My Husband Chose His True Love's Dog Over My Life

The dog of my husband's true love was sick, just like me—but only one of us could be saved.

To my despair, he had a plane returning from abroad turn around, all for that dog to get better treatment.

My own husband didn't care at all that the same flight was carrying the kidney I desperately needed to live.

Clutching the notice saying I was in critical condition, my body cold and breath shallow, I begged Thatcher through tears to save me.

But all I got was a punishment.

"Veronica's dog is sick. Do you even know how upset she is? And you? Pretending to be sick for what—attention? Give me a break, Jasmine. Veronica already told me you just got a cold!"

"How about I make you suffer for real for a few days so you can quit messing with me, huh?"

Next thing I knew, his men ripped out all the medical equipment keeping me alive, dragged me out of the hospital bed, and threw me into the hills in an unfamiliar suburb.

Up there, Veronica carved up my face with a knife so deep I lost so much blood and died. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, she chopped my body into thousands of pieces.

Then she innocently ran back into my husband's arms, crying.

"Thatcher, Jasmine's gone... I think she resented you for teaching her a lesson, so she ran away..." she lied straight through her teeth.

Thatcher got instantly so mad, he took it out on my family.

All of a sudden, my parents' company went bankrupt, leading both Mom and Dad to jump off a building to end their lives. My younger sister, fresh out of college, suffered the same fate—tortured to death.

It wasn't until five years after I was murdered that a sanitation worker discovered a bone that looked like a finger in a sewage pit.

I floated there, watching my own bones crawl with maggots and filth, the stench unbearable.

Even knowing it was my own dismembered body, I couldn't help but turn away and gag.

It didn't look like me at all; I had always prided myself on my beauty.

Even when I was sick, I always made sure to dress up so Thatcher could see me at my best. I'd even sleep in full makeup.

Maybe that's why Veronica dumped me in the sewage pit, leaving my remains in such gross.

The worker gawked at the severed finger, his shovel slipping from his grip as he fell to the ground, shaking.

"Good grief! T-That... That's gotta be a human finger! Oh, god! Who knows what else is in here!"

The alarming voice caught Thatcher's attention as he was visiting the construction site for inspection.

He walked over to the pit, his expression shifting as he saw my finger.

"If that really belongs to a person, somebody dumped the body like this. We're looking at a murder case!"

"What are you waiting for? Call 911!"

I was stunned, staring at my husband.

Time seemed to favor him; five years had gone by, and he still looked as cold and regal as when we were still together.

But the kiss mark on his neck shattered his cold aura, revealing his new reality without me.

After drifting through this world alone like a lost soul for five long years, my heart felt numb.

Yet, at this moment, a familiar ache pierced my chest.

It reminded me of when I was still alive. He constantly ditched me to be with his first love, missing our anniversaries while feeding me nothing but lies.

The sensation was hauntingly similar.

It hit me hard.

The man I had selfishly loved and my murderer—they've been living happily together since I was gone.

Just then, a shrill ringtone cut through my thoughts.

Thatcher pulled out his phone. The moment he saw the caller ID, the blank expression on his face melted away, replaced by a sweet smile.

He had never smiled at me like that.

I used to playfully tease him for always looking serious and cold.

But he would just scold me, calling me unreasonable as if he had to control every expression on his face.

Now, I have to face the truth.

It wasn't that I was too sensitive.

My husband simply didn't love me.

Not enough to even give me a smile.

When Thatcher answered the call, his tone was surprisingly soft and tender, full of the affection he never showed me.

"Babe, we've got a little problem here. I might not be home in another hour."

"Your cold's finally getting better, but stay home, okay? Don't set the AC too low, and avoid cold drinks for a while..."

Listening to him nagging like a mother was surprising and felt bitter.

Was he the same man who only told me to drink more warm water when I was literally in the ICU?

After nearly 15 minutes of meticulous reminders, he reluctantly ended the call.

The overwhelming stench of my remains and the feces made him cover his nose and take a few steps back.

Soon, the cops arrived, quickly entering the site to recover my body from the pit.

"The bones have oxidized and blackened, and the muscle tissue has decomposed. These bones have been here for years. Five, at least," the forensic investigator reported.

He continued, "The body's destroyed. We're gonna need DNA tests to ID this poor soul."

A trace of astonishment crossed Thatcher's face.

"Whoever did this was a devil," he murmured.

Suddenly, one of the cops exclaimed, "Officer, there's a ring on this severed finger!"

At those words, tears suddenly flooded my eyes, and a flicker of hope ignited my heart.

Thatcher, my husband... would he recognize me?

That's the engagement ring he gave me!