It was the happiest day of my life when Harold and I moved into this house. Fresh from our honeymoon, we were thrilled to have our own home. He lifted me in the air, carried me over the threshold and whispered, ‘I love you, Dora. This is our palace, you are my princess, and I am the luckiest man in the world.’
Thirty years passed and Harold was always a gentleman. He was romantic, funny and kind. We had a happy life together, until the unfortunate day I banged my head when I tripped over one of my many pairs of shoes.
Of course I chose to stay after my untimely passing. I only wanted to spend my afterlife with Harold. I would snuggle up next to him on the sofa, caress his hair while he watched TV. It wasn’t long before he started chatting to me, and I would flick the lights or twitch the curtains to show I was there.
Each evening when he returned from work he would tell me all about his day while cooking
