My Lawyer Wife Buried Me Twice

In the third year after my death, my wife, a lawyer named Serena Collier, wants me to take the blame and go to prison for her first love, Declan Merritt, once again.

She arrives at my hometown carrying a confession statement she prepared, only to discover the place has long since fallen into ruin.

Feeling panicked, she has no choice but to ask the neighbors where I am.

My neighbor says, "You're asking about Fletcher Whitmore? He's been dead for a long time! I hear that a victim's family hunted him down for revenge and beat him to death after he got out of prison."

Serena refuses to believe it. She thinks that my neighbor is in cahoots with me to deceive her.

With a disgusted expression, she lets out a cold snort.

She sneers, "All I did was put him behind bars for a few years. Now, he even dares to lie to me!

"Tell him this for me—if he doesn't show up in court that day, he can forget about me giving another cent to his mother in the mental hospital!"

After saying that, she storms off angrily.

Watching her stubborn figure disappear into the distance, my neighbor sighs heavily.

"But his mother already starved to death in that mental hospital a long time ago…"

I drifted through the courtyard of my old family home, watching Serena Collier totter through the overgrown weeds in her high heels. She clutched a few sheets of paper in one hand, probably the confession she wanted me to sign so I could take the fall for someone else again.

"Fletcher Whitmore! Get out here! What's the point of hiding in a dump like this?"

Her voice ricocheted off the empty walls of the courtyard.

"If it weren't for me pulling strings back then, you would've been beaten to death in there! Now I need something from you, and you have the nerve to hide from me?"

I listened to her talk about what happened all those years ago without a shred of guilt, and every word felt like an ice pick through my chest. Three years ago, she'd said the exact same kind of thing.

Back then, Declan Merritt had hit someone while driving drunk. Serena showed up at my door with forged documents and laid her plan out plain.

"Two years. You do two years inside, and I'll make sure your mother gets the best treatment money can buy. But if you say no..."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I argued with her until I flipped the table.

"Serena! I'm your husband! You're really going to send me to prison to protect him?"

She didn't even bother explaining herself. She just looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

"Sign the confession, or your mother loses her treatment. Your choice."

And now, barely any time later, here she was again with that same look on her face.

It was the middle of the night, but Serena's shouting showed no sign of stopping. My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Wallace, cracked open her window and stuck her head out.

"What's all this racket? Nobody's lived in this house for years!"

Serena turned on her immediately. "You know Fletcher Whitmore, don't you? Is he hiding somewhere?"

Mrs. Wallace squinted at her through thick glasses for a long moment, then let out a slow sound of recognition. "Fletcher? He's been dead nearly three years now."

Serena's face went rigid. "What did you say? Dead?"

"That's right. It wasn't even two days after he got out of prison when someone beat him to death. I heard it had something to do with the victim's family from that case. He died right there on the spot."

She gave Serena a hard look. "And who are you to him, anyway? How could you not know that?"

"That's impossible!" Serena's voice went shrill.

"There's no way someone like him could just—"

She trailed off and yanked out her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Declan's number. She put it on speakerphone, and his voice floated out.

"Hey Sere, what's going on?"

"Declan, that 500 thousand dollars you said you gave to the victim's family back then, did you actually give it to them?"

There was half a second of silence on the other end before Declan's voice came back, steady and sure. "Of course, I did. I handed it over myself. Why?"

I was right there listening, and I nearly lost it. He hadn't done a damn thing.

When I got out of prison, the family came straight for me, swearing they'd avenge the victim. I was beaten within an inch of my life before I finally understood. Declan had never given them a single cent.

They hadn't even heard of any so-called "compensation." So, in the end, I died for Declan.

After she hung up, Serena's expression relaxed almost instantly. She turned and glared at Mrs. Wallace with pure contempt.

"I knew it. Fletcher put you up to this to trick me. So, he did two years in prison, and now he's learned how to fake his own death and disappear?

"You tell him that if he doesn't show up in court on Monday, his crazy mother can starve for all I care!"

She spun on her heel and walked away. Her heels struck the stone path with a sharp, final rhythm.

Mrs. Wallace watched her go, then sighed into the empty air. "That young lady's lost her mind. Fletcher's mother passed away a long time ago, not long after he did.

"I heard she wasted away in that hospital they put her in. Nobody even came to check on her."