Love after Death (S1) [Completed]

Chapter 38: The Ghost on the Sidelines

Miguel's POV

The morning sun felt warm against my face, reflecting off the white marble of the breakfast nook. Everything in this house was bright, expensive, and clean. Usually, the estate felt a bit too quiet, but today the air was filled with the sound of Sam's fork clinking against her plate and the smell of fresh coffee.

I sat there, staring at my bowl of cereal. Even though it had been years since the accident, I still had days where I felt like I was waking up in a room I didn't recognize. I knew I was a student at the top architecture school in the city, and I knew these were my books piled on the table, but sometimes my mind felt like a library where someone had moved all the shelves around overnight.

"Earth to Miguel," Sam said, waving a piece of toast in front of my face. My younger sister was the only one who didn't treat me like I was made of glass. "Are you thinking about your blueprints, or are you just trying to figure out a way to skip the gala on Friday? You have that 'I'm-stuck-in-my-head' look again."

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and forced a smile. "I'm just thinking about the structural load for my studio project, Sam. It's due on Monday, and the design keeps giving me trouble."

"He's lying," Sam said, looking over at our parents. She sat perfectly upright, even while eating-a habit she'd picked up from her modeling gigs. "He just wants to stay in his room and draw houses that look like they belong in a forest instead of a city. He's becoming a total hermit."

"I am not a hermit," I argued, leaning back. "I'm a dedicated student. There's a difference."

"A dedicated student who hasn't been out for a movie in three weeks," Sam teased. She reached over and snatched a strawberry from my bowl, careful not to smudge her lip gloss. "You used to be the one dragging me out. Now you just sit there with your charcoal sticks looking like a tortured artist. It's embarrassing for me. What if my agency sees you looking like that? It'll ruin my brand."

"It's not 'tortured,' it's called 'talent,'" I shot back, a bit of my usual sass returning. "Maybe if you spent more time on your own schoolwork and less time worrying about your 'brand,' you'd understand the pressure of a real degree."

Sam stuck her tongue out at me, though she did it in a way that wouldn't mess up her makeup for her shoot later. "Dad, tell him to stop. He thinks because he's a 'prodigy' now, he can be mean to a professional model."

My father, Rudolph, finally lowered his financial newspaper, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked at me with an expression that always felt a bit heavy, like he was trying to memorize my face.

"Now, Sam, leave your brother alone. If he wants to build forests in the middle of the city, let him. This country needs more architects who actually have a soul." He reached out and patted my hand, his grip firm and warm. "But she's right about one thing, Miguel. You shouldn't let the work swallow you whole. You've been given a second chance. Don't spend it all behind a desk."

"I'm just trying to make you proud, Dad," I said quietly.

"You already do," he replied, his voice thick with a strange kind of relief. "Just seeing you sit here, talking back to your sister... that's all I ever wanted."

My mother walked into the room, looking perfect in her silk robe. She leaned down and kissed the top of my head. Her touch was always so soft, so sure. To me, she was the person who brought me back from the dark. After the crash, she was the one who sat by my bed every single day, telling me stories about my childhood until I started to believe they were my own.