When I begged my multi-millionaire husband for enough money to buy groceries, the girl who had been living in our guest house—his childhood best friend—snapped a hideous photo of me crying. She posted it straight to his Instagram. "The leech is begging for cash again. One like equals one hundred dollars for her allowance. How many likes do we think she’s worth?" I lunged for the phone, desperate to delete it. But my mother-in-law stepped in, grabbing my wrist with a manicured hand. "Leave it," she said with a cold smile. "I think it’s a brilliant idea." My husband, Colin, chimed in, praising Melody for her "creative solution." Right then and there, he decreed that from that day forward, my living expenses would be strictly dictated by the number of likes that humiliating post received. For the sake of my grandmother, who was lying in a hospital bed clinging to life, I swallowed the bitter bile in my throat. I didn't dare fight back. Over the next three years, the likes dwindled. The joke grew old for his country club friends. When my grandmother was eight thousand dollars short for a life-saving surgery, I begged everyone I knew. The post only garnered 70 likes. When I finally got pregnant, my body was so severely malnourished that I needed prenatal supplements just to keep the baby viable. That post got exactly 2 likes. My grandmother died because her heart couldn't wait for a check that never came. And the child in my womb, starved of the very nutrients it needed to survive, quietly faded away into a pooling mess of blood on the bathroom floor. It was on the day my heart finally turned to ash, the day I resolved to file for divorce, that Colin was in a horrific car crash. Now, his broken body lay tethered to life-support in the ICU, but his spirit—his arrogant, insufferable soul—was floating near the ceiling, screaming at me. [Get the doctors! Call the best neurologists in the country! Have them flown in!] [If I wake up and find out you delayed this, I swear to God I won't give you a single dime!] I didn't flinch. I just pulled out my phone with its cracked screen, snapped a photo of his mangled face wrapped in bandages, and posted it to my Instagram. "Gathering likes. One like, and I pull the plug." 1 The moment the post went live, Colin’s ghost nearly resurrected himself out of sheer rage. He floated down, thrashing and clawing at the air, muttering violently about how he was going to make me pay. But for all his spectral fury, the most he could manage was a faint breeze that shifted a single strand of my hair. [Jocelyn, are you out of your goddamn mind?] [Delete that post right now! Go tell the doctor you can see me! Make them fix this, or I swear I will—] I clicked my screen off, looking right through his translucent form with a bitter smirk. "Or what? You'll post a poll on Facebook to make sure my grocery budget is capped at two hundred bucks next month? You'll make sure I starve?" I tilted my head. "You've already done that to me, Colin. You've already done your worst. I’m not afraid of you anymore." Colin’s ethereal face faltered. He knew exactly what that two-hundred-dollar limit had done. He knew it was the reason I miscarried. A flicker of genuine guilt crossed his features, but in true Colin fashion, his bruised ego quickly recovered. [No one is going to like that post,] he sneered, crossing his arms. [No one is going to join your little psychotic break and become an accomplice to murder!] I tapped my screen to check. He wasn't wrong. The post had been up for fifteen minutes, and the little heart icon remained entirely empty. Zero likes. It made sense, really. For three years, every time Colin posted a photo mocking me for money, I had spammed our mutual friends, begging them to throw a 'like' my way just so I could eat. I had exhausted them. Over time, they had all either muted or blocked me. And even the ones who hadn't wouldn't dare touch a post joking about murder. I let out a soft, hollow sigh. What a shame. Colin smirked, assuming I had admitted defeat. He started barking orders again, telling me to get off my ass and fetch the attending physician. I didn't move. I just looked at him, my eyes tracing the terrified contour of his fading jawline. "I know one person who will like it," I whispered. "Someone who wants you dead more than anyone else in the world." Before Colin could even process the confusion on his face, I looked down at my screen. I tapped the little heart icon beneath my own post. "One like." Without giving him a second to react, I reached over to the wall and ripped the ventilator tube straight out of the socket. 2 The moment the oxygen was severed, the symphony of machines keeping Colin's body alive erupted into a frantic, flashing panic. Alarms shrieked. The monitor above his bed began to draw jagged, desperate lines, warning us both that the meat suit on the mattress was rapidly expiring. The green line of his heartbeat began to flatten, stretching out like a long, terrible sigh. It looked exactly like the monitor next to my grandmother’s bed, on that rainy Tuesday when I sat beside her, sobbing because I couldn't afford her life. It took a few agonizing seconds for Colin to realize what I had done. I wasn't playing a game. I wasn't being dramatic. I truly, deeply wanted him to die. His ghost froze, staring at his own suffocating body, and then he began to scream. He threw himself against the heavy oak door of the ICU suite, pounding his fists against the glass, screaming for help. But the universe has a wickedly ironic sense of humor. He was a ghost. I was the only one who could see him. I was the only one who could hear his terror. Realizing he was trapped, he floated back to me, dropping to his translucent knees. [Jocelyn, stop being crazy! Plug it back in! Call the doctors!] [What happened to your grandmother and our baby... that was an accident! But what you're doing right now is murder!] [Are you trying to throw your life away for me?] [I'm begging you. Plug it in. I promise, the second I wake up, I won't hold this against you. We can go back to how things were!] I let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Go back to how things were? A hundred dollars a like? "I don't think so," I said, my voice shockingly calm. "You might have stopped seeing me as your wife a long time ago, but legally speaking, I am still your next of kin." I reached over to the rolling tray and casually picked up the Do Not Resuscitate order the doctors had asked me to review. I waved the paper in the air. "Which means I have the legal right to sign away your life. I can legally, rightfully, and completely lawfully pull your plug and send you straight to hell to apologize to my grandmother and my baby." I leaned in closer to his shimmering face. "Besides, I played by your rules. I waited the agonizing fifteen minutes until the post got a like before I made my move. I learned this all from you, Colin. Did I do a good job?" 3 Colin was speechless. Because I hadn't lied. Everything shattered the day Melody—the fragile, golden-haired ghost of his childhood—returned from Paris and declared she had nowhere to go. She moved into our guest house, and my marriage fractured overnight. Colin swallowed every manipulative lie she fed him. He grew cold. Distant. To prove his loyalty to her, he froze my bank accounts. He used his connections in the industry to blacklist me so I couldn't find a job. He reduced me to a beggar in my own home, forcing me to hold up a whiteboard detailing exactly why I needed money, while Melody snapped pictures for his Instagram. One like, one hundred dollars. Those little digital hearts had stripped me of my dignity, my family, and my future. Looking at my dead eyes, Colin finally understood that the woman who used to love him was gone. He knew I was going to stand there and watch him die. So, he bowed his head and pressed his ghostly forehead against the linoleum floor. [I don't want to die,] he sobbed. I stood up, looking down at him from a great, insurmountable height. "You don't want to die? Do you think my grandmother wanted to die? Do you think my baby wanted to turn into blood?" He wept harder, his spectral form shivering as he poured out his apologies. [I know I was wrong. I know it. But please, for the sake of the love we used to have, give me a chance to fix this.] [When I wake up, I'll treat you like a queen. I'll send my mother and Melody away. I'll never let them hurt you again.] [And if you really can't stand the sight of me, I'll give you the divorce. We’ll split everything fifty-fifty. We can walk away clean. Please?] A slow, dark smile crept onto my lips. "You know, I really did want a divorce," I murmured. "But right now, I think being a widow sounds infinitely better." "You never got around to signing a will, did you? Under state law, I'll inherit at least three-quarters of your estate. That’s a hell of a lot better than fifty-fifty." Colin began to frantically kowtow against the floor. It was a bizarre sight—he couldn't touch the physical world, yet the violent impact of his head against the ground seemed real to his soul. The ghostly skin of his forehead began to bruise, turning a sickly purple before ethereal blood started to seep into his eyes. I felt absolutely nothing. I just turned my gaze back to the monitor, watching the jagged line smooth out into a flat, decisive finality. But at that exact, critical second—the heavy door flew open. A hand snatched the oxygen tube from my grip and jammed it forcefully back into the wall. 4 I sighed, turning my head with a profound sense of disappointment. It was Melody. Colin's ghost leaped up, vibrating with sheer ecstasy. He rushed over to her, his phantom tears mixing with the spectral blood on his face. [Melody! Oh my god, thank god you're here!] [This crazy bitch just tried to kill me! Go get the doctors! Tell them to—] But before Colin could finish his sentence, Melody raised her hand and delivered a vicious, stinging slap across my cheek. Her hand phased right through Colin’s incorporeal chest to hit me. [Jocelyn, you calculating little whore,] she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. [Did you honestly think that if this idiot died, you could just waltz in, take his money, and kick me to the curb? In your dreams!] [I told you the very first day I moved into this house. I didn't come here to join your little family. I came here to destroy it. Did you forget?] I hadn't forgotten. But Colin had never known. The shock on his face was a masterpiece. He couldn't fathom that the truth I had screamed at him for years was real—that his sweet, innocent, fragile childhood friend was actually a venomous snake. Seeing the utter devastation in Colin’s eyes, I couldn't help but laugh. "Well?" I said, looking right through Melody to the ghost behind her. "Do you see how amazing your little golden girl is now? Do you finally realize if you were loving a woman or a monster?" Melody followed my gaze, blinking at the empty air. She couldn't see a thing. "Jocelyn, who the hell are you talking to?" I kindly explained the situation. I told her Colin was floating right between us. But, predictably, Melody just assumed I had finally suffered a complete psychological break. I didn't waste another breath on her. I simply reached out, intending to yank the cord out again. But Melody lunged. She grabbed my wrists, her grip surprisingly strong, and began to scream at the top of her lungs. "Help! Somebody help!" And then, just as the door handle clicked open, she violently slapped her own face, threw herself onto the cold hospital floor, and burst into hysterical, trembling sobs. "Jocelyn, please! Whatever I did to make you hate me, I'm sorry!" she wailed, tears streaming down her perfectly contoured cheeks. "Take it out on me, but please don't hurt Colin! Please don't kill him!" 5 It was a flawless performance. The transition from cruel mastermind to helpless victim was smoother than silk. Colin and I had watched this exact play countless times over the years. Except this time, Colin finally realized that all those times he had punished me for "bullying" her, I had been completely innocent. [What... what is happening?] Colin stammered, staring at her in horror. [She hit herself. She just... did it herself.] I gave him a tired, entirely accustomed smile. "What's the point of this scene, Melody?" I asked wearily. "Your biggest fan is currently in a coma. Who exactly is this performance for?" Melody’s crying hitched for a fraction of a second. Muscle memory had taken over, and she had momentarily forgotten the context. But she didn't break character. Instead, she scrambled on her knees toward the bewildered doctor who had just rushed into the room. "Doctor, please! Call the police!" she cried, gripping his lab coat. "I saw her post on Instagram—she threatened to murder him! I'm his best friend, so I rushed over. The second I walked in, this psycho pulled his life support! She’s trying to kill him!" As horrified as Colin was by Melody’s betrayal, his survival instinct trumped his heartbreak. He immediately sided with her. [You're done, Jocelyn!] he sneered, puffing out his chest. [When you're rotting in a prison cell, I'll make sure to visit you just to laugh!] I ignored him entirely, keeping my eyes fixed on the doctor. The physician took one look at the monitors, checked the chart, and let out a heavy sigh, clearly annoyed by the theatrics. "Miss," the doctor said, gently but firmly prying Melody's hands off his coat. "Mrs. Jocelyn is the patient's legal wife and medical proxy." "She was the first to arrive after the accident. She reviewed his grim prognosis and signed a DNR. What she just did was execute her legal right to refuse further medical intervention. It is fully compliant with state law and hospital ethics. It is "not" murder." The doctor adjusted his glasses, looking down at Melody. "If you are merely a friend of the patient, you have absolutely no say in his medical care." Both Colin and Melody froze, sheer panic washing over them. But a split second later, the door slammed open again. "She might not have a say, but I certainly do!" 6 It was Cynthia, my mother-in-law. Since she was Colin's biological mother, she absolutely had the standing to contest my medical decisions if they hadn't been formalized through court yet. I rolled my eyes. This is exactly why the villains in movies always lose—they talk too much. I never should have posted that stupid Instagram photo just for a momentary thrill. I should have kept my mouth shut, skipped the monologue, and just pulled the damn plug. The moment Cynthia swept into the room, she bypassed her dying son entirely and immediately helped Melody off the floor, cooing over her. Then, she marched over to the doctor's chart, snatched the DNR I had signed, and ripped it into pieces. "Resume all life-saving measures immediately," she barked. "I want a new treatment plan on my desk in an hour." The medical team, clearly realizing they had stumbled into a vicious family war, nodded awkwardly and hurried out to adjust the machines. The second the door clicked shut, Cynthia turned and slapped me hard across the face. "You ungrateful bitch." "If Melody hadn't texted me, I would have lost my son today." Colin noticed the slap before I even registered the sting. For some inexplicable reason, his ghost rushed forward, throwing his arms up to block his mother’s hand, though it phased right through him. [Mom, stop! It's not what you think!] [Melody is a snake! We’ve been wrong about Jocelyn this whole time. Honestly, she had every right to pull the plug. Don't hit her!] Unfortunately for him, Cynthia couldn't hear the dead. She turned her back on me and gently cupped Melody’s cheek, her eyes filled with maternal grief. "Colin is already lying in a coma," Cynthia whispered softly to Melody. "Why did you have to play the victim card and hurt yourself like this? Don't you know how much it breaks my heart to see you in pain?" Colin’s ghost stopped dead in his tracks. [What does she mean by that?] he asked, his voice trembling. [Did she... did she know this whole time? Has she been helping Melody abuse you?] I touched my stinging cheek and nodded. "Yep. Looks like you're finally meeting the real women in your life, Colin." Cynthia frowned, confused by my conversation with thin air. Melody quickly jumped in. "She’s faking a psychotic episode, Cynthia. She claims Colin’s ghost is floating right next to us, watching everything." She stroked Cynthia’s arm. "You should go home and rest. Leave this to me. I’ll handle the trash." 7 Cynthia nodded, glaring at me one last time before sweeping out of the room. I didn't leave. I just stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Colin’s shattered spirit. "Congratulations," I said dryly. "You get to live." Despite the earth-shattering revelations about his mother and his so-called best friend, Colin’s deeply ingrained narcissism immediately began working overtime to protect his ego. [Melody is just doing this because she loves me so much,] he reasoned, pacing the air. [And my mom only helped her because she knows Melody is the right woman for me!] [I'm not mad at them. I get it. When I wake up, I'm going to use this little psychotic break of yours to lock you in a mental ward, finalize the divorce, and marry Melody!] I smiled slowly. And then, I very generously repeated his entire monologue, word for word, to Melody. Melody stared at me like I was a grotesque alien. "Jocelyn, what kind of sick game are you playing?" she spat, dropping the sweet voice completely. "You know better than anyone that I don't give a shit about Colin. Only a pathetic loser like you could ever love a moron like him. I’ve only ever been here for the money." She crossed her arms, smirking. "You knew I was after his cash, and you were so terrified I’d scam your precious husband that you refused to divorce him. You brought every ounce of your suffering upon yourself. You deserve it." Oh, I knew all of that. That was exactly why I repeated his words. I wanted maximum collateral damage. I wanted Colin to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. I glanced at Colin. He looked like he had been hollowed out with a rusty spoon. Satisfied, I turned to leave. But suddenly, Melody lunged at me again. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. Colin and I both stared at her in utter bewilderment. What was she acting out now? Before I could brace myself, she overpowered me, dragged my hand toward the wall, and used my own grip to rip the oxygen tube out of the socket for the second time. With the life support severed again, Colin’s heart monitor let out a long, uninterrupted shriek. The line went totally flat. I was stunned. Before I could ask what the hell she was doing, Melody threw my arm away, sprinted out into the hallway, and began screaming with bloodcurdling terror. "Help! Murder! Somebody help me!" "Jocelyn is murdering him! She’s killing Colin!"
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