I STOOD IN KRISTOF’S HOUSEBOAT, IN FRONT OF THE tiny writing desk beside the bunk. Over the desk was a shelf crammed with photos. Memory shots, we called them in the ghost world. We didn’t have cameras or access to old pictures, but we didn’t need them. If we could pluck an image from memory, we could make a photograph of it, as I’d done with Amanda Sullivan’s picture.

On Kristof’s shelf, he had photos of what was important to him. His parents, brothers, nephews, and, of course, his sons. Plus two shots of Savannah, one as she’d been when he met her, and one as she was now. All pictures of family. Then there was a scattering of shots near the middle, of the two of us, memory shots of things we’d done together fifteen years ago, then after our deaths. Off to the side were two more pictures of me, one goofy face-pulling pose, and one of me laughing, curled up in a chair at my house. Then there was the picture he’d had to ask me for: something he’d never had the chance to see, Savannah and me together.

Two days ago, I’d accused him of making me choose between him and our daughter. Now I stared at those pictures, and I realized I’d almost made that choice, however unwillingly. I’d like to say that I would never have become an angel without knowing all the facts, but that would be like saying I’d never have taken Savannah from Kristof without first asking whether he cared. Or like saying I’d never have tried to escape that compound without first making sure my plan was foolproof. Act now, ask questions later, and pay the price forever—that was my path through life. Had Trsiel not told me the cost of angel-hood, I might very well have found myself in an afterlife where I’d chosen Savannah over Kristof—chosen the illusion of a relationship with Savannah over the reality of one with Kristof.

I tore myself away from the photos and headed onto the dock, brain still spinning. When I looked up, I saw Kristof striding down the hill, gaze down, thoughts clearly elsewhere. Then he looked up. As he saw me, his frown evaporated in a wide smile, pace picking up to a jog, a shout of greeting cutting through the soft thump of the waves against the hull.