He Rejected My Call for Help, Then Answered My Death Notice

My body was wheeled into the cold autopsy room.

Intern Franklin fought back his nausea and put on a double-layered mask.

My husband Ethan rushed back to work from the hospital, where he'd just been keeping Emily company for her stomach problems.

As Stone City's chief medical examiner, Ethan frowned and signaled Franklin to turn on the surgical lights.

Though he was used to death, when his eyes fell on my mangled remains, a flash of pain still crossed them.

After being run over by a truck and battered by the downpour, my body had swollen badly.

My face was smashed beyond recognition, bloody and mangled, with all my features destroyed.

My whole body was covered in wounds, with only a few mud-caked strands of hair still attached to my broken scalp.

The air was thick with a sickening smell of blood and decay.

Ethan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, put on his gloves, and began the initial examination.

As he looked at my body, a rare trace of compassion and heaviness flickered in his eyes.

Never in my life had he treated me so gently.

He picked up a cotton ball and carefully wiped the blood from behind my ear, his movements so tender it was as if he feared hurting this body that could no longer feel anything.

"The victim must have suffered terribly before death," Ethan said quietly, his voice filled with respect and regret for the deceased. "So young. Her husband and family must bedevastated, losing her like this."

He sighed and lowered his head, carefully examining the wounds on my neck.

I stared hard at Ethan's eyes, still holding onto one last pathetic hope.

Ethan, we'd shared a bed for three years.

Even if my face was destroyed, I had a small mole on my earlobe, a burn scar on my collarbone—surely you'd remember those?

Ethan leaned in closer.

His gaze fell on the side of the neck and collarbone, lingering for two seconds.

He didn't seem to doubt anything. He just turned to Franklin and said calmly, "Make a note—pigmentation below the left earlobe, old scar on the collarbone. These are important for ID later."

After speaking, he gently smoothed my messy hair, his eyes full of sympathy. "Poor girl."

In that moment, the light in my eyes went out completely.

To him, that mole he'd once kissed, that scar he'd once touched, were now just cold markers on this "poor unknown victim's" body.

Franklin said quietly from the side, "Mr. Jones, this is a heartbreaking case. Has her family been notified yet?"

Ethan shook his head, looking worried. "Not yet. I hope we can find her family soon, so she can rest in peace."

Even in death, I was still causing him trouble.

Except this time, it was because of his kindness toward a stranger.

Just then, the melody of "Für Elise" rang out.

It was Ethan's personal phone, the ringtone he'd set specifically for Emily.

The moment he answered, his tone became incredibly gentle. "Emily, don't be scared, I'm here."

From the other end came Emily's tearful voice, faintly mentioning my name.

Ethan's expression instantly darkened, all that warmth he'd shown the dead completely gone.

"Sophia? Don't mention her, it's bad luck."

"Yesterday on your birthday, she kept calling and harassing you. Now she's playing the disappearing act for attention."

"Emily, you're just too kind. Someone like her has nine lives."

"Sophia hasn't been home for days. Who knows if she's lying dead in some alley somewhere. A woman like that, always making trouble—honestly, it'd be less of a headache if she just stayed gone."

Hearing my husband's curse, I felt a bone-deep chill.

Ethan, it's not that I didn't want to come home.

That wife you call a headache died the day you celebrated Emily's birthday.

And my body—

Is right in front of you now.