15

The next soul appeared differently than the others. It didn't walk or stumble forward — it seemed to drag itself, a mass of shadow barely holding a human shape. Its form flickered, pulsing with a faint, sickly glow at its center, like a dying ember buried in ash.

The Angel of Death watched silently as the shape twisted, writhing as though the very act of existing was agony. Slowly, the shadow peeled back, revealing a man. His skin was pale, almost gray, his eyes sunken and hollow. But what stood out most was his chest — where his heart should have been, there was only a blackened void, pulsing faintly, as though struggling to beat.

"Name?" the Angel asked, his voice steady.

The man's voice was raspy, broken. "Marcus… Calloway."

The Angel glanced at the record. "Cause of death: heart failure." He looked up. "But this isn't from illness. Is it, Marcus?"

Marcus laughed weakly, a bitter, hollow sound. "No. I guess it's not." His voice dripped with self-loathing. "I killed it myself. Slowly. One piece at a time."

The Angel tilted his head. "Why?"

Marcus's eyes flickered with something — anger? Regret? It was hard to tell. "Love. Betrayal. Hate. All of it. Every time someone hurt me, I cut a little more of myself away. Every time I hurt someone back, the hole got bigger." He paused, voice trembling. "And I kept going. Until there was nothing left."

The Angel's voice remained calm, but his gaze seemed to pierce deeper. "Did it make the pain stop?"

Marcus flinched. His expression twisted. "No. It made it worse." His voice cracked. "I thought if I felt nothing, no one could hurt me anymore. But I couldn't stop hating. Everyone. Everything. Even myself." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially myself."

The Angel stepped closer. "A black heart isn't born, Marcus. It's made. Forged from grief, anger, and despair. But even the blackest heart wasn't always that way." He paused. "What did you lose?"

For a moment, Marcus didn't answer. Then his voice came, barely audible.

"My daughter."

The Angel's expression didn't change, but his voice softened. "How?"

Marcus's voice was brittle, like it might shatter. "Car crash. I was driving." He let out a broken breath. "She was only eight."

The Angel's voice stayed low, steady. "And you blamed yourself."

"I didn't just blame myself." Marcus's voice was raw, his throat tightening. "I punished myself. Every day. I pushed everyone away. My wife. My friends. Anyone who tried to help. I didn't deserve them. I didn't deserve anything." His voice shook. "I wanted to hate the world, but all I could really hate was me."

The Angel was silent for a long moment. Then, quietly, he spoke.

"You were wrong, Marcus."

Marcus looked up, his expression twisted with pain and disbelief. "What?"

"You didn't deserve the pain. You didn't deserve to suffer. You made mistakes. You lost someone you loved. But punishing yourself didn't bring her back. It only killed you a second time."

Marcus stared at him, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know how to let go."

The Angel stepped closer, his voice low and steady. "Then let me take it from you."

Marcus blinked, his eyes filling with something that looked almost like fear. "What happens if I can't?"

The Angel extended his hand. "Then I'll carry it for you."

Marcus stared at the hand for a long moment, his breath trembling. Then, slowly — hesitantly — he reached out. His fingers brushed the Angel's, and the shadows around him began to lift, peeling away like smoke caught in the wind.

The black void in his chest pulsed once more — then faded, leaving only a faint, flickering light where his heart had once been.

As the light grew brighter, Marcus's voice came in a broken whisper.

"Will I see her again?"

The Angel's voice was quiet, but certain.

"One day."

And with that, Marcus disappeared into the light, the last remnants of his blackened heart dissolving with him.

---

The next soul came quietly, almost too quietly. A woman — young, but worn beyond her years — stepped forward with slow, careful steps. Her eyes were distant, hollow, as though she had already accepted whatever fate awaited her.

The Angel of Death studied her for a moment before speaking. "Name?"

"Rachel," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Rachel Miller."

"Cause of death: suicide."

Rachel didn't flinch. She only stared at the endless void around her, voice empty. "Yeah. That sounds about right."

The Angel tilted his head. "Why?"

Rachel laughed — a brittle, humorless sound. "Why not? He promised me it would get better. That he'd stay. That I wasn't alone." Her voice wavered, eyes flickering with something buried deep. "He lied."

The Angel's voice stayed steady. "Who?"

Her throat tightened. "Jacob. The man I loved. He said we'd get through everything together. That I could trust him." Her voice cracked. "Then he left. Walked away when I needed him most. Said I was too broken. Too much work." She swallowed hard. "Said he never really loved me at all."

The Angel was quiet for a moment before speaking softly. "So you gave up?"

Her voice trembled. "What was left to hold on to? He wasn't the first to promise he wouldn't leave. Just the last." Her eyes darkened. "Everyone leaves eventually."

The Angel stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "You trusted his words more than your own worth."

Rachel laughed again, hollow and bitter. "What worth? I was nothing without him."

The Angel shook his head. "No. You weren't nothing, Rachel. You were just hurt. And hurt people believe lies more easily than they believe the truth."

Her expression faltered, her voice barely a whisper. "It still feels real. Like maybe… maybe I deserved it."

"You didn't." The Angel's voice was calm, but firm. "You deserved love that stayed. But his false promises don't define you. They never did."

Rachel looked down, her hands trembling. "Then why does it still feel like they do?"

The Angel stepped closer. "Because pain lingers longer than kindness. But that doesn't make the pain true." He extended his hand. "Let me take it from you."

Her eyes flickered with hesitation — fear, even. "What if… what if I'm still nothing without him?"

The Angel's voice softened. "You're more than his lies, Rachel. You always were."

Tears filled her eyes, her voice breaking. "I'm so tired of hurting."

"You don't have to hurt anymore," the Angel said softly.

For a moment, she stood there, trembling. Then — slowly — her hand reached out, grasping his. Her touch was light, fragile, as though she might break apart completely.

And just like that… the weight began to lift.

The emptiness, the betrayal, the ache she thought would never fade — it unraveled like thread in the wind, leaving only a quiet, bittersweet stillness behind. Her tears fell freely now, but they weren't bitter anymore.

As the light began to pull her forward, her voice came in a shaky whisper.

"I wish someone had told me sooner."

The Angel's voice was quiet, steady. "Maybe someone will hear it now."

And with that, Rachel stepped into the light — leaving the fake promises, and the pain they carried, behind.

---

The next soul arrived with a sigh. Not of pain, or fear — but exhaustion. A young man stepped forward, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slouched. His expression wasn't sad or angry… just tired. The kind of tired that didn't come from the body, but from the heart.

"Name?" the Angel of Death asked calmly.

"Daniel," the young man muttered. "But my friends call me Dan. Well… they used to."

"Cause of death: traffic accident."

Dan scoffed. "Yeah, figures. One second I'm crossing the street, thinking about how much of a loser I am, and the next? Bam. Truck. Guess the universe decided to speed things up for me." He looked up, giving the Angel a half-hearted smile. "So, what now? Do I get a consolation prize or something?"

The Angel tilted his head. "Why do you think you're a loser, Dan?"

Dan let out a dry laugh. "It's pretty obvious, isn't it? I mean, I was the third wheel. Always was. My best friends — Josh and Emily — they got together last year. And me? I just… stuck around. Like a leftover." His voice wavered. "They tried to include me. Said I was still part of the group. But I wasn't. Not really. I was just the guy they invited so things didn't feel awkward."

The Angel studied him for a moment. "You loved her."

Dan flinched, his voice dropping. "Yeah. I did." His throat tightened. "But she loved him. And he's my best friend. So I smiled. I laughed. I told them I was happy for them. Because that's what I was supposed to do." He let out a shaky breath. "But it hurt. Every time I saw them holding hands, every time she looked at him the way I wished she'd look at me… it felt like I was dying a little more inside."

The Angel's voice remained steady. "So you stayed anyway."

Dan's voice cracked. "Because I didn't want to lose them. Even if it hurt. Even if I was invisible. At least I wasn't alone, right?"

The Angel stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "You were alone, Dan. Even when you weren't."

Dan swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in his eyes. "Yeah. I guess I was." He laughed bitterly. "Pathetic, huh?"

"No," the Angel said softly. "Just human."

Dan looked away, his voice barely a whisper. "I just wanted to matter to someone."

"You did," the Angel said, his voice gentle. "Even if they didn't show it the way you wanted."

Dan's voice wavered. "Then why didn't it feel like enough?"

The Angel didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady.

"Because you deserved more than to be someone's second choice."

Dan stared at him, his throat tightening. "It wasn't their fault."

"No," the Angel agreed. "But it wasn't yours, either."

Dan's voice broke. "Then why does it still hurt so much?"

The Angel stepped closer, extending his hand. "Because love doesn't disappear just because it's unreturned. It lingers. But pain doesn't have to."

Dan stared at the hand for a long moment. His breath trembled. "Do you think… they'll miss me?"

The Angel's voice was quiet, but certain. "Yes. And they'll wonder why they didn't see the pain you carried."

Dan's eyes filled with tears. He blinked hard, trying to hold them back — but it was no use. He let out a shaky breath, his voice barely audible.

"I didn't want to hate them. I just wanted to stop feeling like I was nothing."

"You were never nothing," the Angel said softly. "You were loved. Even if they didn't say it enough."

Dan swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice trembling. "I hope they'll be okay."

The Angel nodded. "They will. In time."

Dan took a shaky breath, then slowly reached out, taking the Angel's hand.

The weight lifted — the ache he thought would never leave began to ease. It didn't vanish all at once. But it softened, replaced by something quieter. Something warmer.

As the light began to pull him forward, Dan glanced back one last time. His voice came in a whisper.

"I hope they're happy."

The Angel's voice was steady, comforting.

"They will be. And one day, so will you."

With that, Dan stepped into the light — leaving behind the shadow of a third wheel and walking toward something brighter. Something that, maybe, for the first time in a long time… felt like it was meant for him.