Liam swept the pile of broken glass and wood into a dustpan.

As he was about to dump it in the trash, he paused.

He glanced around, then pulled a small cardboard box from under the TV stand.

He carefully poured the contents of the dustpan into the box, then slid it back into its hiding place.

He stood there for a long time, just staring into space.

He only snapped out of it when Sophie emerged from the shower and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

I sat on the floor next to the TV stand, reaching out again and again, trying to touch the metal medal among the shards.

My father's name was engraved on it.

But no matter how hard I tried, my hand passed through every time.

A wave of helplessness and despair washed over me again and again.

And as if to mock me, this vile pair had to put on their little love show right in front of me.

I wanted to kill them.

Strangle them, chop them up, anything.

But my soul passed right through their bodies, leaving them completely unharmed.

A wave of nausea hit my chest.

I leaned over the coffee table, dry-heaving, the sound loud and wretched, but only I could hear it.

I couldn't stand to be in this room a second longer.

The very air they breathed felt toxic, disgusting.

I took a few steps toward the door, but a powerful force yanked me backward as if a rope were tied around my neck.

I was thrown violently to the floor.

At least being a ghost meant I couldn't feel the pain.

After several more attempts, I realized with dawning horror that I was trapped.

I couldn't get far from Liam.

How ironic.

I hugged my knees, sitting next to the broken pieces of the award, silently watching the man and woman in each other's arms.

Look at him.

This was the man who made vows to me, who swore his undying love.

Turns out a thousand pounds of loyalty isn't worth two ounces of flesh.

Hannah, you were a fool to believe his lies about one true love for a lifetime.

I watched as Liam pinned Sophie to the sofa, kissing the little cut on her finger that the glass had made.

"...Does it hurt?"

His voice was low, his tone soft.

His every move was a perfect imitation of how he used to care for me when I was hurt.

Except my injuries were from knives, or sprains, or torn muscles.

Her tiny scratch would have healed on its own if she'd just waited a minute.

The scene in front of me made me sick, physically and spiritually.

The acid in my stomach began to churn again.

"Mas—"

Sophie started to say, her face flushed red, but Liam silenced her with a kiss.

"What have I told you?" he murmured against her lips. "In private, you call me by my name. I'm not your teacher, and I don't want to be just your teacher."

As if to answer him, Sophie tilted her head back to kiss his cheek, her hands reaching for the tie of her bathrobe—

A shrill ringing suddenly cut through the silence of the room.

It was so loud, it felt like it was exposing their secret affair.

The two of them froze on the sofa.

Sophie clearly didn't want him to answer, but the phone kept ringing insistently.

Liam gently removed her hands from around his neck, his voice returning to its usual cool professionalism.

"It's the lab. We probably have a case."

He put the call on speaker, so I could hear it too.

The man on the other end sounded urgent.

"We've got a bad one, Liam. Get down to the morgue, now."