In my hand is a broken glass but I will still hold on tight.

"Mr. Miles," the man in front of me spoke with his voice laced with weariness as a small sigh escaped his lips. "Do you really see her?"

It was clear that he didn't believe in me. He wouldn't have asked three times if he did.

"Yes." I answered him with my eyes on you though I knew he was looking at me and it was rude of me to act this way.

But I couldn't look away. Not even for a split second.

Because you were back.

And I was afraid.

That you'd slip through my fingers if I were to take my eyes off you. Even for one second.

"What you're seeing is just a form of hallucination. It is logical since she had just passed away five days ago. I'll--"

"No." I cut him off, my stern voice surprising him, and even me.

An uncomfortable silence settled between us and I started to feel guilty. Because I knew that I was making this hard for the therapist.

"She's not a hallucination." I sounded desperate but the words flowed out of me smoothly, almost like they were the right thing to say.

The silence returned and the voice within me resonated so loudly, I could no longer care about everything else.

Was I being unreasonable?

I was just denying the truth.

We both knew it was impossible.

But I just wanted to wish, to hope and to believe.

That you never left.

That you were still here.

Even if, just for a moment.

"Well then, will you tell me more of what you saw?" The therapist's deep voice softened and the gentleness that came with it, soothed me.

"She's there." My voiced cracked when I replied. "She really is."

Am I trying to convince the therapist? Or am I deceiving myself into believing? The answer was obvious but I chose not to accept it. So instead, I answered his question.

"She's in the kitchen." I stared at you and my eyes followed you around. "And now her hands reach for the tap and turn it on."

Yet, no water flowed out of it.

I frowned at the unusual sight I was seeing before continuing, "She walks back to the dining table and carries something back. Oh. I think it's the plates."

The therapist hummed, "Do any of these actions remind you of anything?"

"Yes. She does that every day. Always showing her back to us, busy preparing our meals and cleaning up after."

Always. But not anymore.

My stomach rumbled. It had been a day since I had last eaten. I had never really starved. Because no matter how forgetful or how unresponsive you were, you never ever let me go without food.

I never realized. I never did.

"Mr. Miles. I am not trying to give you false hope. But," the husky voice paused, as though contemplating whether to let the words out. "I have heard of such cases before." I could hear him breathe before continuing, maybe giving me time to process the news as well.

My heart thumped a little louder and wilder as I was filled with uncertainty. What could it be? Millions of 'what-if's popped up in my mind.

"This is not any form of hallucination. What you are seeing is really her spirit," he said.

Spirit? As in ghost? Soul?

"And we call it, spirit of memories."

"What do you mean?" The question jumped out of my mouth even before he finished his sentence.

"Whereby the dead returns in the form of a spirit, and they continue on with their daily activities. It mostly happens to people with dementia. Also, the spirit is visible to one person only"

Returns.

Dear, are you truly back?

"This is still a theory but it is said that they hold on desperately to the things they do everyday because they are afraid of forgetting. About everything and everyone."

My heart throbbed.

Forget.

I had never hated a word so much until 'death' did an impact on me.

And I nearly forgot the pain 'forget' had given me.

"And that results in their memories manifesting in a spirit form."

I didn't really get it. But I knew this was not a bad thing. Because nothing could be worse than you leaving.

"We do not know how long she may stay. Days, months or years. It depends. But for sure, the last day of their existence would be the day they meet their death." he took a small breath before continuing. "You can see from how transparent she looks. If it is near fully transparent, it means their time is up."

I looked closely at you. Every movement and your expression. But most importantly, how transparent you were.

You seemed normal, not how they described spirit as. Not pale, ghostly or gross. Just how I remembered you to be. Except for the unhappy expression you were carrying now. The lifeless eyes, downcast lips and slumped shoulders. It was so apparent but I never noticed nor tried to remember.

I've never really looked at you, have I?

Or maybe I have.

I just didn't care.

"This might be hard on you, so I advise you to move away from here." He sounded solemn, as though he understood my pain.

I nodded curtly.

The therapy session ended after I asked a few questions concerning you. I wanted him to leave now. Because I couldn't bear another second looking at you from afar.

Saying my thanks, I ushered the man out of our house. He left his phone number and his name -- Tom -- and told me I could call again if I ever wanted someone to talk to.

He was a good therapist.

I looked around the empty house.

Will I leave? I questioned myself.

I directed my gaze back at you. At the kitchen still, your back faced me.

Never.

God gave me another chance.

I didn't care if this might be just a hallucination. My delusions. Fake.

But this was my only chance.

The last.

To love you, again.

And so, I will.