The Ghost Who Watched Her Grieve

Every call ended the same way: with the sharp click of a disconnected line.

Her last words to me echoed in the silence. "Justin Simmons, you created this mess; you fix it. Don't come crying to me, even if you're dying. Don't cause me any more trouble."

Well, she got her wish. I was dead.

The irony was suffocating. Even in death, I couldn't make her look back at me. Not once. Years of devotion, years of love... all of it amounted to nothing.

Now, as a drifting spirit, I was forced to watch. I watched her cling to Brandon, kissing him, reluctant to leave his side. I watched her walk away from him, glancing back three times before finally focusing on her duty.

Meanwhile, down on the damp riverbank, the object of everyone's attention lay exposed.

My corpse.

Bloated and hideous. A night in the churning water had distorted my features beyond recognition. The face that was once mine was now a swollen, gruesome mask.

Bonnie arrived at the scene. A frown creased her forehead, but she quickly shifted into professional mode.

"No foreign footprints," she stated, her voice clipped. "Preliminary assessment rules out homicide. The deceased has multiple hesitation wounds on the arms, consistent with self-harm."

She stood over me, analyzing the wreckage of my life with clinical detachment.

"All evidence points to suicide. We'll need the autopsy to confirm."

She paused, letting out a rare sigh. "It's almost New Year's. What could have driven him to end it all right now?"

Spencer shook his head. "Yeah. No family here to identify him, either. Poor guy. He looks young."

He glanced at Bonnie, his tone turning casual. "Captain, I noticed you drove in from the south side. Were you celebrating the holiday with your husband, or out having fun somewhere else?"

Bonnie froze.

Her gaze drifted toward the residential complex in the distance—toward our apartment. Amidst the sea of festive lights, our windows remained dark.

She opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. Instead, she shot Spencer a sharp look and returned to her work.

As she examined the corpse's hand, her eyes lingered on the wedding band for a fraction of a second.

But there was no spark of recognition. She didn't know it was me.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Bonnie was a busy woman. Busy with her career, busy covering Brandon's tracks. Why would she remember the details of a marriage I had forced upon her?

I was the one who begged to marry her. I bought the rings. I arranged everything in our home. The one who loves more is always the one who gets overlooked.

I had poured my entire soul into this family. In the end, I lost my daughter, I lost my wife, and now, my life.

I let out a silent sigh.

When I looked up, Brandon was standing by the police tape, waving.

The contrast was brutal. Whenever I brought meals to her office, she would scold me for disturbing her work, complaining that I was a nuisance. But now? She rushed over to him, her face lighting up with surprise.

She positioned herself carefully, blocking his view of the gruesome scene behind her, her eyes crinkling with a smile she never showed me.

"It's freezing out here," she murmured. "What are you doing here?"

Brandon smiled, reaching out to adjust her scarf. "It's late. I was worried about you. I made some sweet rice dumplings. Make sure you eat them when you're done."

Bonnie sighed, a sound of affectionate exasperation. "You really... You shouldn't have come. This place is filthy. I didn't want you to see anything that might scare you."

Filthy.

The word echoed in my mind.

She wasn't afraid of rumors. She wasn't afraid that her husband might find out about her affair.

Her only fear was that my bloated, rotting corpse might offend Brandon's delicate eyes.