I’m an embalmer, always dealing with the dead. But now, I’m battling a living ghost for my husband’s heart. My husband, Julian Sterling, fell in love with a dead woman. He’d make me breakfast in the morning and hold me in his arms at night, gently whispering ‘Harper.’ But I knew all his tenderness was separated by a chilling layer of ice. Because his heart had been buried with Eleanor, the love of his life, three years ago. Then I got pregnant. I held the pregnancy test results, hoping this baby could finally break through the ice between us. But Eleanor’s sister, Chloe Reed, threw a scalding hot liquid onto my stomach. “My brother-in-law said he’d never touch any woman but my sister.” Her smile twisted into something cruel. “Harper, your husband said he never touched you.” “Now tell me, whose bastard child is that?” I was putting the final touches on an eighty-year-old man’s appearance. His children cried their hearts out around him. My hands meticulously mended the traces left by life. In my eyes, death was never an end, but another beginning. “Lisa, today’s a priority case from the police department. Dr. Sam Miller is really pressing for it.” I was giving instructions. My phone rang. “Harper, are you off work? It’s our third wedding anniversary today. I ordered that ridiculously pricey French dessert from your favorite French restaurant.” Julian Sterling’s voice was as gentle as a spring breeze. My colleague, Lisa, peered over, her eyes full of envy. “Harper, your husband is so thoughtful! Three years married and he still remembers your anniversary. My guy forgot ages ago.” I hummed in response and hung up. Three years. He’d never forgotten a single important date. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. Every one was remembered perfectly, prepared impeccably. It was so perfect, it felt less like love and more like a pre-programmed routine. Back home, candlelight flickered in the living room. Julian Sterling, dressed in his loungewear, was arranging the table. There was my favorite red wine steak and that insanely expensive French dessert. “Rough day, Harper?” He walked over, took my bag, and kissed my forehead. “Do you like it?” He pulled out a velvet box from behind him. Inside lay a diamond necklace, sparkling under the light. It must have cost a fortune. “It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. It truly was beautiful, and truly expensive. Just like last year’s bracelet and the year before’s earrings. Julian Sterling personally fastened the necklace around my neck, his fingers gently brushing my skin. His movements were incredibly tender, yet his gaze drifted somewhere far away. I suddenly thought of the elderly man’s family from earlier today. They were crying out, “How could you bear to leave us?”
Dinner was quiet. Julian Sterling occasionally served me food, asking if work had been tiring. I responded mechanically, my mind drifting far away. Three years. Our conversations were always the same. Work, weather, health. Never about our feelings, never about our future. We were like two polite, distant roommates. Late at night, Julian Sterling held me as usual until he fell asleep, his breathing even. But I was wide awake. His body’s warmth felt alien, as if he were just a stranger lying beside me. Getting up for water in the living room, I suddenly stopped outside the study. A faint draft, carrying a stale scent of old perfume and dust, wafted from behind the heavy bookshelf. I’d lived in this house for three years and had never noticed such a current of air. I approached the bookshelf, tapping gently with my fingertips. Most of it was solid, but the third shelf on the right sounded hollow. Mimicking a scene from a movie, I pulled out that row of hardcover *History of Architecture* books. Sure enough, I found a subtle indentation on the inner wall. With a strong push, the bookshelf silently slid open, revealing a hidden room. Everything inside was frozen in time. Eleanor Reed’s favorite perfume sat on the vanity, her preferred floral bedspread covered the bed, and intimate photos of her and Julian Sterling hung on the wall. This room held no trace of me. I stood in this territory belonging to the ‘dead,’ suddenly feeling the silk pajamas Julian had bought me were nothing but a grotesque funeral shroud. “What are you doing?” Julian Sterling’s voice came from behind me. Gone was his usual tenderness, replaced by cold vigilance. I slowly turned, seeing him barefoot in the doorway, his eyes filled with a raw panic I’d never witnessed, and… a chilling flicker of murderous intent. It was the look of a wild animal whose territory had been violated. “This place,” he enunciated each word, his voice heavy with suppressed rage, “is not for you.” I looked at him and suddenly laughed, tears welling up in my eyes. For three years, it was the first time I’d seen such genuine emotion in his eyes. Not scripted affection, but real, unadulterated fury, ignited for another woman. “Julian Sterling,” I pointed at the photos in the room, “isn’t our home a little crowded?” “Let’s go. Back to bed.” Julian Sterling walked over and closed the secret room door. His hand gently stroked my back, guiding me back to the bedroom as usual. I quietly followed him back to bed. He wrapped his arms around me again, his chin resting on the top of my head. “Harper,” he murmured my name softly. Again and again. As if trying to hypnotize himself, or maybe even me. I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. At that moment, I finally understood. The woman in his arms was never Harper Hayes. It was just a substitute with Eleanor Reed’s similar features. A living, breathing mannequin.
When I woke up that morning, my stomach was churning violently. I clung to the sink, dry-heaving for a long while. Julian Sterling knocked on the door from outside, concerned. “Harper, are you okay?” “I’m fine, probably ate something bad last night,” I wiped my mouth with a towel, my voice still weak. On the way to the hospital, I told myself it was just a normal stomach bug. But when the doctor handed me that pregnancy test report, my hand trembled uncontrollably. Pregnant. I sat on a hospital bench, staring at the report in my hand, my feelings a complicated mess. This tiny life arrived without warning, like a sudden light in the darkness. Perhaps, this was a turning point. No matter how lost Julian Sterling was in his longing for Eleanor, surely his own child would stir something in him? This child would make him re-examine our marriage, and me, his living wife. I carefully tucked the report into my bag. That afternoon, I took a taxi to Julian Sterling’s architecture firm. I imagined his reaction to the news – tension, surprise, then that unique sense of responsibility a man feels when he’s about to become a father. As the car pulled up to the company building, I saw a familiar figure leaning by the entrance. Chloe Reed. She was wearing a pale yellow dress, her makeup meticulously applied, looking down at her phone. Hearing footsteps, she looked up, her gaze visibly pausing when it swept over me. “Well, if it isn’t Harper Hayes.” Her voice held a clear edge of provocation. “Here to see my brother-in-law?” I didn’t want to engage, so I walked around her towards the building entrance. “Stop.” Chloe Reed caught up in a few steps, blocking my path. “I have something to say to you.” “I have nothing to say to you.” “Oh really?” She sneered, pulling out an ultrasound photo from her designer bag and slapping it directly onto my face. “Don’t play innocent, Harper.” Chloe Reed’s eyes turned vicious. “Harper, don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull. Holding a pregnancy report, hoping this baby is your ticket to power?” My heart plummeted. She leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper. “My brother-in-law swore to me, his body and heart belonged only to Eleanor, for life. He never even touched you.” “…Whose bastard child is that in your belly?” Those words plunged me into an abyss. If Julian Sterling had never touched me, then what was our intimacy every night? What was all that tenderness I thought was real? My hand trembled as I touched my lower abdomen, where a life was growing. At that moment, I couldn’t tell if I was losing my mind, or if my entire life was built on a massive lie. And this child, whose was it, really?
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