After You Killed Our Daughter, I'll Never Come Back

When the news of his death reached me, grief tore me apart. I passed out from crying, again and again.

I'd been clutching his clothes, burying my face in the fading scent of him, ready to end my own life—and all that time, he'd already found someone else. Already chosen her. Already planning a wedding.

"When we first got together, I had a falling-out with my roommate. I was going to rent some cheap place in the old quarter, but he took every penny he'd saved and bought me an apartment near work. Put it in my name."

The memory surfaced without warning.

When we were looking for a place to rent, the sun-facing rooms cost two hundred dollars more a month. I couldn't bring myself to spend it, so I lived in a room with no sunlight for two years.

My clothes never dried properly. I got a urinary tract infection.

One night I woke up at 2 a.m. passing blood, drenched in cold sweat from the pain.

Julian panicked. He scooped me up and ran to the hospital like a man possessed.

In the corridor, he crouched in front of me and gripped my hands, his eyes full of guilt and anguish.

"Gertie, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'm useless—I let you suffer like this."

"I swear I'll work harder. I'll buy you a place with a big balcony."

"He always said every single day we were together was an anniversary. He'd surprise me out of nowhere."

Grace's voice pulled me back. She held up her phone, beaming.

"This is my account—just for documenting our life together."

Her slender, manicured fingers scrolled down. Every post dripped with luxury. Jewelry, fresh flowers, designer goods, and a postnatal recovery center that cost tens of thousands a month.

And the pinned post at the very top—two crimson marriage certificates.

The date.

It was the day I tried to kill myself for him.

I stood frozen. A high-pitched ringing flooded my ears. My whole body shook, and my nails dug so hard into my palms I could feel the skin split.

At that exact moment, thunder cracked across the sky, its flash sweeping over the massive villa.

It lit up Julian's face. His expression was unreadable—dark and impenetrable.

Grace snapped back to the present and turned to me.

"Miss Harding, it looks like there's going to be a terrible downpour. Why don't you stay and have dinner with us?"

I choked down the nausea rising with the grief, and forced a smile.

"No, thank you. I have another job nearby, and I'm running behind."

I fled the villa. Fat raindrops crashed down the second I stepped outside.

I pried open my rusted umbrella and stood alone at the curb, hands shaking as I lit up my phone screen. The wallpaper stared back at me, and I let out a bitter laugh.

It was a photo of Julian and me against a red backdrop, taken on our third anniversary. We'd planned to use it for our wedding portrait.

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. A gust of wind ripped through, and the umbrella was torn from my grip.

Without its shelter, the rain hit me full force. My foot slipped. I went down hard, sprawling on the ground.

Ice-cold mud soaked through every layer. Humiliation and despair crashed over me at once, and I collapsed forward, sobbing so hard no sound came out at first—then all of it came pouring out.

A tall figure stepped in front of me, blocking the rain.

I looked up through blurred, tear-soaked eyes and met Julian's face. His brows were drawn tight, and buried deep in his gaze was a flicker of pain he almost managed to hide.

"Gertie, is this how you've been taking care of yourself while I was gone?"

I shoved him back with both hands.

"How dare you. How dare you say that to me."

"Why couldn't you have actually died? Was it fun—lying to me?"

"You faked your own death for that woman. What does that make me? Something worthless you could just throw away?"

"Enough!"

Julian's face went black with rage.

"All of it was my fault. Leave Grace out of this."

A laugh scraped out of my throat—raw, mocking.

"Mr. Weiss really does love his wife."

The words barely left my mouth before my hand swung up, and I slapped him across the face as hard as I could.