After I was Killed, My Husband Restored the Truth Himself

David’s voice broke my thoughts.

“We found a severed finger from the victim.”

William took the finger and noticed the faint ring mark on the ring finger. He seemed stunned.

Eight years ago, right after we graduated from college, we lived in a basement together. It was a time of fresh love, and he proposed to me, promising a lifetime together. But he couldn’t afford a real diamond ring, so he crafted a simple one from a soda can pull tab. He promised he’d replace it with a diamond ring once he could afford it.

I wore that makeshift ring for eight years. Now, the ring made from a pull tab was gone, leaving just its imprint on my finger. He would surely recognize that unique mark.

I floated nearby, eager to see his reaction when he realized the body was mine.

After a moment, he coldly placed the severed finger in an evidence bag, not wanting to look at it again. I felt crushed, realizing that years of love had been wasted. The man who once made such promises had died in that car accident.

After the investigation wrapped up, they headed back to the police station. I was drawn along by some unseen force, forced to follow William.

On the car ride, he called Serena, speaking in a gentle tone, “Serena, make sure you take care of yourself. I’ll come back and be with you as soon as I’m done with work.”

He used to speak to me like that too. When I was pregnant and had a bad temper, he’d say, “Emily, you need to eat properly. I’ll fly back to be with you as soon as I can.”

“Emily, I’ve ordered your favorite seafood porridge. Take care of yourself and don’t worry me.”

Now, he’s giving that same care to someone else. I don’t want it anymore.

I used to think it would be hard to let go of William. But now, even after death, I realize he stopped loving me a long time ago.