The garden was dying. I watched it from the kitchen window, the glass cold against my forehead. The roses had turned to brown lace. The ivy peeled back from the brick like dead skin. I knew what people said about me. They said I was mad. They said I was keeping him in the dark. They said the house was a tomb and I was the gravekeeper. I ignored them. I had better things to do. I had to find the path.

The path was pale. It wound through the overgrown yard toward the old oak tree at the edge of the property. The oak was dead. It had been dead for years. But I kept looking at it. I kept waiting. I kept digging. My hands were raw. The dirt was black and slick under my fingernails. I did not care. I was not the woman they thought I was. I was not the widow who lost her mind when David died. I was the woman who knew the truth. I was the woman who could bring him back.

I had tried the other ways first. The candles. The salt lines. The blood from my own cut. It had not worked. The air stayed still. The silence stayed heavy. I needed the path. I needed to walk it barefoot until the thorns tore my feet. I needed to bleed into the earth until the earth opened up.

My mother used to say that love was a fire. It burned you. It ate you up. I used to believe her. Now I knew it was a wheel. It turned. It came back. It always came back. David was not gone. He was just on the other side of the turn. I just had to keep spinning. I just had to keep digging.

The neighbors stopped walking past my window. They stood in the distance. They pointed. They whispered. I saw Mr. Henderson. He looked at me with pity. Then with fear. Then he left. He did not want to be near me. He did not want to be near the dead. I smiled at his retreating back. He did not know. He could not know. He had never loved anyone the way I loved David. He had never felt the pull of the wheel.

I went outside. The air was sharp. It tasted of iron and rot. I walked toward the oak. The grass was long. It dragged at my ankles. I did not stop. I could feel David watching me. I could feel his presence in the air. It was like a static charge. It made my hair stand up. It made my teeth ache. I was close. I was so close.

I reached the tree. The bark was grey and smooth. It looked like bone. I pressed my palm against it. It was cold. I closed my eyes. I waited. The wind picked up. The branches creaked. They sounded like bones breaking. I opened my eyes. The pale path was gone. The grass had swallowed it. There was only the tree. And me.

I laughed. It was a dry sound. It came from deep inside my chest. I pulled out my trowel. I began to dig. I dug fast. I dug hard. The dirt flew. I did not care if I was tired. I did not care if my back ached. I was not tired. I was only hungry. I was hungry for him. I was hungry for the turn.

I dug for hours. The sun went down. The sky turned purple. Then black. The stars came out. They were bright and cold. I did not stop. I dug until my hands bled. I dug until the trowel slipped. I fell to my knees. The dirt was thick. It stuck to my skin. I could not move. I was buried up to my waist. I was part of the garden now.

I looked up. The moon was full. It shone on the oak tree. The leaves were gone. The branches were bare. They looked like fingers. They reached for the sky. I saw something move. It was small. It was white. It fluttered down. It landed on my shoulder. I reached out. I caught it. It was a moth. It was dead. Its wings were pale. It looked like a piece of the path.

I held it in my hand. I closed my fingers around it. I felt its weight. It was so light. It was nothing. It was just a bug. But I knew it was him. I knew it was the sign. The wheel was turning. The turn was complete. He was coming.

I stood up. My legs were stiff. My knees popped. I walked back to the house. I did not look back. I did not need to. I felt him behind me. He was walking with me. He was silent. He was patient. He was mine.

I went into the kitchen. I washed the dirt from my hands. The water ran red. I watched it swirl down the drain. I wiped my hands on my apron. I sat at the table. I waited. The clock on the wall ticked. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was the only sound in the house. It was the sound of time. It was the sound of the wheel.

I thought about the misunderstandings. I thought about how they saw me. They saw a crazy woman. They saw a victim. They did not see the artist. They did not see the lover. They did not see the keeper of the flame. They were blind. They were deaf. They were stuck in the straight line of life. They did not know about the circle. They did not know about the return.

I was not angry at them. I was sorry for them. They were so lonely. They did not know they were already dead. They just had not noticed yet. I had noticed. I had accepted it. I had made my peace with the dark. I had made my peace with the wait.

The door opened. I did not look up. I heard footsteps. They were soft. They were steady. They stopped in front of me. I smelled him. He smelled of rain. He smelled of earth. He smelled of life. I closed my eyes. I smiled. I was not afraid. I was not sad. I was full. I was complete.

The wheel had turned. The path was found. The pale light was here. It was in the room. It was in the air. It was in me. I did not need to dig anymore. I did not need to run. I just needed to be. I just needed to love. I just needed to wait for the next turn.

I opened my eyes. The room was empty. The chair across from me was empty. The table was bare. The clock ticked. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I was alone. I had always been alone. The moth was still in my hand. It was dead. It was dust. I dropped it. It hit the table with a soft thud. It was nothing. It was just a bug.

I looked at the window. The garden was dark. The oak tree stood silent. The pale path was gone. It had never been there. I had made it up. I had dug it up. I had bled for it. I had died for it. And it was nothing. It was just dirt. It was just air. It was just me.

I stood up. My legs were weak. I walked to the sink. I washed my hands again. The water was clear. My hands were clean. I looked in the mirror. My face was pale. My eyes were red. I looked like a ghost. I looked like David. I looked like a woman who had lost everything.

I turned off the light. The darkness came. It was warm. It was soft. It wrapped around me. I lay on the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest. I waited. I waited for the pain. I waited for the end. I waited for the turn.

But the turn did not come. The silence stayed. The dark stayed. I was here. I was still here. I was not dead. I was not gone. I was just a woman in a house. I was just a body in the dark. I was just a soul in the wheel.

I closed my eyes. I breathed. In. Out. In. Out. The breath was steady. The breath was life. The breath was enough. I did not need the path. I did not need the ghost. I did not need the wheel. I just needed the breath. I just needed the moment. I just needed to be.

The story was over. The loop was broken. I had not conquered it. I had not defeated it. I had just let it go. I had just let it be. The pale path was gone. The oak tree was dead. The garden was wild. The house was quiet.

I was free. I was trapped. I was both. I was neither. I was just.

The morning came. The light crept in. It was pale. It was soft. It touched my face. I opened my eyes. I was alive. I was here. I was real. The wheel was still there. But I was not on it. I was outside it. I was watching it. I was seeing it. I was knowing it.

I stood up. I walked to the window. I looked at the garden. The roses were still brown. The ivy was still dead. The oak was still bare. But the light was different. It was brighter. It was clearer. It was real.

I turned away from the window. I walked to the door. I opened it. The air rushed in. It was cold. It was fresh. It was new. I stepped outside. I stepped onto the grass. The grass was wet. It was cold. It was real.

I did not dig. I did not run. I did not wait. I just walked. I walked away from the house. I walked away from the garden. I walked away from the past. I walked toward the road. I walked toward the world.

The world was big. The world was loud. The world was full of people. I did not care. I did not know them. I did not know their stories. I did not know their wheels. I only knew my own. I only knew my breath. I only knew my feet.

I walked. The path was long. The path was pale. The path was mine. I did not need to find it. I was it. I was the path. I was the walker. I was the end. I was the beginning.

The sun rose. The sky was blue. The birds sang. The wind blew. The world turned. I turned with it. I did not fight it. I did not fear it. I just moved. I just lived. I just breathed.

The story was over. The silence was broken. The light was here. I was here. I was real. I was free.