I Met a Ghost

When I met her, she called herself a "ghost", beautiful and fragile. For an out-of-print poetry collection, I promised to find out for her the truth about the heart transplant operation that saved her but also imprisoned her three years ago. I thought I had an insight into everything, so I simplified the truth into a version of "doctors manipulate everything for fame and fortune" and told her, thinking that this would allow her to let go of her obsession and leave easily. It wasn't until she really left that I learned from my father that the "mercy" lie I had carefully weaved covered up a more cruel truth - about her true life experience and the desperate love of her parents who risked their lives to protect each other. It turns out that what I accomplished with my own hands was not redemption, but judgment.