Killed by His Fix

In the final second before the elevator crashed down, my husband finally picked up my desperate call for help.

I begged him, who was in charge of elevator maintenance, to save me.

"That elevator was just serviced. What game are you playing?" he snapped. "Wasn't your silent treatment so strong? Keep going and stop bothering me. It's Marina's birthday today."

I never reached out to him again. I died.

Later, he'd have given anything just to see me one more time.

A newly repaired elevator malfunctioned after just two days, killing someone. The news shook all of Oleta.

My husband, Anthony Hamilton, was the head of elevator maintenance. Because of the accident, his supervisor called him in for questioning.

Once it was done, he stepped out of the office.

Maybe it was my lingering obsession, but my soul broke free from my body and drifted to his side.

He strode into his office with a sullen expression. A woman with perfect makeup showed up.

"Anthony," she called out, her soft voice soothing him instantly.

But my heart sank as I saw her face. It was Marina Dotson, his childhood sweetheart.

Anthony tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his tone dripping with affection.

"Why are you here? Didn't I tell you to rest at home?" he said.

Marina pouted. "I missed you, so I came by. Where's my birthday gift?"

He crooked his finger and brushed her nose. "I've had it ready for ages."

Floating behind them, I watched him produce a bracelet from his drawer and slip it onto her wrist.

A sharp pang spread through me. 'Has he forgotten it's also my birthday?'

Marina beamed with happiness. "So, you're not gonna ditch me for Caitlin tonight, right? You'll celebrate with me?"

He paused, but his doting smile returned soon. "Of course."

That crushed the last shred of hope I had left.

As he started to leave with her, he spotted a photo on his coworker's desk. It was a snapshot of the accident scene.

I hovered closer and saw myself in the picture.

My face was smashed beyond recognition, my body twisted unnaturally. The sewage under the elevator had been drained, but filth still clung to me, hiding my features.

Anthony picked up the photo. In it, I clutched my shattered phone.

I sighed. If it hadn't broken, it would've shown his number. It was the only call I made at the last moments.

Too bad there were no ifs.

"A friend on the police force said the victim had ankle surgery once," George Turner explained. "Steel pins and plates are still in there. They can ID her by the plate model."

Anthony's hand shook as he held the photo.

I remembered that day. It was our anniversary.

I'd stopped him from running off to the movie with Marina.

His cold words still echoed in my head. "Anniversaries come every year. This is the movie's last showing. Be sensible."

He shoved me hard, and my ankle snapped. He hesitated but eventually walked away.

Rainy days still brought aching pain to that injured spot.

"Any shots of the victim's ankle?" he asked.

George fished one out from the deck, but Marina snatched it and tossed it on the desk.

"Why bother with this stuff?" she whined. "You promised me a movie. We're running late."

Anthony ruffled her hair. "Alright, let's go."

Bitterness engulfed me as I watched them leave like an affectionate couple.

If he had just looked at the photo closer, he would have seen the anklet that was covering my surgery scar.

He bought it for me, and I wore it every day like a treasure.

I remembered him once grumbling, "Seriously? Jealous of Marina? She is like a sister to me. You made me sick."

But their relationship was not that simple.

She would call him in the middle of the night when it thundered and ask him to keep her company.

Anthony was just kidding me or himself.

I trailed him as he took Marina back to our house and cooked dinner for her.

They exchanged smiles from time to time, which stabbed at me like a knife.

Marina suddenly knocked over the photo frame, causing it to crash on the floor.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," she said, nibbling her lip.

Anthony only focused on her hands, checking them carefully. "Thankfully, you're not hurt."

He frowned at the mess and swept the photo into the trash.

I smiled bitterly. His care for her was a stark contrast to his indifference to me.