night.]

I couldn't be more familiar with that contact name, yet such detailed care felt utterly foreign to me.

My mother-in-law, Rachel Harper, heard I had taken the baby back to my parents' house and called to check on me.

"Claire, did Quinn bully you? Did he hurt you? Tell me, and I'll back you up"

The unconditional support I didn't get from my own mother, my mother-in-law gave me.

But similarly, my conflict with Quinn wasn't appropriate to tell her.

I couldn't find a suitable answer, so I stayed silent.

Rachel seemed to have endless patience with me. "It's okay. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'll have Quinn come apologize to you."

She asked about the baby's condition before hanging up.

Perhaps Rachel pressed him hard, because Quinn came to the Hayes house that very evening.

My parents received him warmly. Though I didn't like it, I understood.

The Hayes family's alliance with the Harper family was truly the Hayes marrying up.

At the dinner table, Quinn acted like a dutiful husband, taking care of me. My parents nodded approvingly.

But I noticed with sharp sensitivity that he kept rotating the lazy Susan.

After observing for a while, I finally understood his purpose.

Aria loved shrimp. Every time Quinn rotated the lazy Susan, it was to position the shrimp in front of her.

I looked down at the various foods in my bowl, my lips curling into a bitter smile.

Quinn seemed to be caring for me, but he didn't even know what I liked or disliked eating.

Yet he precisely understood Aria's preferences and was willing to care for her so discreetly.

This meal once again became impossible for me to swallow.

I got up and left the table. As I went upstairs, my parents were apologizing to Quinn for my rudeness.

Quinn agreed to stay the night. My sister moved back to her own room.

I deliberately avoided thinking about why he was willing to stay.

Closing the door, we each did our own things without communication.

When sleeping, we automatically maintained a clear boundary between us.

In the middle of the night, I heard my son crying and got up, covering my aching head.

The space beside me was already empty. When I reached over, not even a trace of warmth remained.

After feeding and soothing the baby back to sleep, I put on a jacket and left the room.

I finally found Quinn on the third-floor balconybut he wasn't alone.

Standing beside him was Aria.

The deep night was quiet enough that their low voices reached my ears clearly.

"Aria has been wronged. Even though she won't say it, I know she's unhappy."

"I heard the Hayes family is arranging a match for you. What do you think?"

The two of them talked past each other in conversation that was absurd yet natural.

"You know she has postpartum depression. Why don't you care more about her?"

"As long as you say you're unwilling, I guarantee no one can force you into an arranged marriage."

A moment of silence. The two faced each other, more like a confrontation.

I stood in the shadows, watching this scene, feeling only absurdity.

When Quinn couldn't hold back any longer and closed the distance, pulling Aria into his embrace, I fled in humiliation.

The next day, I took my son and returned to the Harper house with Quinn.

When leaving, Aria expressed concern and reluctance as always.

But this time, I avoided the hand she tried to hold.

Back at the Harper house, I discovered the study had a new password lock.

Quinn came home later and later. He no longer shared my room or communicated with me.

Every day when he came home, he would glance at the baby, then lock himself in the study.

His presence in this house was almost nonexistent. My marriage felt like just a dream.

But life remained tedious, and the baby still cried.

Then at a certain moment, without any trigger, I exploded.

I grabbed a hammer and smashed the study's password lock like a madwoman.

In that moment, I couldn't hear my son's criesonly a devil whispering in my ear.

"Smash it. Smash this damned life to pieces"

I charged into the study like a bandit, brazenly invading Quinn's territory.

On the bookshelf was a photo album, its cover worn from frequent handling. Inside were all photos of Aria.

I looked toward the rocking chair by the study's floor-to-ceiling window, as if seeing Quinn sitting there every night, obsessively flipping through the album.

In the first layer of the right-hand drawer of the desk was a diary.

It recorded Quinn's daily life and moodsnone of which involved me.

Tears had long blurred my vision, but like a greedy prospector, I hoped to find treasure about myself on the next page.

Until I turned to the day I first burst into the study. That day's entry had only one sentence.

[If only I had been the one to die. If only she were your wife.]

I was absolutely certain this "she" referred to me.

Good news: I finally found myself in his diary.

Bad news: In his diary, I had lost him.

In this moment, I could no longer deceive myself.

The guesses I deliberately avoided, the clues I intentionally ignoredthey now struck me with vengeful force.

Rachel said Quinn loved astronomy most, but when I gave him a telescope, his expression was flat.

The dignified, steady Harper Corporation CEO had a study full of collectible figures and every type of gaming console.

I still remembered when I agreed to the marriage contract, Quinn had pulled his lips into a smile.

Looking back now on that day's smile, it hid regret and helplessness.

I walked to the portrait in the center of the study, carefully examining that face so similar to Quinn's.

He had a mole at the corner of his eyebut Quinn's eye corner also had one.

I took out my phone and sent Rachel a message. She replied quickly.

"Kieran didn't have a mole at his eye corner. Claire, why are you suddenly asking me this?"

I used my last shred of rationality to construct a white lie.

"I found an old photo of the two brothers at home. Just curious."

I picked up the portrait and walked to the rocking chair by the window, studying the person in the photo under the sunlight.

Soon, Quinn got word from the housekeeper and rushed home.

The study had been torn apart by me. I thought he would be even more furious than last time.

Unexpectedly, he only instructed the housekeeper to take care of the baby, then silently walked to my side and crouched down.

I turned my head, my gaze falling on the corner of his right eye.

A brown dot, perfectly shaped, evenly colored.

It fit all the characteristics of a tattooed beauty mark.

My heart felt pierced by an invisible arrow. As blood gushed out, tears burst forth like a breached dam.

Complex emotions flashed through Quinn'sno, Kieran'seyes, including reluctance.

He didn't question or explain. Everything seemed understood without words.

But his silent admission, without any defense, felt like an unfair trial.

The oppressive atmosphere tortured me like cruel punishment. I could no longer hold on and fainted.

When I woke again, I was lying in bed with an IV drip in my hand.

No one was in the room. The sunlight was bright, yet I felt no warmth.

I pulled out the needle and walked barefoot on the floor, feeling coldness rise from my feet through my body.

I walked to the nursery. My son was sleeping, the housekeeper resting wearily beside the bed.

As if sensing my approach, my son suddenly opened his eyes.

He looked at me and broke into a smile.

In that moment, I felt like I was seeing an angel smiling at me.

Looking at my son's smile, I made a decision.

I went out and came back with a document.

When Kieran came home, I stopped him.

"Kieran."

This was our first exchange in a week.

Then I said the second sentence.

"Let's get divorced."