Three months after my wife, Rachel, vanished during a ski trip, I saw her in a bar. She was laughing, her head resting on her best friend Ross’s shoulder. “I owe you one for this idea,” she chirped. “I’d almost forgotten what freedom felt like.” Her circle of friends kept pouring her drinks, asking when she planned to make her grand reappearance. She considered it, her eyes half-lidded. “Maybe in a week. Once he’s truly lost his mind looking for me. Then I’ll show up.” I stood in the shadows, watching her bask in her newfound freedom. Then I pulled out my phone and called a friend who works at the vital records office. 1 “I’m going to have Rachel legally declared dead.” “You’re giving up the search?” my friend asked, his voice hesitant. I lifted my gaze to where Rachel was nestled against Ross, a bitter taste rising in my throat. My voice was thick, choked. “There’s nothing left to find.” What’s the point in finding someone who’s determined to stay hidden? After hanging up, I returned to my own private booth. My childhood friend, Alex, saw the thunderous look on my face and pressed a glass into my hand. “Preston, it’s been three months. The chances of survival are practically zero. You have to start moving on.” I stared down at the amber liquid, a high-proof whiskey, and threw it back in one go. The burn was immediate, stinging my eyes, forcing back tears. “Alex,” I asked, my voice strained, “would anyone ever fake their own disappearance just to mess with their husband?” He looked at me with a mix of pity and frustration. “What kind of sick question is that? Only a monster would do something like that. They’d be better off actually being dead.” I wiped my eyes and grabbed my coat from the sofa. “You’re right,” I said, my voice hollow. “I need to let Rachel go.” I drove home. The house was, as always, silent. For the past three months, I’d dreaded this silence. I’d get home and turn on every light, make a cup of her favorite coffee, set out her favorite fruit on the counter—anything to pretend she was still here. I didn’t understand. If she didn’t want to be with me anymore, she could have just asked for a divorce. Why stage a skiing accident? Why the elaborate lie? I sank onto the sofa and picked up the two custom-made bobbleheads of us from the coffee table. I remembered the day she gave them to me, leaning against me, a playful smile on her face. “So when I’m not around,” she’d said, “these two can keep you company.” Her words from that day merged with the ones I’d overheard tonight. “Preston used to be fine, but after we got married, it was like a switch flipped. No drinking, no cold foods… he was always nagging me about something. So annoying. This ‘death’ of mine will be a good lesson for him. Maybe he’ll learn to back off.” Ross had poured her another drink. “See? I’m better, right? We’ve been best friends for years, and I’ve never been like that.” “Totally. You’re the best guy friend a girl could ask for.” They called each other ‘best friends,’ but under the table, their legs were tangled together. The memory made my stomach churn. I tossed the bobbleheads into the trash can, picked up my phone, and sent out a group text. Rachel passed away in an accident three months ago. A memorial service will be held in one week. Almost immediately, my phone lit up with a barrage of texts from her friends. “They haven’t found her body! How can you hold a funeral?” “Preston, have you lost your mind? What if she’s not dead?” “If Rachel comes back and sees her own funeral, she’ll kill you! Are you trying to make her angry, Preston? You know what happens when she gets angry!” I ignored the first few messages, replying only to the last one. “She’s dead. How can a dead person get angry?” With that, I tossed my phone aside and started clearing out her things. For the past three months, I’d spent most of my time in the mountain town where she’d gone missing, searching. I’d rarely been home. The bedroom was mostly untouched. I pulled open her closet and froze. More than half of her clothes were gone. The only things left were out of season. A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips as tears streamed down my face. For three months, while I was living in a hell of hope and despair, sleeping in my car at the base of a frozen mountain, she had been coming back to our home, taking her things, bit by bit. 2 I pulled up the security camera footage on my tablet and fast-forwarded through the last month. Early in the month: Rachel, arm-in-arm with Ross, walking into our house. They left two hours later, her arms full of clothes. Mid-month: Ross carrying her over the threshold, bridal style. He didn’t leave until the next morning. Two nights ago: The two of them sneaking in under the cover of darkness, leaving just after sunrise yesterday. All of these were days when I was miles away, combing through treacherous terrain, calling her name until my voice was raw. Tears fell as I watched. Not for her, but for myself. For the fool I’d been, giving my all to someone so vile. While I was sleepless with worry, she was here, with her “best friend,” sleeping in our home, probably in our bed. My fists clenched, my knuckles white. I fought to control the rage boiling inside me. A moment later, my phone, still lying on the coffee table, began to ring. I was in no mood to answer, but the caller was persistent, dialing again and again. Taking a deep breath, I walked over and glanced at the screen. My eyes widened. It was her aunt. I quickly answered. “Aunt Evelyn? Is everything alright?” “Rachel’s not dead.” A second later, a video popped up on my screen. I opened it. It was Rachel and Ross, their arms linked, drinking from each other’s glasses, their eyes locked in a gaze so intense it was practically obscene. My breath hitched. My fingers trembled as I spoke. “I know.” There was a surprised pause on the other end, then a low chuckle. “And you’re still planning a funeral?” “Everyone told me she was dead. I believed them. A funeral seems appropriate.” Evelyn was quiet for a moment. “So, you’re a widower now?” “Yes,” I said. Evelyn was Rachel’s aunt by marriage, and younger than Rachel by a year. We’d barely ever interacted. But she was the first person to tell me the truth. I owed her for that. “Aunt Evelyn, if you have the time, you’re welcome to come and pay your respects in seven days.” “Of course. I’ll be there.” Another video arrived. This time, someone in the bar was showing Rachel my group text on their phone. She slammed her glass down, shattering it on the table. Ross flinched, then wrapped an arm around her, whispering something in her ear. The bar was too loud for me to hear, but I saw Rachel’s anger visibly melt away. She buried her face in his chest. She must have been furious about the funeral announcement. But it was stunning to see how quickly Ross could calm her down. Whenever she was angry with me, it took a full night of me “reflecting on my mistakes” and a groveling apology before she would even consider forgiving me. I closed my stinging eyes and saved both videos. Just as I was about to put my phone away, a call came in. It was Ross. I answered, and the blaring music of the bar assaulted my ears. “Preston, you’re holding a funeral for Rachel?” he yelled over the noise. “Are you insane? I’m telling you, cancel it! Or you’ll be sorry when she gets back!” I hung up before he could finish and, grabbing a blanket, curled up on the sofa. It was the most peaceful night’s sleep I’d had in three months. The next morning, I took my documents to the records office and had Rachel’s legal status updated. After that, I drove to Ross’s apartment. His door was closed. I rang the bell again and again until it finally swung open. He stood there in a bathrobe, leaning against the doorframe. A trail of fresh, angry-red marks snaked up his neck, disappearing under the collar. “Preston? What are you doing here?” My gaze shifted from his neck to his face, meeting his contemptuous stare. “I came to invite you to Rachel’s funeral. As her best friend, I thought you should be there.” Ross scoffed. “Preston, you’re her husband! She’s missing, no body, no trace, and instead of looking for her, you’re burying her?” “What if she’s not dead? You’re basically wishing death on her! What kind of husband does that?” I pulled the newly issued death certificate from my jacket. “She’s been buried in snow for three months. I couldn’t find her, so I had her declared dead.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “Besides, weren’t you all telling me to move on?” When the news first broke, I had fainted. I woke up the next morning surrounded by Rachel’s friends, all of them wearing solemn masks. “Preston, the area where she went missing is treacherous. It’s almost impossible to find anyone. Maybe you should just let it go.” “Yeah, it’s too dangerous. You can’t go up there.” I’d ignored them, booked a flight, hired a search and rescue team, and disappeared into the mountains for two weeks, searching relentlessly. I hadn’t noticed it then, but now I remembered. There had been no real concern in their eyes. Only a glint of amusement. As I stood there, a loud crash came from inside Ross’s apartment. His face paled. “Preston, don’t you dare pull any stunts!” he threatened. “Rachel won’t let you get away with it when she comes back!” Just like the night before, I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing. Ross shot me a furious glare and slammed the door in my face. 3 The sound of a heated argument drifted through the closed door. So, hearing that her legal identity had been erased was enough to finally rattle Rachel. But she wasn’t going to find me. She’d been missing for three months. It was only fair I disappear for a few days myself. I grabbed the suitcase I’d already packed and had Alex book me a hotel room for a week under his name. For the next few days, my only activities were arranging the funeral and hiding out in my room. When Alex came to visit, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Heard someone’s been looking for you. Tearing the whole city apart, apparently.” I glanced at the missing person’s report flashing on the hotel TV screen, a small smile playing on my lips. “Let her. If I don’t want to be found, she won’t find me. She was the one who said she’d only reappear when I’d gone mad looking for her. Why the sudden impatience?” “Serves her right!” Alex spat. “I don’t know how such a venomous woman can even exist!” He was getting worked up. I cut him off. “Enough. It’s my wife’s funeral today. I should be sad.” I went into the bathroom and studied my reflection. I hadn’t shaved or combed my hair. I looked haggard, grief-stricken. Perfect. After confirming with Alex that I looked sufficiently devastated, we headed to the funeral home. On the way, I handed him a USB drive containing the videos of Rachel. “Play these when I give you the signal,” I instructed. Only then did I send out a group text with the address. Evelyn was the first to arrive. She stepped out of her car in a chic black dress, took a white memorial flower from me, and pinned it to her sleeve. “My condolences,” she said, her expression perfectly solemn. Next came a stream of relatives and friends who knew nothing. Their grief was genuine, and seeing it twisted a knife in my gut. Rachel, look how many hearts you’ve broken with your little game. Today, you’re going to start paying for it. Then, her so-called best friends arrived. Their faces were pale, their hands trembling as they took the white flowers from me. Finally, one of them pulled me aside. “Preston! Stop this! Rachel’s not dead! She’s been going crazy looking for you! Haven’t you seen the missing person alerts on TV?” I blinked, forcing out a couple of tears. “Don’t try to comfort me. I know Ross was the one who posted those.” “She’s gone. I can’t live with the hope that she’s still alive.” She started to say something else, but I gave Alex a look, and he quickly led her to a seat. When it seemed like most of the guests had arrived, I stepped up to the podium and tapped the microphone. “Thank you all for coming today to mourn the passing of my beloved wife…” My words were cut off by a furious shout from the back of the room. “Preston! Have you lost your mind? I told you, Rachel’s not dead!” Ross stood in the doorway, his eyes burning with rage. “What kind of husband are you? She’s been missing for three months, and you’re holding a funeral without even finding a body? I won’t allow it!” I scanned the entrance behind him. No sign of Rachel. Even now, she wouldn’t show herself. I looked down at Ross from the podium, my voice cold. “You won’t allow it? Who are you to not allow it? Like you said, I’m her husband.” Ross’s eyes widened, filling with tears. “How can you be so heartless? Rachel loved you with all her heart, and you’re just casually declaring her dead?” “What if she’s not dead?” My gaze dropped to the love bites still visible on his neck. A small smile touched my lips. “Even if she’s not dead, a cheating wife isn’t worth my time.” As the words hung in the air, I signaled for security to escort Ross to a seat and continued with the service. I had just opened my mouth to speak again when a disheveled, gaunt figure appeared in the doorway. She stood there, her voice choked with emotion. “Honey, I’m not dead. I’m back.” 4 Rachel ran towards me, throwing her arms around me, her body trembling as she whispered my name. “Preston, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” “That day on the slopes… I fell. I had multiple fractures. A kind stranger found me and took me to a hospital. It took me three months to recover enough to come back to you.” “I’m not dead, see? I’m fine!” She grabbed my hand and ran it over her body, as if to prove her story of a near-death experience. I just watched her performance, my expression cold. When she finally started to look uncomfortable, a laugh escaped my lips. “Are you done with your act?” “Was the kind stranger who took you to the hospital named Ross, by any chance?” Rachel’s expression froze, cracking like thin ice. She forced a helpless smile. “Preston, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” I looked at her feigned innocence, and three months of pent-up anger and grief finally erupted. I slapped her across the face. “You managed to hide for three months. Why not keep hiding?” “Weren’t you going to wait until I’d gone mad looking for you? I’m not mad yet, so why are you here?” She stared at me, stunned. “How did you know?” I smiled. “I know a lot of things.” I turned and gestured to the large screen behind the podium. It was meant to display photos of the deceased. Instead, I used it to play my videos. The video of her and Ross drinking arm-in-arm at the bar. The footage of them entering my house, time and time again. And a clip I’d taken myself after leaving Ross’s apartment, of the two of them walking out together, her arm linked through his. Rachel watched her own face on the screen, the color draining from hers. “How did you find out?” she hissed. “Who told you!” Her gaze swept across the room, landing on everyone who knew the truth. “Was it you? Are you trying to destroy my marriage?” The accused all shook their heads, and she turned back to me, her expression shifting back to desperate pleading. “Honey, I don’t know who sent you those, but they have to be fakes! AI-generated! I love you so much, how could I ever betray you?” She pulled a small, woven good-luck charm from her pocket. “See? I even remembered to bring you back a gift!” I stared at the charm without a word. My friend Alex, however, found the bar video, zoomed in on Ross’s neck, and projected the image onto the screen. He was wearing an identical charm. Rachel’s face darkened. I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “We’re at this point, and you’re still trying to lie your way out of it?” “Those videos… I saw some of it with my own eyes. I even filmed some of it myself.” “Rachel, are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?” She stared at me, falling back on her old excuse. “Ross and I are just best friends.” I nodded, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. The kind of best friend you can sleep with. Low-maintenance, no strings attached.” The other guests were speechless. A funeral where the deceased shows up alive amidst a cheating scandal was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Rachel’s composure finally shattered, replaced by the raw fury of being exposed. “Preston, you knew I wasn’t dead, and you still had me legally declared dead. You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I said, not bothering to deny it. I wanted her to pay. “If you want to have your identity reinstated, you’ll need my cooperation. So, Rachel, I’m giving you two choices.” I held out a set of divorce papers. “Sign these, and you can come back to life. Don’t sign, and you can live the rest of your life as a ghost.” Rachel’s chest heaved with rage. She snatched the papers from my hand, flipped to the asset division section, and then threw them on the floor. “Why should I walk away with nothing?”
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