I'm standing by the window, Mary comes up to me and puts her hand on my shoulder.

- I don't know whether you'll ever forgive me,- she says.

Another ghost.

I'm looking back, looking at her, want to hug her, but I can't. Something balls inside, and I pull my hands back. It's like there's something in my throat, but I'm not crying.

- I'm not angry with you.

- You can't imagine how guilty I am. Forgive me, please.

He never confessed to anyone that he cried each time he saw Mary in his sleep. Men don't cry, and he's no exception.

«Why were you asking for forgiveness, Mary? You never said you were sorry. None of us did».

Then a suspicion crept in.

«Maybe something has happened».

He would shiver all day, unable to concentrate on anything. In the evening he couldn't help calling her.

- Hello, Mary?

- Why are you calling me? What do you want?

Fear turned into the old depressive feeling.

- Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you're ok.

- Thank you for caring, but I don't need it. I get all the care I need.

- I know. Sorry for disturbing you.

- Don't call me anymore.

He hung up and walked out of the room. Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, I'm okay.

He looked back: something was wrong. the water jar was in place, the bookcase too. So what was wrong?

His coat. He had forgotten his coat in the park the day before. The cat. He should go back, hoping his coat was still there.

Walking towards the elevator, he wanted to push the button, but something balled up inside him again, like it did in the dream. He walked away from the elevator and took the stairs instead. The weather was worse than the day before.

The End

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