A Shot to the Heart

I've loved my husband for five years, but he's never reciprocated my feelings. In fact, on the day after my death, he runs straight into his true love's arms.

During my absence, he sneers and says, "She's up to her old tricks again."

When he receives a call telling him to identify my body, he's excited. He thinks he can see my reaction to having my scheme exposed.

He doesn't know that I'm long dead, though.

The clock ticked away and struck right at midnight.

I stared at the sky-blue cake that was melting on the table. The only candle on it had burned out.

That marked the end of my lonely 25th birthday. I slowly made my way to the table and stared at the forgotten cake. Finally, I dug a piece of it with my index finger and stuffed it into my mouth.

"Happy birthday," I whispered to myself.

After that, I dumped the entire cake into the trashcan without hesitation.

Owen Mancini finally came home late after midnight. I watched him enter from the hallway. I said, "You're home."

He cast an indifferent look at me before frowning disapprovingly. "Don't you have anything better to do aside from drinking?"

I swirled the wine in my glass and let out a soft chuckle. "Drinking is a pretty serious matter."

I staggered over to him. "Alcohol is great. Come on. Have a sip too…" I pushed the glass to his lips and looked at him with glazed eyes. "Come on. Try it!"

Owen squinted at me and shook my hand off. "You should go to bed."

His movement was so forceful that I nearly crashed to the ground. I spilled half of the red wine in the glass.

The sudden movement made me sober up. I set down my glass and turned around to flash a calm smile at him.

I said to him, "It's my birthday."

He looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered.

I let out a sigh. "Since it's my birthday, there should be gifts. If you're not buying anything for me, how about I give you a gift instead?"

While speaking, I pulled out a document from the drawer next to the couch and handed it to him. "A gift for you."

Owen's eyes swept past the cover of the document. He frowned when he realized I handed him the divorce papers.

He questioned me calmly, "What trick are you pulling this time?"

"I'm sorry my late dad forced you to marry me. Aren't you pining after your first love? Go. Look for her." I stuffed the papers into his hand. Before he could react, I kissed him on tiptoe.

Moments later, he shoved me away. This time, I felt the throbbing pain from the collision with the ground.

Owen hadn't expected that I would crash to the floor. He stood there with a frown without helping me up.

Enduring the dull pain in my arm, I shut my eyes in despair. "Our marriage is a failure. Looks like we aren't made for each other."

He still sounded indifferent. "Had you thought about that earlier, we wouldn't have suffered until now."

"It's my fault." I forced a smile. "I guess I could only make amends with my life."

He smirked cruelly. "Really? Will you?"

After a brief pause, I spoke in a lower voice, "If I die, I will not love you in my next life."

"Maybe you should talk about that when you're dead for good." He looked away and left, slamming the door behind him.

He had left our home again.

The smile vanished from my face. Holding my hurting arm, I scrambled up from the floor, thinking, "So, he still hates me as much as before."

I settled on the couch with a bitter smile and pulled out another document from the drawer—a health check report this time.

The heavy diagnosis—late-stage cancer—was printed on the last page of the report. I closed my eyes for a while. When I reopened my eyes, I tore the report up.

Bits and pieces of the report were scattered across the floor. Staring at the wedding ring on my ring finger, I gently rubbed it with my fingertips.

Eventually, I removed it from my finger and placed it on the tabletop.

…

The next morning, I gathered all my belongings and threw them into my car. I left the villa without breakfast.

I drove all the way out of the city and onto the freeway.

Rolling down the windows, I squinted when the chilly ocean breeze hit my face. I stared right at the sun.

"Goodbye for good, Owen Mancini."

I turned on the right signal and let go of the steering wheel. I stepped on the gas, and the car drove into the cliff on the right at great speed.

The bumper was badly destroyed. Blood seeped out from the driver's seat.

Although I had died in the crash, my spirit continued to wander around. At first, I thought I could finally be free of Owen after I died, but for some reason, my ghost lingered around him.

…

I wandered to Owen's office on the 16th floor of Globestar Inc. building. I saw his secretary, Jessie Tucker, arriving early at work. She made a cup of coffee and entered his office. I followed along.

"Mr. Mancini, you have a Zoom meeting with Wiles Group at 9:30 am. The relevant materials have been placed on your table."

Owen pinched his forehead and grunted softly. At that moment, I noticed something missing from his finger—the wedding ring.

What was left on the ring finger on his right hand was a red mark.

Then, I thought to myself, "That makes sense, though. Why wear the ring when we're divorced?"

I touched my heart and, for a moment, struggled to breathe. I never thought the dead would have feelings.