The Ghost of Christmas Eve: My Ex-Husband's Regret

I committed suicide. On Christmas Eve, a time meant for family reunions. But I never expected that my ex-husband, who had never cared about me while I was alive, would go completely insane after my death, ruthlessly seeking revenge against everyone who had ever mistreated me. He even tried to take his own life to join me. Yet, when I was alive, he clearly didn't love me at all. 01 Right now, in my newly minted ghost form, I stood next to my own corpse. The Reaper stood in front of me, flipping through a thick, leather-bound Ledger of Souls. "What is your name?" "Audrey," I replied, eager for him to take my soul away so I could be reincarnated into a decent family for my next life. But the Reaper’s gaze lingered on the ledger for a long time. Finally, he looked up at me. "Your time isn't up yet, and you have a baby in your belly. Why did you kill yourself?" I glanced down at my pale, lifeless body soaking in the bathtub. "I didn't want to live anymore, so I ended it." The Reaper looked so angry his jaw actually twitched. He tapped the ledger in his hand. "Do you realize that committing suicide before your time is up is like calling 911 for a fake emergency? It's highly unethical! Furthermore, the child inside you was meant to have a brand-new life, and now, because of you, they will never be born!" God as my witness, when I took my own life, I had absolutely no idea I was pregnant. But hearing his lecture, I frowned. "Why are there so many rules for dying?" The Reaper softened his tone. "Life still has many beautiful things waiting for you to experience. Be a good girl, listen to me, and get back into your body." I thought of my bloodsucking, cruel parents. I thought of my entitled sister and my spoiled brother. And I thought of my ex-husband’s perpetually cold, indifferent face. My resolve was absolute. "There is absolutely nothing beautiful in my life. Just drag me away. I'd rather be a dog or a cat in my next life." No matter how the Reaper tried to persuade me, I refused to return to my body. Finally, he sighed. "Processing reincarnation paperwork for someone whose time isn't up is incredibly difficult. How about this: I'll give you thirty days. You can stay in the human world as a ghost. If, by the end of the month, you still haven't found a single reason to live, I'll process your paperwork." I thought about it and agreed. It wasn't every day you got to be a ghost. Roaming the earth with zero responsibilities sounded pretty good. 02 On my first day as a ghost, I sat on the windowsill and watched the city lights glow through the night. The phone I had left by the bathtub was filled with mass-sent holiday texts. Out of the hundreds of contacts in my phone, not a single person genuinely reached out to me on Christmas Eve. Just as the holiday specials on TV were coming to an end, my phone finally buzzed. I floated over to look. It was my awful ex-husband. He sent a photo. It was a cardboard box stuffed with a few of my old clothes and half-used makeup products. The text read: "Your trash. You have one day to get it out of here. Don't dirty my house." My ex-husband was Grayson Lockwood. True to his reputation, he was a cold, ruthless, and calculating CEO. He inherited the family business at a young age, and within a few short years, he multiplied their revenue exponentially. The business world hailed him as a prodigy. His looks were even more undeniable. When he first took over the company, skeptics mocked him, saying he should just use his face to make a living in Hollywood. But even perfect people have flaws. His flaw was that he didn't love me. He had a high school sweetheart, his "white moonlight," while I was merely a childhood promise made by his mother. My family used to be wealthy, but unfortunately, we went bankrupt during my senior year of high school. I had an entitled older sister, a spoiled younger brother, and parents who heavily favored their son. When we went bankrupt, my sister, who was studying abroad in Paris, felt no impact whatsoever. Meanwhile, my parents constantly lectured me: "Business is bad right now, Audrey. You need to be understanding." I busted my back earning scholarships and working part-time jobs while juggling my studies, terrified of being a burden. Yet, in the blink of an eye, my parents sent my useless younger brother to an expensive prep school overseas, spending fifty thousand dollars a year without batting an eye. While I was working at a local fast-food joint making fifteen bucks an hour, my brother was partying on yachts. While I was sweating in a heavy mascot costume passing out flyers in the summer heat, my sister was skiing in the Swiss Alps. It seemed that the only person affected by our family's bankruptcy was me. During my senior year of college, my parents clung to Grayson as their lifeline. When Grayson's mother was pregnant with him, she was in a severe car accident. My parents found her and rushed her to the hospital, saving both her and the unborn Grayson. Seeing that my mother was also pregnant at the time, and noting my parents' good looks, she promised an arranged marriage between their future children. We all thought it was just a joke, but during my senior year, Grayson's mother became terminally ill. On her deathbed, she remembered the promise she made in her youth. So, she came looking for our family. 03 For my bankrupt family, this was like winning the lottery. Logically, the promise was meant for my older sister. But at the time, my sister was happily dating a rich guy in Paris. Grayson had just taken over his company, and rumors said he was just a pretty face with no real skill. My sister adamantly refused to marry him. And so, I, the designated scapegoat, was shoved onto the altar. I got my marriage certificate before I even got my college diploma. When I applied for graduation, the marriage certificate actually counted as two extracurricular credits. I smiled bitterly. I guess that was a silver lining. Grayson didn't like me. I knew that from the very beginning. The day we got our marriage license, Grayson's mother held my hand as we waited outside City Hall for half an hour. When he finally arrived, he merely glanced at me, then turned to his mother. "Something came up at work. I'm late." After that, he didn't look at me once. So, I always knew. He didn't love me. 04 I sat on the balcony, letting the cold winter wind blow through me, watching the warm lights of the city. The deep sense of loss that followed my suicide slowly washed over me. I thought about playing a depressing Spotify playlist to set the mood, but unfortunately, I couldn't physically touch my phone anymore. Just as I was contemplating where to float off to next, the phone in my bathroom started ringing incessantly. I drifted over. It was Grayson. We had just finalized our divorce papers the day before yesterday. He had told me there were still some asset distributions to sort out, so I shouldn't block his number yet. I knew his personality. He was decisive and ruthless. I figured he just wanted to sever all ties as quickly as possible so we'd never have to speak again. But why was he calling me so many times right now? I didn't understand. He called my number, then called me on FaceTime, over and over again. The ringing was getting on my nerves. I debated whether I could somehow knock the phone into the bathtub. But as a newly minted ghost, I was too weak to interact with physical objects. So I just stared as the phone rang endlessly. Over half an hour later, the phone finally fell silent. 05 The texts from my parents arrived early the next morning. My mom wrote: "It’s not that we’re being cruel by not letting you come home for the holidays. If you just go beg Grayson to remarry you, we’ll let you come home to celebrate." When I first brought up divorcing Grayson, my parents were the loudest opponents. Because as long as I was married to him—even if he didn't love me—he would offer our family financial support just for the sake of the marriage certificate. Lockwood Enterprises was a massive empire. With a wave of his hand, he could resurrect our family's failing business. If I divorced him, we would lose our golden goose. During our mandatory separation period before the divorce finalized, my parents stormed into my apartment countless times to talk me out of it. When I refused to budge, my dad slapped me across the face, calling me an ungrateful brat, screaming that a divorced woman would never be able to marry again. But the day before yesterday, I stubbornly went to City Hall with Grayson and finalized the divorce. Just like when we got married five years ago, Grayson made me wait alone at City Hall for hours before finally showing up. He signed the papers without a word, got back into his obscenely expensive sports car, and sped off without a trace of emotion. The tires hit a puddle, splashing dirty water all over me. I pressed my lips together, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. I thought, since it was almost Christmas, I'd buy some groceries and gifts and go home after getting the divorce certificate. But I was locked out. My parents kicked me out. The look my mother gave me was pure vitriol. "You have the nerve to come back? You know our business is only surviving because of the Lockwoods. You divorcing him—are you trying to kill me?!" I looked down at the groceries scattered across the porch. Years of accumulated grief and exhaustion crashed over me. With tears streaming down my face, I looked at my biological parents. "What about me? Have I not done enough?" I ignored their curses, turned around, and walked away. At that exact moment, I made the decision to end my life. I suddenly wanted to know: if they found out I was dead, would they regret everything they had done to me? 06 Christmas Day. Every household was bursting with joy. My apartment was also quite "festive." I sat on the bathroom counter, staring at myself soaking in the bathtub. The entire bathroom was tinted a stark, deep red. Aside from being a bit horrifying, the color was undeniably festive. Around 8 AM, the neighborhood started waking up. The neighbor next door was baking cookies; I could hear the clattering of baking sheets. The family downstairs seemed to be roasting a Christmas ham. The savory smell wafted up through the vents. I rubbed my belly, suddenly remembering that I hadn't eaten a single thing for two whole days before I died. I had chugged a bottle of red wine and just lay down in the tub. Smelling the food now, I regretted not having a full meal before killing myself. Dying on Christmas was bad enough, but becoming a starving ghost was just insulting. As I debated whether to float next door to watch them bake or go downstairs to check on the ham, there was a knock at my front door. Who would visit me today? I mentally scanned my social circle. After college, I became a full-time housewife. I lost touch with all my old friends, and I never fit in with the wealthy socialite wives. I practically had no friends at all. Was it an Amazon delivery? While racking my brain trying to remember if I had any pending orders, I floated to the door. I looked through the peephole, and when I saw who was outside, I froze. Why was Grayson Lockwood standing at my door? 07 Through the peephole, I saw Grayson's handsome face twisted with intense impatience. He pounded on the door aggressively, then repeatedly jammed his finger into the doorbell. "Audrey, don't think throwing a tantrum is going to get my attention. That trick won't work on me." Grayson's voice carried clearly through the heavy door. I was terrified of his negative moods. No matter how happy I felt moments prior, the second he appeared and frowned, I felt like the sky was falling. Before I married him, my parents had drilled it into my head: Never make Grayson mad. Our family's survival depended entirely on whether Grayson was willing to throw us a lifeline for the sake of our marriage. The night before the wedding, my mother packed my bags and warned me: "Once you move in, you need to learn how to please Grayson and his family. Your sister and brother still need money for school. You have to think about them." I stared down at my bridal shoes, pressed my lips together, and stayed silent. If it weren't for the wedding, I would have been at work that day, earning my eighty-dollar shift pay. Because of that conditioning, throughout our marriage, no matter what happened, if I sensed Grayson was upset, I would immediately apologize. Eventually, I couldn't even tell who was right or wrong anymore. Brainwashed by my parents, I believed that if Grayson was angry, it meant I was at fault. So even now, as a ghost, seeing Grayson standing outside my door looking so pissed off, my first instinct was that I had done something wrong and needed to apologize to him. But the current me couldn't respond to his anger anymore. Failing to get a response, Grayson grew even more furious. He called me several more times. My phone, sitting in the bathroom, rang out with my usual ringtone. This apartment was a pre-wedding gift from Grayson's mother. She was a good person. She told me: "Even though I'm the one asking you to marry my son, I worry you might suffer in this marriage. I want to give you a safe haven." It was a modest two-bedroom apartment. The phone was in the master bathroom, but I could clearly hear it ringing from the front door. Grayson heard it too. He slammed his palm against the door. "Fine, Audrey. Keep hiding. I hope you hide for the rest of your life. Don't ever let me see your face again. I left your things at the door. Don't ever come back to my house looking for them." He hung up, kicked something on the ground, and stormed off. I hid behind the door, not daring to breathe. People say humans are afraid of ghosts, but here I was, a literal ghost, terrified of the man standing outside. I really was pathetic. 08 I peeked out the window, watching Grayson's car drive away, before I dared to float out the door. He had brought over the few clothes and cosmetics I had forgotten to pack when I moved out. There wasn't much; it all fit into one cardboard box. Grayson hadn't even bothered to fold them. He just shoved everything haphazardly into the box. I crouched down and looked at it. Having my "trash" dumped at my front door for all the neighbors to see felt a little humiliating. I tried to reach out and lift the box, but my hands phased right through the cardboard. Grayson, you absolute bastard! I made a vow right then and there: I was going to stand by his bed tonight and haunt the living daylights out of him. 09 Twenty-four hours after my death, I stood by Grayson's bed. I had bumped into the ghost of a woman who had jumped off a building in my complex. She told me that, as a brand-new ghost, I didn't have the power to knock over water glasses or make noises to scare people like the older ghosts did. My only option was to wait until he fell asleep, when his life force was weakest, and haunt his dreams. At 1:00 AM, I hovered over his bed, but it was empty. Grayson was still working in his home office. I let out a yawn, quietly reflecting: If you want to wear the crown, you have to bear the weight. Being a CEO clearly wasn't a job just anyone could handle. I stretched and floated into the home office. To my surprise, he wasn't working. He was sitting at his desk, deep in thought. Grayson's personality was cold and detached, and his house's color scheme reflected that—stark blacks, whites, and grays. The office was no exception. He only had a small desk lamp turned on. Half of his sculpted face was hidden in the shadows, the other half illuminated by the cold light, making him look even more unreadable. His eyes were lowered. The computer screen was bright. From his expression, he exuded a heavy, palpable melancholy. I floated behind him and accidentally glanced at his screen. He wasn't working at all. It was his iMessage chat with Serena. Serena had texted: "I'm flying back to the States on the 8th." Grayson replied briefly: "What time is your flight? I'll come pick you up." Serena gave him her flight number and arrival time. Grayson said: "Okay." Grayson had always been like this. Whatever Serena asked of him, he would do everything in his power to fulfill it. I stood behind him, reading this brief exchange. The suffocating feeling of my heart being squeezed tight was still there, though it was significantly less painful than the very first time I learned of Serena's existence. 10 Serena was Grayson's first love, the "white moonlight" he tragically missed out on. I found this out six months into our marriage. During the second semester of my senior year, I married Grayson. Even though I had latched onto the Lockwood empire, the blatant favoritism I suffered growing up taught me that true security only comes from building your own path. So, I declined his mother's offer to stay home as a full-time socialite wife and instead took an internship at a corporate firm. The internship was brutal. I had a brown-nosing manager, and one of the other interns in my group was a wealthy heir. I ended up doing the work of two people, while the rich kid took the majority of the credit. Grayson was incredible—brilliant and devastatingly handsome. I had never dated anyone before. Being married to him and sharing a bed with him, it was inevitable that I would fall for him. Because of that, the exhaustion and injustice of my internship would instantly vanish the moment I saw his face. Back then, I thought: I have such an amazing husband, what do I have to be sad about? One night, I worked late and came home exhausted. Grayson was already in the shower. He traveled for business constantly and rarely came home. Even when he did, he was polite but distant. Still, his being home made me happy. I sat nervously on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to finish showering. While I waited, his phone, tossed carelessly on the duvet, started ringing. The shower was still running. I walked to the bathroom door and called out to tell him his phone was ringing, but he didn't answer. I picked it up and saw it was an international number. Grayson's business was global, and he had introduced me to several of his foreign partners at galas. I assumed it was a business associate. As his legal wife, I felt I had the right to answer the phone for him. But when I answered, a young woman's drunk, coquettish voice came through the speaker. I froze, confused, and asked, "Excuse me, who is this?" The girl on the other end reacted even more strongly than I did: "Who are you? Why do you have Grayson's phone?" She called him Grayson. In the six months we had been married, I didn't even dare to call him by his first name during our most intimate moments, yet she said it so naturally. I composed myself and replied, "Hello, I am Grayson's wife. May I ask what this is regarding?" The girl sounded like she had just heard something impossible. Just as I was about to speak again, the shower turned off. Grayson stormed out wearing only a towel and snatched the phone from my hand. I will never forget the ice in his eyes. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger. "Why did you touch my phone?" 11 A woman's intuition told me immediately that the girl's relationship with him was far from ordinary. That night, Grayson didn't sleep at home. He didn't offer a single word of explanation. He just took the call, grabbed his keys, and drove off. Later, I learned from Grayson's mother that the girl's name was Serena. She was his childhood sweetheart, his untouchable white moonlight. Serena was a perfect, wealthy heiress, beautiful and brilliant. She was the one unforgettable ray of light in Grayson's dark, struggling teenage years. But because Grayson was struggling to prove himself at the time, they tragically missed their chance. After Serena went abroad for college, Grayson slowly learned the ropes of the business world from his father, eventually becoming the prodigy he was today. Serena had cycled through several boyfriends, but Grayson had always remained single. People in their social circle whispered that even if Grayson was married, if Serena made one phone call, he would abandon his bride at the altar to run to her. Unfortunately, I was the sacrificial bride in their epic, romantic love story—the collateral damage used to prove the depth of the male lead's devotion. 12 Because I answered Serena's phone call, Grayson was furious. His punishment for me was to personally head overseas to expand a new market. For nearly an entire year, he never came back to see me. Grayson was a golden god among men. Even though it was an arranged marriage, I still inevitably fell deeply in love with him. But that year of absolute silence made me realize there was an uncrossable chasm between us. The chasm was built on family background, life experience, and worldview... but the biggest factor of all was Serena. Knowing full well he was intentionally distancing himself from me because of her, my bloodsucking parents still used our family's failing business as an excuse to relentlessly pressure me into asking him for money. My mother said, "I know you're Mrs. Lockwood now. If you just have a baby, your position will be secure. But that's still his family. You only have true leverage if your own family is strong. If you guys ever fight, you need a place to come back to." During our time apart, I sent Grayson countless texts—sharing trivial details of my day, asking about his well-being. If he was in a good mood, he might reply with a brief, one-sentence answer. But mostly, my messages vanished into the void. Forced by my parents' demands, I finally had to swallow my pride and call him. Terrified of interrupting his sleep, I calculated the time difference perfectly to call during his lunch break, which meant it was the middle of the night for me. But when I carefully made my request, Grayson merely scoffed on the other end of the line. His tone was dripping with mockery: "Audrey, are you willing to stay married to anyone, as long as they pay you?" His words plunged me into a freezing abyss. 13 I watched Grayson sitting in his office, brooding over Serena's text messages. I felt a complicated mix of emotions, but my resolve to haunt him only grew stronger. I floated up to his ear, puffed out my cheeks, and blew a gust of cold air right at him. I saw a ghost do this to a poor scholar in a classic horror movie once. Turns out, the method was highly effective. The usually stoic Grayson whipped his head around, coming face-to-face with me blowing air at him. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a sudden, inexplicable guilt. Grayson scanned the room. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he reached out and closed the chat window on his laptop. He leaned back heavily in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long, exhausted sigh. I didn't get it. His white moonlight was coming back, why was he acting so depressed? Did he think that after five years of marriage with me, he was somehow "tainted" and unworthy of Serena? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I clenched my fist and slammed it against the bookshelf behind him. It was just an instinctual reaction born of anger, but I didn't expect it to actually knock a book off the shelf. It was a thick, heavy hardcover. The loud thud it made when it hit the floor startled both of us. I was shocked because: I could actually touch physical objects?! Grayson was shocked because: Why did a book just fall off the shelf? Is this place haunted? We both looked down at the floor simultaneously. Photographs that had been tucked inside the book scattered across the rug. I looked closely and realized they were photos of me, mixed with a couple of awkward pictures of Grayson and me together. I remembered then—before his mother died, she forced us to take a trip to the beach. Under her strict supervision, Grayson reluctantly posed for a few pictures with me. His mother had the photos printed and gave us each a set. Her intention was for Grayson to frame them and put them on his desk at work. I had framed my set and placed them in the most prominent spot in my apartment. But I never imagined Grayson would hide his set this deeply. "You bastard. Does looking at these pictures disgust you that much?" As Grayson bent down to pick up the photos, I couldn't hold back. I swiped my hand again. This time, I knocked his water glass off the desk, sending it shattering onto the floor. Leaving a bewildered Grayson behind, I floated out the window and headed back to my own apartment. Hmph. If you think my photos are bad luck, I'll show you something truly horrific. 14 I had insomnia. Ghosts don't die from pulling all-nighters, so I just laid on the sofa, letting the negative emotions wash over me. Turns out, even becoming a ghost doesn't save you from late-night existential dread. Thirty-five hours after my death, my older sister texted me. I was so bored, floating around the apartment trying to figure out what to do, when my phone in the bathroom chimed. I darted over, wondering who was looking for me. But as soon as I entered the bathroom, my own "corpse" scared the living daylights out of me. Soaking bloodless in a tub of crimson water—even I found it incredibly eerie and terrifying. "Eww." I suddenly regretted choosing this method. On the phone screen was a text from my sister. She wrote: "Grayson came by the house early this morning with Christmas gifts. He asked if you had come home. Audrey, I'm your sister, I wouldn't steer you wrong. Remarrying Grayson is the best thing for you and for our family. Stop being so stubborn." Five minutes later, she sent another: "Do you know who Grayson is? The fact that he brought gifts to check on us after the divorce shows he still cares. Audrey, when you're given an out, take it immediately." My sister was three years older than me. When we were kids, I completely idolized her. I thought she was amazing, smart, and whenever there was a school play or talent show, she was always the shining star. When I was little, I just thought she was exceptional. As I got older, I started to realize the truth: why did my parents enroll her in expensive piano and dance classes, while I was only allowed to take the cheapest art club after school? And when the family business started going under, the first thing they cut was my cheap art club. My parents' blatant favoritism chipped away at my idolization of her. And my sister seemed to revel in their favoritism, treating me like her personal servant as a matter of right. In high school, she made me deliver a love letter to the school's bad boy. I got cornered in an alley by a group of mean girls who liked him. She happened to walk past, glanced at me getting pushed around, and just kept walking. When I came home bruised and scraped, she told me to lie to our parents and ordered me not to tell them she had written the letter. We ended up at the same university, but by the time I was a freshman, she was already studying abroad in Paris. She was an outstanding alumna, invited back to speak at the university's anniversary gala. Across the crowded auditorium, she made eye contact with me but pretended not to know me. When I went home, she looked at me with disgust and said, "Audrey, can you please try to dress better? If people find out my sister looks this pathetic, I'll die of embarrassment." I smiled bitterly on the inside. Why did I look so pathetic? Didn't she know exactly why? My suicide... she definitely played a part in it.

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