The pomelo tree

At dinner, Priya's chair was empty. By nine, the family were searching every room. Without her, the old house felt desolate, empty and cold. Even the twins were quiet, and Mrs Nair, who was never afraid of anything, was crying.

At midnight, the wall of the front room opened like a door, and Priya stepped out. In her hands was an old tin box with a letter inside, yellow with age. "Brother, I was wrong," it began. "Half of everything is yours."

With Auntie Siew's help, they found Kok Wai's great-granddaughter, Mrs Chan Mei Fong, who ran a coffee shop nearby. She read the letter and cried. It was a poignant moment, sad and beautiful at the same time.

"My great-grandfather waited all his life for this," she said. "We forgive him."

For a hundred years the ghost had wanted to atone for what he did. Now, at last, it was done.

That night Priya saw him one last time, under the pomelo tree in the yard. He looked tranquil, calm and peaceful. "You have given me solace," he said, "comfort after a hundred years of pain." He took off his chains, ready to relinquish them forever.

In the morning the tree was covered in white flowers, and the indelible stain had gone. Under the tree, Priya put a small stone with his epitaph: HERE RESTS CHAN KOK LEONG. HE SAID SORRY.

Next to it, the mischievous twins left a pair of earplugs, in case the birds were too noisy.