Dead Husband's Call: Five Years Too Late

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future.

"John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!"

Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…"

As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal.

"I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief.

"Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…"

My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone.

Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest.

"I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

I crumpled to the floor, feeling like all the strength had been sapped out of me.

John Foster frowned as he reminded me, "Cece, your foot is bleeding…"

Only then did I notice the bloody footprints across the floor.

In my rush to head out the door, I had knocked over a wine bottle, and the glass shards had pierced the soles of my feet. Yet I hadn't felt a thing, my mind consumed only by the exuberant joy of reuniting with my long-lost husband.

"The first-aid kit is in the drawer under the television. There's a bottle of iodine and some gauze inside. You're still as clumsy as you've ever been. Since I'm not around anymore, you have to learn how to take care of yourself!"

John spoke with the same gentle tone as he used to.

Even as a child, I'd always been careless. I was used to finding new scraps and bruises on my body every day.

But after I met John, even the slightest bruise would make his heart ache. "Your body doesn't belong to just you anymore. It's mine, too, and I won't let you hurt it anymore!"

The loving words he once said to me still echoed in my ears.

Suddenly, I pressed down hard, forcing the glass shards deeper into my flesh like a woman who'd lost her mind.

This had to be a dream. Or maybe I was drunk.

Why else would John suddenly tell me that he didn't love me? That everyone was just lying to me this whole time?

"Cecilia! Cecilia Jamison!"

Startled to see my sudden meltdown, John began shouting in agitation.

"No matter how much you hurt yourself, you can't change anything! If you don't believe me, check the loose floorboard under the money tree in the living room. You'll understand then."

I froze and stiffly turned my head toward the money tree that was right in front of me. But I didn't dare to check.

John grew impatient and started urging me.

I hobbled over to the plant and pushed the pot aside, lifting the loose floorboard.

An album was hidden beneath it, and all the photos were of John and… my best friend, Adaline Seymour.

It turned out that they were childhood sweethearts.

The album was a record of every beautiful moment they had shared with each other. As children, they played in the mud together. As teenagers, they won a duet piano competition.

They went on to see the romantic northern lights together and took hot air balloon rides abroad. Throughout every season and across every corner of the world, there were traces of them walking side by side.

The look in their eyes as they stared at each other had gone from innocent friendship to something deeper, a lingering desire.

The final photo was of Adaline's sleeping visage, her features still youthful. Three words were written on the back.

"Wait for me."

All at once, my stubborn disbelief burst. The pain coming from my feet shot straight to my heart, making my tears stream down.

I looked at my bloodied hands and recalled the way they'd once held a bloodied John in them. I could still remember how he looked, all covered in blood two years ago.

It'd happened on my birthday. I cajoled John into taking me to an island to go diving. But on the way, we were caught in a severe car accident.

He'd shielded me protectively with his body. He wanted to wipe the tears from my face, but didn't want to smear his blood on me.

"Don't cry. How can I bear to leave you?"

But as it turned out, everything had been a lie.

I felt a lump in my throat, making me choke. My voice was hoarse as I asked, "Why? Why did you marry me…"

After seeing those photos in the album, I knew he'd fallen in love with Adaline even before he met me.

John sighed. "Adaline wanted me to marry you."

That single sentence crushed my heart into pieces, filling me with a chilling, agonizing sensation.

"Adaline noticed my feelings for her, but she chose to avoid them, so she introduced you to me. She later asked me to marry you. I did everything she asked of me. It couldn't be helped. After all, I've always been…"

His voice was exasperated, yet laced with the sweetest tenderness.

This was how I found out that all the care and affection he showed me was only because he wanted to fulfill the request of the woman he truly loved.

I was just a pathetic clown forced to be a part of their twisted relationship.

My lips twitched as I forced out a bitter chuckle. "Tell me where you guys are now. Where are you two?"