Accidentally Manifesting My Soulmate

The man I had loved for a decade came home with my older sister for Thanksgiving this year.

That night, nobody in the house slept.

Through the painfully thin drywall of my childhood bedroom, I listened. I listened to my boyfriend, Cameron, play the innocent, bashful guest. And then, I listened to my sister be anything but. The rhythmic, agonizing squeak of the guest bed springs felt like a metronome ticking down the last seconds of my sanity.

I looked down at the glowing screen of my phone. My text thread with Cameron had stalled out yesterday afternoon.

So exhausted from the drive, babe. Crashing early.

Then, twelve hours later, he materialized in our foyer, his fingers laced through my sisters, his other arm loaded with expensive wine and artisanal pastries.

"Harper, Roxy said you love these..."

The exact moment our eyes locked, the bakery box slipped from his fingers. The pastries hit the hardwood with a sickening splat.

My sister, Roxy, swooped in instantly to save him. "Hes just a little jittery. Its his first time meeting the family, after all." She looped her arm through his, looking at me with perfect innocence. "You don't mind, do you, Harp?"

I forced a smile that felt like shattered glass against my lips.

Roxy squeezed my shoulder. "Wait, didn't you say you were bringing your boyfriend this year? Where is he?"

"Dead," I blurted out. "He died right before the holidays."

A heavy, suffocating blanket of grief instantly fell over the room. No one asked another question about the man Id supposedly been dating.

And yet, later that night, after Cameron and my sister had exhausted themselves in the guest room, my phone buzzed in the dark. A text from him.

I still love you.

Before my brain could even process the sheer audacity of it, my bedroom door creaked open. The hallway light spilled in, outlining my mother.

"Get dressed, sweetie," she whispered gently. "We're going to go pay our respects at his grave."

...

1: Going Home

I stared at my mother, panic rising in my throat like bile.

God, I regretted it. Id forgotten that my mother was a woman of absolute, uncompromising action. A woman who loved fiercely and grieved deeply. I never should have claimed my boyfriend was dead just to spare myself the humiliation of a holiday confrontation.

A grave! Where the hell was I supposed to find a grave?

Mom and my stepdad were already bustling around the kitchen, pulling out a thermos of coffee and packing up a basket of whatever offerings they deemed appropriate for a grieving girlfriend to take to a cemetery. I locked myself in the bathroom, my thumbs flying across my phone screen as I desperately posted on a local Reddit forum.

[URGENT] Does anyone know a cemetery nearby with a grave of a guy around 27 years old? Preferably with the last name Foster. I just need to stand in front of it for ten minutes. Please help!!

I braced myself for the incoming wave of internet trolls. I deserved it.

But I also knew my parents. They were the kind of people who wouldnt rest until theyd seen things through. And because I had spent the last few years under the delusion that Cameron and I were heading toward marriage, I had told my parents everything about him. They knew his age, his career, his last name.

Before Roxy had walked through that door, I had literally been preparing to show them the couple's portraits Cameron and I had taken. Thank God I'd thought the lighting was a bit harsh and decided to run them through a filter first. If I had sent them to the family group chat this Thanksgiving would have been a bloodbath.

A knock rattled the bathroom door.

"Harper, let's go!" my mom called out. "Roxy and her boyfriend are dressed and waiting in the car. We're all going to support you."

What?!

I immediately pulled up Cameron's contact and fired off a text.

Do you know whose grave my mom is dragging us to visit?

A single question mark popped up.

Yours, I typed back.

A split second later, a muffled, panicked yelp echoed from the front hallway.

My phone vibrated violently. A massive wall of text from Cameron flooded the screen. Stripped of its frantic rambling, the core message was: Why the fuck did you tell them I'm dead?

I typed back, my thumbs trembling with a mix of rage and adrenaline. What was I supposed to say? That you're currently screwing my sister?

Silence on his end.

Outside the bathroom door, I could hear my parents whispering, entirely oblivious to the absurd tragedy unfolding.

"I remember Harper mentioning him a few times. Last name Foster, right? I can't remember his first name," my stepdad muttered.

"He promised to spend the holidays with our girl, and then he just passes away so suddenly. It's a tragedy. We have to be there for her," Mom replied softly.

Then came Roxy's voice, thick with a feigned, dramatic sympathy. "You're so right, Mom. Sometimes a wound needs to be exposed to the air before it can heal. Otherwise, you carry it forever. Right, Cameron?"

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, absolutely," Cameron choked out.

2: Waiting

I sat on the closed toilet lid, praying to whatever patron saint watched over desperate, lying women that some chronically online local would come to my rescue.

What if? I thought. Just what if?

I hit the flush handle to buy myself time. The moment the water rushed, a notification dinged. A direct message.

It was a Google Maps pin to a local memorial park, along with a plot number, a row identifier, and a name.

I nearly wept with relief. Whoever this was, they were a modern-day hero. Thank you. Youre a lifesaver, I typed frantically. Can I get your Venmo? I owe you a massive drink for this.

The read receipt popped up, but no reply came.

I stared at the screen. Was this a prank? But as I unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, I knew it was the only card I had left to play. I was all in.

I fed the address to my stepdad as we piled into his SUV. The atmosphere in the car was suffocatingly solemn.

"I had a lovely gift card set aside for him," Mom murmured from the passenger seat, staring out the window. "Such a shame. Remind me, sweetie, how did it happen?"

My mind blanked. I scrambled for the most tragic, blameless exit.

"Cancer," I said quietly. "He kept getting these headaches, but he refused to go to the doctor. By the time they caught it it was too late."

In the drivers seat, my stepdad let out a heavy sigh, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "That's the problem with being young. You think you're invincible. You think you have time. Let this be a lesson to you, Harper. You feel something wrong, you get it checked out."

I nodded, playing the part of the dutiful, grieving daughter.

Beside me in the backseat, Roxy reached over and laced her fingers through mine. Her face was a portrait of deep, sisterly concern.

We werent biologically related. I was Moms kid from her first marriage; Roxy was my stepdads daughter from his. We only saw each other a few times a year, but wed always clicked. She had always treated me like real blood.

Which was why this betrayal felt like a knife twisting in my ribs.

She squeezed my hand, struggling to find the words. Finally, she looked at me softly. "If I had known your boyfriend had passed, I never would have brought Cameron home. I wouldn't have wanted to rub it in your face."

I shook my head, my chest tight. "It's fine. I'm not upset."

I glanced at my mother, then at my stepdad. The truth was, I loved this family. After my biological father dieda man who had been nothing but cruel to usmy stepdad had stepped in and treated me as his own. He paid for my college. He never asked me to change my last name.

But my own lingering insecurities always made me keep them at an arm's length. I never wanted to be a burden. I rarely asked for money, and I kept my visits brief.

Sitting in this car, we had exchanged more words than we had in the entire past year.

I offered a bitter, fragile smile. My mom caught it.

"Don't dwell in the dark, Harper," she said softly. "Some things are just out of our hands. He didn't have the luck to stay in this world, but maybe he'll have better luck in the next. Like those articles saysometimes the truest form of love is letting go."

A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped my lips. I guess those sappy Facebook quotes my mom read actually had their uses.

My stepdad smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "We just want you to be happy, kiddo. When your mom is happy, I'm happy."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Up front, Cameron sat rigidly, radiating the energy of an absolute intruder. He hadn't dared to breathe too loudly, let alone speak.

Then, Roxy broke the silence. "Harp, I have to ask... after he passed, his parents didn't give you a hard time, did they?"

I shook my head slowly, leaning into the lie.

"They're dead too."

In the passenger seat, Cameron violently whipped his head around to stare at me.

I tilted my head, meeting his panicked gaze with dead eyes. "What is it, Cameron? Did you have a question about my late boyfriend's family?"

Cameron forced a laugh that sounded more like a choke. "No. No, of course not. Just what a tragic story for the poor guy."

I nodded, turning back to Roxy.

"His background wasn't great. His parents didn't work, he supported them from the day he got his first paycheck," I said, my voice steady, weaving the very real insecurities Cameron used to throw in my face into my narrative. "And then they decided I wasn't good enough for him. They said my family was practically broke, that my freelance career wasn't a 'real' job. Whenever I went over for dinner, they'd literally feed me table scraps."

Smack.

My mom hit the dashboard so hard the plastic groaned. The entire car went dead silent.

"Then they deserved to rot," Roxy snarled, her protective older-sister instincts flaring up.

In the passenger seat, Cameron looked like he was going to throw up.

And then, my stepdadthe quietest, most mild-mannered man I knewspoke up.

3: Setting Off

"The sheer audacity," my stepdad growled, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "To look down on my daughter when they didn't even have jobs themselves? We own our home. We put you through school. Your sister makes good money. The three of us could have bought and sold that boy. It's a good thing he's in the ground, Harper. Because if he were breathing, I'd be driving to his house right now to beat the living hell out of him."

My breath hitched.

For a decade, I had swallowed Camerons subtle put-downs about my background. I had absorbed them because my biological father had never once stood up for me. Whenever I had come home crying as a kid, my real fathers response was usually to scream at me for being too sensitive, or worse.

I had been conditioned to digest my pain in silence.

Hearing my stepdada man who owed me nothingdefend me with such visceral, unhesitating rage it broke something open inside me.

A sob tore from my throat. And once I started crying, I couldn't stop.

Panic ensued. Roxy and my mom were tearing apart the car looking for tissues. Within seconds, the three of us women were holding hands across the seats, sobbing collectively. Even my stepdad had to pull over onto the shoulder for a minute to aggressively wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

Amidst the tears and the stopping and starting, we finally arrived at the coordinates the stranger had sent me.

It was a small, quiet, beautifully maintained cemetery on the edge of town. A place my parents had never even heard of.

I checked my phone constantly, pretending I was intimately familiar with the sprawling lawns, leading them down the winding gravel paths while my heart hammered against my ribs.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Cameron.

I gotta hand it to you, Harper. Youre a fucking psychopath. How did you even find this place?

I deleted the text without replying.

As we walked, my stepdad put a hand on my shoulder. "You're turned around, aren't you? It's okay, kiddo. Grief does that to your memory."

I nodded, forcing two fresh tears to spill over my lashes.

My mom wrapped her arm around my waist, guiding me forward until we reached the exact row and plot.

It was a fresh grave.

Perfect, I thought, mentally promising my internet savior an embarrassing amount of money.

The bronze plaque looked brand new. My parents stepped closer, peering at the name and the dates.

"So young," my mom whispered, her voice cracking. "It breaks your heart, doesn't it?"

I kept my head bowed, playing the role of the shattered lover.

Roxy, ever the dramatic powerhouse, stepped forward. She pulled out an expensive bottle of bourbon shed bought for our stepdad and poured a generous splash directly onto the grass in front of the headstone.

"Listen to me, Foster," Roxy said to the dirt. "You got a raw deal. If you were still here, I was fully prepared to haze you like a proper older sister. But you're gone. So drink up, wherever you are. And know she's safe with us."

She stood back up, brushing her hands off, before turning her sharp gaze onto Cameron, who was hovering awkwardly at the edge of the path.

"Well?" Roxy snapped. "Don't you have anything to say to the guy who came before you?"

Cameron blinked, looking like a deer in the headlights. "Iuh. I don't..."

"Get on your knees, Cameron," Roxy demanded, pointing at the grass. "Show some respect. Don't act like a coward."

Cameron stammered, his eyes darting to me for help. I looked away.

Without warning, Roxy kicked the back of his knee. Cameron buckled, stumbling forward until he was kneeling directly in front of the headstone.

"Bow your head," she ordered. "And tell him you'll take good care of his girl."

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. Slowly, humiliatingly, he bent forward, resting his forehead against the cold edge of the stone.

"Good enough," I muttered, honestly feeling second-hand embarrassment.

"Hold on for a few more seconds," Roxy commanded him. "Let the man hear you."

Cameron stayed frozen, his dignity entirely stripped away on the manicured lawn. Finally, he scrambled back to his feet, dusting off his designer jeans with trembling hands. "I'm fine. We're good."

Meanwhile, my parents were busy arranging a bizarre, high-end picnic at the base of the grave. They had brought the best cuts of cured meats, expensive imported fruits, and a box of high-end cigars my stepdad had been saving. The kind of spread youd offer a new son-in-law.

"We bought all this when Harper said you were coming," Mom said tearfully to the headstone. "You didn't make it. But we couldn't just leave it at the house. It belongs to you."

Watching them carefully lay out the offerings, a sharp pang of guilt finally hit me. They were pouring so much genuine love into a lie.

I looked down. My phone vibrated.

Cameron: You owe me so much money for this therapy bill. You literally killed off my entire family.

4: The Incident

I had to suppress the urge to turn around and shove him into an open plot.

For my sister and my parents sake, I held it together. I crouched down in front of the bronze marker.

"I don't know who sent me your information," I whispered to the cold metal, "but you really saved me today. I'll come back and visit you for real. We're the same age. We probably would have been friends."

I took a small, resilient succulent Id brought from my windowsill and nestled it into the fresh dirt near the base.

"This thing is impossible to kill," I told him softly. "I hope wherever you are, you have that same kind of stubborn life in you."

I finally read the name on the plaque.

Nathaniel Foster.

It was a strong name. Quiet. Enduring.

There was a small QR code etched into the bottom corner of the bronze. I had seen them beforemodern memorials that linked to a digitized obituary or a video tribute. Driven by an morbid, compulsive curiosity, I pulled out my phone and opened the camera.

My parents stared at me, slightly horrified.

"Harper, is that appropriate?" Mom asked.

"Oh, let her," Roxy said dismissively. "Its her boyfriend."

The phone chimed. The link opened. I instantly knew it was a bad idea, but my thumb had already tapped the play button.

A video filled my screen.

A young man with tired but incredibly kind eyes smiled directly into the camera.

"Hey. I'm Nathaniel," his voice drifted from my phone speaker, raspy but warm. "If you're watching this, I'm guessing I've been dead for about a year. I can't believe someone actually came to visit!"

My hands started to shake.

"I'm really glad you did," the digital Nathaniel continued. "Do you think you could come back sometime? Because my friends and my family, they're all gone, too. It's just me."

All the air rushed out of my lungs.

When I had been spinning those lies in the car about his family being deadI hadn't known. I felt a horrifying wave of nausea, convinced I had somehow manifested this tragedy.

Before I could even process the horror, Nathaniel offered a bright, brittle laugh.

"Anyway, make sure you eat well today. Be happy. That's the most important thing. You're my only connection left to the living world, so you better live a long time for the both of us."

The video ended.

Behind me, the dam broke. My parentswho rarely cried at even the most manipulative Hallmark movieswere openly sobbing. Roxy was letting out a sound that was half-wail, half-howl.

They hadn't even clocked the discrepancy in the timeline. They were too deeply immersed in the tragedy of it all.

It took Cameron and me ten minutes to corral them back to the SUV. My stepdad was crying too hard to see the road, so Cameron had to take the wheel.

About halfway home, Cameron pulled into a gas station. "I need to use the restroom," he muttered, throwing the car into park and practically running toward the convenience store.

The moment the stores glass doors slid shut behind him, my stepdad instantly stopped crying.

He sat up straight, wiped his eyes perfectly dry, unbuckled his seatbelt, and vaulted over the center console into the driver's seat. He slammed the car into drive and floored the gas pedal.

I whipped around in the backseat, completely stunned.

After five minutes of speeding down the highway, I finally found my voice. "Um. I think we left someone behind."

Roxy let out a dark, vicious scoff. "Good. Let the bastard rot at the Sunoco. He deserves it for what he did to you."

"Your sister saw the texts he sent you," my mom added calmly from the front. "She told us the second we got in the house."

Roxy grabbed my hands, her eyes fierce. "Harp. Look at me. I might not be your biological sister, but I would never do some twisted soap opera bullshit and steal your guy. Mostly because I'm way out of his league, but also because his contact in your phone is literally 'Uber Eats Driver.' I just thought he was dropping off your dinner."

I let out a breathless, broken laugh.

Roxy smiled ruefully. "I knew something was off last night. Why would an Uber Eats driver have the exact same profile picture as you? I checked the details while he was sleeping. I saw it all."

My parents nodded in agreement. They had orchestrated this entire morning the second they found out.

"I gotta ask," I said, smiling through a fresh wave of tears. "If I hadn't found a random grave on the internet, were you guys just going to start digging a hole in the backyard?"

They were absolutely unhinged. And I loved them so much.

As the warmth of my family enveloped me, my phone buzzed in my hand. The stranger from Reddit had finally replied. They sent a phone number.

I quickly added the contact and sent a text.

Hi, I'm Harper. Thank you so much for today.

A bubble popped up immediately.

Hi. I'm Nathaniel Foster.

What?