I died. I died on the way back for my husband’s birthday. The car crash mangled my body beyond recognition, but perhaps because of some lingering attachment, my soul drifted back home. And there I saw him, Aiden, leading another woman through our front door. With them was a little boy who was the spitting image of him. I watched them eat a cheerful family dinner. I watched the boy knock over the Lego castle I’d spent a year building. I watched as Aiden took call after call, people trying to break the news of my death, and his face remained a mask of indifference. It wasn’t until he saw the package I’d sent him that something finally, terribly, broke. My name is—was—Agnes. The accident stole my life, but it couldn’t sever my obsession. My soul now wanders the halls of the home that was once my sanctuary, a place now tainted with the scent of strangers and betrayal. Aiden ushered Zoe, the woman he’d always wanted, inside. Trailing them was a boy of about three or four. The moment I saw the child’s face, the heart that had long stopped beating seemed to clench. So that’s why he’d agreed to marry me so readily all those years ago. His true love was already carrying his child. “Come on in, sweetheart,” Zoe said, smiling as she ruffled the boy’s hair. He bounded over to Aiden, his voice a pure, innocent chime. “Daddy!” A genuine, unguarded smile spread across Aiden’s face as he swept the boy into his arms. Watching the three of them, a perfect picture of a happy family, my lingering attachment began to curdle into a bitter, gnawing resentment. I followed them inside. Every piece of furniture, every painting on the wall, had been chosen by me. “Where’s Agnes?” Zoe asked, sinking into the sofa as if she owned it. Aiden set the boy down and opened the fridge, pulling out a slice of cake. My cake. The last one. “She’s on a business trip. Won’t be back for a while.” He handed Zoe a bottle of milk. “In that case, can Leo and I stay here for a bit?” Zoe’s voice was velvet, her eyes flicking toward the boy. She added, as if it were an afterthought, “He’s been asking for his daddy so much lately.” Aiden chuckled and crouched down in front of Leo, whispering something in his ear. The boy immediately scrambled up and darted towards the stairs. “Leo, slow down!” Zoe called after him. “And what about you?” Aiden’s voice dropped, and he moved towards Zoe on the couch, leaning in close. “Did you miss me?” A blush crept up Zoe’s neck. She gave a shy nod, and in the next instant, his mouth was on hers, her bright red lips silenced. Their hands intertwined as they lost themselves in the kiss. My suspended soul died a second death. I tried to leave, to flee this place, but every time I tried, I found myself drawn back, tethered to Aiden’s side. No peace, not even in death. “Don’t,” Zoe murmured, turning her head away, her face flushed. “Leo might see.” Aiden froze for a second, then pulled back, straightening the shirt I’d given him for our anniversary. “Later, then.” As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, Zoe smiled. “Time flies. I’ll go make dinner.” But Aiden caught her, pulling her into an embrace. “No, I’ll cook. You’ve had a long day.” She turned in his arms and gave him a quick, sweet kiss. He paused, surprised, then took control, deepening it into something more. In all the years I’d known him, I had never once seen him cook. Not once. In the beginning, he’d complained about my cooking, so I secretly spent a fortune on classes to improve. The thought of him ever making a meal for me was an impossible fantasy. While Aiden went to the kitchen, Zoe headed upstairs. Remembering my Lego castle, I drifted up after her. She ran a hand over the intricate spires of the model on the desk. “Leo,” she said to the boy playing a game on a tablet nearby. “Want to live here for good?” Leo nodded enthusiastically. Zoe pointed a finger at my creation. “Mommy doesn’t like this.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy walked over and shoved it. The castle I had pieced together for a year shattered, a cascade of plastic bricks crashing to the floor. The noise brought Aiden running from the kitchen, spatula still in hand. “What was that?” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “It was me! I bumped it by accident,” Zoe said instantly, pulling Leo into a protective hug, her voice trembling with false remorse. “No, it wasn’t Mommy! It was me! I did it!” Leo burst into tears, looking up at Aiden. In the end, Aiden couldn’t bring himself to scold the boy. He just told him to be more careful. Zoe stepped over the scattered pieces, walked up to Aiden, and draped herself over his arm, her pitiful expression melting his anger away in an instant. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced. “Come and eat.” And then I saw it. Behind Aiden’s back, Zoe gave Leo a triumphant thumbs-up. My gaze fell to the plastic wreckage on the floor, and a sharp, phantom pain shot through my chest. Weren’t you supposed to feel nothing when you were dead? Weren’t you supposed to be free? Then why did my heart still ache so terribly? I reached down, trying to pick up a piece, but my hand passed straight through it. I was three years younger than Aiden. His parents had died saving my father, and my mother, out of a sense of profound debt, brought him into our home. He’ll be your husband one day, she told me. I was ten years old. I took her words as gospel. From that day on, I devoted myself to him, right up until the very end, when I was rushing back to celebrate his birthday. His birthday was easy to remember. It was our anniversary. The seventh. “Aiden,” Zoe said over dinner, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Where are we going for our anniversary tomorrow?” For the first time, Aiden was silent. He never let Zoe’s questions hang in the air, but this time, the silence stretched. “Wherever you want to go,” he finally said. “Anything you want.” Every year before, I had planned everything for our anniversary, his birthday gift included. He never had to lift a finger. Not that he ever appreciated it. He’d stand me up every time, leaving me waiting alone. The thought stung. Had he ever stood Zoe up? Later that night, after Zoe was asleep, Aiden went out to the balcony for a cigarette. He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. Two minutes until midnight. I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for my text. The first “Happy Birthday” of the day. I had sent it every single year, without fail. He, on the other hand, never got my birthday right. It was always a day early or a day late, a careless afterthought. The gift was always the same, too: a tube of lipstick. The clock on his phone ticked from 11:59 to 12:00. Then 12:01. 12:02. No new messages appeared. He switched his phone to airplane mode, then switched it back. He did this three times. Still nothing. He blamed the network, he blamed his phone, but it never once occurred to him that something might have happened to me. He didn’t even bother to send a single message. I was always the one to initiate. The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his lip. He swore, flicking it into the darkness, and then, with a casual swipe of his thumb, he blocked my number. His duty done, he slipped back into bed, curling up against Zoe’s warm back. A cold curiosity bloomed within me. I wanted to know what he would do when he finally found out I was dead. The next morning, as Aiden carried breakfast out from the kitchen, the doorbell rang. “Who the hell is it this early on a weekend?” he muttered, annoyed, and went to get the door. It was a courier. He signed for the package. It was my birthday gift to him. A pair of custom cufflinks. Aiden tore open the package, his expression shifting to one of confusion as he saw the velvet box inside. The cufflinks I had chosen so carefully. In my naivete, I thought such a thoughtful gift might convey the depth of my love, might make him cherish our marriage a little more. Now, he barely glanced at them before tossing the box onto the coffee table. There was no fondness on his face, only irritation. “Aiden, who was it?” Zoe asked, coming down the stairs. “A package from Agnes,” he said flatly. “What is it?” she pressed, sidling up to him, a vinegary note in her voice. She had a way of prying, of turning every question about me into an accusation. “Nothing,” he said, not indulging her as he usually would. Zoe’s expression flickered, but she quickly pasted on a smile. “Oh, right! You promised you’d take me and Leo out today. When are we leaving?” At the mention of an outing, Aiden’s mood brightened. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Wherever you want to go. I can drop everything for you and my son.” “Really? That’s amazing! I’ll go pack right now!” Zoe squealed, dashing off to the bedroom. Aiden watched her go, a faint smile on his lips, but I saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—a deep, weary boredom. When you’re with her, do you ever think of me? On the coffee table, the cufflinks I had pinned so much hope on looked pathetically small. A testament to my shattered love, a mockery of my wasted life. The sun streamed through the window, but my soul felt darker than ever. I watched their smiling faces and felt the bitter sting of irony. Why marry me, only to betray me? He could have just said no. I had asked him that once. His answer was a single, devastating line: “My family owes yours a debt. I can’t go back on my word.” And so, you felt entitled to hurt me without limit. Aiden, I wish we had never even begun. Just as they were about to leave, his phone rang. It was the police department, calling to inform him of my death. “Yeah, what is it?” Aiden answered, his tone clipped with impatience. He hated being interrupted when he was on his way out. A solemn male voice came through the line. “Am I speaking with Mr. Aiden Sterling? I’m calling to inform you that your wife, Ms. Agnes Vance, passed away in a car accident a week ago. We need you to come to the city morgue to identify the body. Please accept our condolences.”
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