The Curse of Death

Five years ago, I joined a wilderness adventure club. It was there that I first met Evan.

On one of the trips, as a result of my lackluster stamina, I ended up trailing behind the group. Evan had been gentlemanly enough to hang back and keep pace behind me. However, we ended up missing the trail marks left by the group leader and getting lost in the forest.

Unused to the terrain, I slipped and fell into a deep pit.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the ground with a bag as a pillow. As I tried to move, I felt an excruciating pain coming from my calf.

"Don't move. You broke a bone in your calf. I had to set it temporarily with a splinter," Evan said.

The pit was made up entirely of slippery rocks. Since Evan's arm was injured, he couldn't carry me out either. We had to wait to be rescued.

The weather in the forest was extremely unpredictable. Just moments ago, it was sunny, but it started raining within minutes. Evan made many attempts to start a fire, to no avail.

As night fell, the temperature dipped. I couldn't stop myself from shivering. Right then, Evan huddled closer and took his jacket off before draping it on top of me, saying softly, "Lyra."

Being the gentleman he was, he widened his arms slightly and sought my permission. Cheeks flushing, I leaned against him. We held each other close, relying on each other's body warmth to get through this gruelling night.

The next day, a rescue team saved us. I was left with an eight-inch scar along my calf, but thankfully, Evan had treated my injury in time. I could still walk perfectly fine.

…

Back in the autopsy room, Evan stroked my scar and said, "The victim has an old scar on her right leg. Due to the distinctiveness of the scar, it can be used to identify the victim."

Then, he looked away.

Back then, after Evan held me the entire night, my love for him grew until it could grow no more. We were in love soon after that.

Alas, even though only five years had passed since then, he seemed to have forgotten everything.

After making a full record of the external injuries, Evan picked up the scalpel and made his first incision.

"Hm?"

Staring at where my kidneys were supposed to be, Evan let out a puzzled hum.

Evan and I dated for three years without ever fighting once before we decided to get married. However, just before our wedding, I found out that I was suffering from kidney failure.

Not wanting to burden Evan, I asked for a breakup. Evan begged me to reconsider. It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry, but despite that, I closed the door in his face.

As I waited in despair for my time to die, the doctor told me a suitable donor had been found and that I could get the surgery done immediately.

When I was wheeled into the surgical theater, I found that Evan had been wheeled in as well. He had secretly checked to see if he was a suitable donor, and once he found out he was, he became determined to donate a kidney to me.

Sobbing hard, I tried to refuse to go through with the surgery, but Evan came over and gave me a kiss, saying, "Compared to losing a kidney, I think my future would be even more pitiful if I lost a beautiful wife."

The surgery was a success, and the wedding proceeded as planned. I thought my relationship with Evan was even more intimate than that of normal married couples. My love for him didn't fade with marriage either. It only intensified.

Thus, in spite of the way he had been treating me recently, I would still think fondly of our loving past and fool myself into thinking he would come back to me.

Evan broke me out of my reverie by looking up and saying to the police officers on the side, "The victim is missing both her kidneys."

Eyes widening in disbelief, I dashed over to the autopsy table and checked on my mutilated body. Where my kidneys once were, there were only two bloody holes left.

After the surgery, I was able to stay alive with the kidney Evan gave me. That was evidence of his love for me. Why did those men take my kidney away after killing me?

Following a quick analysis, Evan continued with the autopsy. He still hadn't discovered my identity yet, but it wasn't something I could dwell on right now. He was about to open up my abdomen.

Once he cut open my womb, he would find the other secret I'd been keeping—the one I planned on telling him on our wedding anniversary.