Chapter 22
“I just got back yesterday. I thought I’d stop by to see you and Mrs. Jones.” The man’s voice was a low, magnetic baritone, as rich and deep as a cello.
Yvonne’s fingers froze on the pages of the album. Her heart hammered against her ribs as if it had been jolted by an electric shock.
“Don’t get so caught up in work,” Bruce continued. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. It’s time to think about settling down. You’ve been with your girlfriend for nearly a year now, right? Your uncle says your parents are quite happy with her p>
“Bennett, what’s past is past. It’s time to move on, get married, start a family. You have a long life ahead of you… If Yvonne is watching over us, she would want to see you happy p>
Bruce’s voice, earnest and paternal, drifted in and out. Yvonne held her breath, waiting for the man’s response. She was on the verge of suffocating when she finally heard him say coolly, “Last time we spoke, Mrs. Jones mentioned her headaches were back. Is she doing any better p>
“Oh, it’s just the same old thing. Nothing to worry about,” Monica replied with a wave of her hand.
In the room, Yvonne couldn’t help but let out a bitter, silent laugh. Leave it to her own father to earnestly push the love of her life into marrying someone else. But then she remembered Yvonne Jones was dead. She couldn’t expect him to stay single forever for a ghost. She couldn’t be that selfish, that cruel.
She lowered her gaze as tears began to fall, one after another, splashing onto the photo album in her hands. They blurred the young, smiling faces of the boy and girl in the picture. They had known each other since they were five, spending more than twenty years together. Childhood sweethearts, they had assumed they would grow old together, but fate had other plans.
Bennett Thompson must have been busy, because he didn’t stay long. Yvonne listened to her parents seeing him off, each of his footsteps feeling like a heavy weight on her heart, making it hard to breathe. For origınal chapters go to
After Bennett feft, Monica came back up to the room. Yvonne quickly returned the album to its place, then bent down and slipped under the bed. She peeled a file folder taped to the underside of the bed frame and swiftly tucked it into her handbag.
She had just straightened up when Monica pushed the door open.
Monica’s eyes were still red. “If only our Vonnie were still alive,” she sighed. “She and Bennett would be married with children by now. She used to oke that she’d be too busy as a cop to raise kids, so she’d just dump them on me. I called her shameless p>
Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue. She quickly wiped her eyes, offering an apologetic smile. “Listen to me, rambling on about the past. That’s what happens when you get old p>
“Yvonne, do you still like pot roast?” Monica asked, taking her hand. “I can make some now. Stay for dinner p>
“I have something I need to do today,” Yvonne said, gently declining. “I’ll come visit you and Mr. Jones another time p>
The file in her bag was too important. She had to leave immediately. Bruce was a veteran detective with eyes like a hawk; he was not easy fool. If he sensed something was off, she had no way of explaining how she’d come back from the dead in another woman’s body.
Yvonne left the Jones’s house with a heavy heart.
She returned to the Spencer estate and was just walking through the gates when she saw a black Bentley pulling out of the driveway. She recognized it as Matthew’s car; it was a vivid image from Yvonne’s memories.
So, her fiancé had come for a visit but hadn’t even bothered to let her know. It was clear he wasn’t here to see her.
Yvonne’s lips twisted into a small, contemptuous sneer.