In the afternoon, Aaron locked himself in the study. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, unable to open the report. I waited impatiently, feeling like seaweed swaying in the ocean, lost and adrift.

“It’s impossible,” Aaron murmured to himself. “She’s lying to me. The report must be fake.”

I wanted to rush over, grab him by the ear, and call him a fool. But as soon as my hand touched him, it passed right through, leaving only emptiness.

After preparing myself mentally, he finally clicked to open the file. A photo appeared on the screen.

My mind began to drift, as if I were back in the dusk of that day I...