In the Wee Hours, Chapter 3
Forgotten pages want their say
Written in response to Reedsy prompt from Contest #304 "Center your story around an author, editor, ghostwriter, or literary agent." Expanded from original version.
*Originally published 6/22/2025; updated and split into four chapters on 8/25/2025.
Want to start from the beginning? Here’s Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.
After conducting a thorough search of her house to ensure she really was alone, Sarah quietly cleaned up the mess. Shaking her head, a picture began to form.
She’d been through a messy divorce that had all but destroyed her sense of worth. She’d tried many times to write her next novel but finally gave up as the words choked in her throat, then vanished altogether.
Life moved on without her adding her voice to the narrative.
Forgetting the truffles, Sarah made herself a cup of chamomile tea, adding a touch of honey. She took her cup to her chair to sit and think for a while.
Suddenly, she heard stomping from the back of her house, approaching swiftly. Startled, she looked up to see a murky shade of her ex-husband, glowering at her. His short hair stood up straight.
In spite of herself, Sarah chuckled at that hair.
His visage darkened, his features distorting into a sneer, “Oh, I see I have your attention now! Only took five years!”
She lowered her gaze to the floor, biting the inside of her cheek to stop her open laughter.
“You know, Trevor, you had my attention the entire time I was writing you. It never wavered.”
“But I wanted to do things, I wanted to go places with you. I wanted us to spend all our time together and you. Didn’t. Care!”
Trevor thrust his hip out one direction, while his sneer cocked in the other.
Sarah’s body shook with the force of containing her mirth.
Straightening her face and smoothing her edges, she looked earnestly at him and said, “I did spend all my time with you for a long while. You helped me work through my ex-husband’s erratic behavior, always trying to suck up the oxygen around me. I could barely breathe before I wrote you!”
“Hmmph!” He turned his back to her.
“Seriously, Trevor, if not for you, I’d still be stuck: a side-character in his arc. He gave me no room for me. You helped me see that and decide to take my life back.” Her voice gentled as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You were never a side-character in the story I wrote. You were the inspiration for it.”
His shoulders settled and he sighed. He turned around and lifted a hand to her chin, wearing a soft smile, and vanished on the spot.
Sarah could still feel the warmth of his hand on her chin. Musing to herself, she began to think back to that time which she had avoided for so long.
She had written Trevor to help cope with her deteriorating relationship. But in the end, she'd still succumbed to the aftershocks of her divorce.
That realization was deeply unsettling.
While the process had helped her to understand how deeply unhappy she had been, she had been unprepared for her father's sudden death, or the subsequent accusations of negligence launched by her ex.
Her grief and exacerbated feelings of guilt had caused her to spiral in depression.
She remembered sitting by his hospital bed, reading old drafts out loud just to hear him chuckle. Then, weeks later, her ex’s voice like a knife: ‘If you hadn’t been so busy with your little stories, maybe he’d still be alive.’
The thought occurred to her that she had always wanted to believe in him and had prioritized his words over her own.
Even to her own detriment. Even after she’d acknowledged their relationship was unhealthy for her.
Instead of processing her feelings through writing, as she always had, she gave in. Let it settle over her. She’d been under it for so long, she’d lost sight of why it ever started.
Sarah felt a bit lighter but oh-so-very tired. She swayed slightly, suddenly unsteady. Rooting herself, she cautiously made her way to her bed, falling on her pillows with abandon.
Halfway through a dream of soaring with eagles over water, she suddenly felt a weight next to her head. She opened her eyes blearily to see a man laying directly in front of her, eyes inches from her own, boring into her.
Her extreme fatigue and comfort refused to allow her to be unsettled by this intrusion. Blearily, she patted his shoulder.
“Ah, Jacob. Yeah...about that. I’m really sorry I gave you two lines and a punchline for an exit. You deserved better than to trip on an avocado peel. It was a rough month for me. I had the flu but couldn’t take time off. Sorry.”
He winked, then vanished.
She leaned up for a moment, looking around her room. The quiet darkness prevailed. Sighing, she laid her head back down, marveling to herself that he’d lasted for less than a page but clearly had wanted more. Much like all the boyfriends she'd had during college.
← Chapter 2 | Next → Chapter 4 — A message from the muse
Thanks for reading! — Liora
voice through fire | www.liorawrites.com
This space is free to read, but support is greatly appreciated!
These pieces come from the work of mending and reigniting, healing from trauma, finding tenderness again, and holding on to the wild, sacred fire that survives every storm.
If my work here speaks to you and you’d like to support it:
– Buy me a coffee – a small boost for the human behind the words.
– Feed the kitties – cover a day’s meals for the colony of feral and free-roamers I care for, and you’ll get my Whiskers in the Dark mini-zine as a thank-you.
Every like, comment, referral, and recommendation helps my work get seen. I appreciate honest engagement and connection. If something here moved you, share it.
To show my appreciation, I offer rewards for referrals. See the leaderboard for details.
If this lit a spark, subscribe free so the next ember finds you.
Lost in the fire? Head to the Welcome Page
What I love here is that the “forgotten pages” don’t arrive as cheap horror jumps, but as pieces of Sarah’s own survival. Trevor’s mix of melodrama and hurt hits harder than expected - and Jacob’s avocado-peel exit is proof that even throwaway characters want their reckoning!
Beautifully written!