I died, but my husband thought it was just another excuse to avoid divorcing him. Not only did he openly bring that woman into our home, but he also believed every word she said. He ignored our daughter’s unexplained disappearance as though she’d never existed. Until the day he, a forensic pathologist, performed an autopsy on a disfigured child’s body. And when he realized that corpse was our daughter, his world completely fell apart. I died, and my faint, ghostly form drifted through the air, screaming and sobbing. But my husband, Charles Miller, couldn’t see my despair. He was wearing a surgical mask, and his attention was fixed on the body sprawled before him. Charles was a pathologist. Early this morning, he received an order to examine a body found at a remote dump site. For someone used to seeing death and gore, even he dry-heaved at the sight of the child’s corpse. A flash of sympathy crossed his eyes. The small body was unrecognizable. Her face was smashed into pulp, and her entire form was broken and bruised. Time and weather had already begun their work, leaving the body in a grotesque state of decay. The sight was sickening. After a preliminary examination, Charles brought the body back to his lab. His movements were swift, professional, and detached as he began the autopsy. Hovering above him, I watched. A hollow pain ripped through me like I was dying all over again. If Charles knew he was dissecting our daughter—Emma’s body, would he still be this calm? “The victim is a female, approximately six or seven years old,” Charles said with steady voice as he dictated notes. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Cause of death appears to be cerebral contusions from the impact. “Postmortem mutilation is severe. The face has been obliterated with a blunt object. Extensive skin corrosion makes fingerprint retrieval impossible,” He sighed deeply after finishing, and his gaze lingered on the destroyed little body. “Whoever did this is a monster. What kind of sick bastard would do this to a child?” I listened to his words, but my heart seethed with rage. The monster was the woman you brought into our house. That woman, Amelia Wilson, murdered our daughter, Emma. You were grieving over the work of your beloved mistress. The case was brutal. Public outrage was mounting, and with the heavy rains washing away evidence, the investigation was at a deadlock. Charles and the rest of the team were working overtime. When he finally came home, it was nearly dawn. I followed him inside and froze when I saw Amelia lounging on the sofa like she owned the place. My hatred burned white-hot. This wicked woman murdered my baby girl. “Charles, you’re back so late,” Amelia said, getting up to greet him and help him out of his coat. “A child’s body was found in the woods,” Charles replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The killer’s vicious and smart. It’s been a nightmare.” He didn’t notice the flicker of panic in Amelia’s eyes. “That… that poor child. How did she die?” Amelia asked. Her voice was light and casual. Too casual. “Amelia, you shouldn’t ask about these things. It’s too disturbing. Besides, it’s not good for you,” Charles said gently, sliding his arm around her waist. His hand rested on her stomach. “You’re carrying a baby, after all.” I stared at them, and my anger twisted into something dark and bottomless. Emma was gone—murdered by her hands. And here was my husband, comforting the woman carrying someone else’s child. He didn’t even know how cruel the joke was. That night, after Amelia had fallen asleep, Charles slipped out of bed and stepped onto the balcony. I watched as he dialed a number—my number. The phone went straight to voicemail. “Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration before heading back inside. I exactly knew what Charles was trying to do. He wanted to get in touch with me so we could finalize the divorce. He was eager to marry Amelia. But he didn’t know. I was already dead. Dead on the very day I was supposed to meet him to sign those papers.
A week ago, Charles and I had a huge fight. He told me he was going to bring Amelia into our home. “Amelia just got divorced and returned to the country. She’s pregnant, alone, and has nowhere to go. Can’t you let her stay here for a while? Olivia, why are you so heartless?” Charles stood in front of me yelling as if I were the unreasonable one. And his face was flushed with anger, I clenched my fists and shot back with a cold laugh. “Heartless? Would it make me not heartless to let you parade your little affair right under my nose? Charles, don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” Charles froze for a moment, and his brows furrowed tightly. “Don’t say things like that. It’ll ruin Amelia’s reputation.” There was his instinctive need to protect Amelia as if she were a fragile treasure. I stared at the man I had loved for nearly a decade. A sharp and twisting ache was in my chest. Amelia had been his childhood sweetheart, his first love that got away. And me? I was just her stand-in. When I found out about their past, Charles and I were already married, and I was six months pregnant with Emma. He’d told me it was over between them, that there was no chance for her to come back. I believed him. I thought time would erase whatever lingering feelings he had for her. But now, with Amelia back in town, it seemed I wasn’t worth him keeping around anymore. “If you bring her here, we’re getting a divorce,” I said firmly. Charles blinked, then let out a cold and angry laugh. “Do you think you can use divorce to threaten me? Fine. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.” So that was it. Charles didn’t love me—he never had. His heart had always belonged to Amelia. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the tears and kept my voice steady. “After the divorce, Emma stays with me.” “Why should she?” Charles snapped. “Do you think you can give Emma a better life than I can?” We didn’t resolve anything. The fight ended with him slamming the door and storming out. He shouted over his shoulder, “Bring your papers tomorrow.” The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. The tears I’d been holding back finally fell. Charles never came home that night. I sat alone in the dark, waiting for dawn. The next morning, Emma was still fast asleep when I left. I left a note, kissed her soft little forehead, and whispered, “Mommy will be back soon to pick you up.” But I never came back. On the way to meet Charles, the taxi driver drugged me. He took me to a desolate and wooded area, where he assaulted me. I woke up halfway through, screaming and fighting with every bit of strength I had. But he grabbed his belt and strangled me to death. When he was done, he buried me in a shallow grave. My body stayed in that cold and dark pit, but my soul lingered—trapped in this world, weighed down by a single and unrelenting thought. I couldn’t leave Emma behind.
My soul drifted back home. Emma had woken up and was quietly eating the breakfast I’d prepared for her. I didn’t know how much time I had left in this form, so I greedily drank in the sight of her, my beautiful and innocent little girl. I tried to burn every detail of her into my memory. Before long, Charles came home. As soon as he walked in, he asked, “Emma, where’s your mom?” Emma held up the note I’d left for her. “Mommy said she had something to do and would be back soon.” Charles took the note, read it with a deep frown, and crumpled it into a ball. He pulled out his phone and dialed my number. But by then, my phone was already switched off—taken by the monster who killed me. No one picked up. “Olivia, do you think this is going to stall the divorce? What, are you planning never to come back?” Charles scoffed bitterly, and his face was twisted with disgust and contempt. Emma flinched at the sound of his anger, shrinking back a little. Charles didn’t notice. He simply turned on his heel and left. And just like that, he brought Amelia home. Emma, though small, was incredibly perceptive. Amelia put on her sweetest and most gentle smile, but Emma stared at her with wary resistance. When Amelia reached out her hand, Emma shrank back, hiding behind Charles. But the man Emma trusted so deeply pulled her forward, shoving her in front of Amelia. “Emma, this is Auntie Amelia. Say hello.” Emma clutched her stuffed animal tightly, her voice timid and small. “Hello, Auntie Amelia.” I watched it all, my heart aching so deeply it felt like I might collapse. What made me even more uneasy was what came next. Charles got a call about a work trip—two days away in a neighboring city. Charles sighed, “Amelia, I’ll have to leave Emma in your care for the next two days.” Amelia agreed without hesitation, and her smile was unwavering. But the moment Charles walked out the door, her entire demeanor changed. Amelia treated Emma like a servant. She didn’t cook anything either—just ordered takeout, and only for herself. By nightfall, Emma hadn’t eaten a single bite. She sat curled up in a corner with tears welling up in her big eyes. Her little tummy growled from hunger. She was too young to understand such deliberate cruelty. Her voice quivered as she whispered, “Amelia, do you know where my mommy is? I miss Mommy.” Amelia let out a cold and mocking laugh. “Your mommy doesn’t want you anymore. You’d better behave, or things will get much worse for you.” Emma froze, and the words cut through her like a blade. Fear and sadness overwhelmed her, and she began to sob. “You’re lying. Mommy would never leave me! She wouldn’t!” “Shut up! You’re so noisy!” Amelia barked, and her patience snapped. When Emma wouldn’t stop crying, Amelia stormed over and grabbed her roughly, trying to clamp a hand over her mouth. Emma panicked, and in her desperation, she bit down on Amelia’s arm. Amelia shrieked in pain, and without thinking, she lashed out. The slap sent Emma stumbling backward. I watched in horror as my little girl fell and her head struck the sharp corner of the table. Her tiny body crumpled to the ground, and blood began to pool beneath her. Amelia stood there, wide-eyed and frozen. I fell to my knees beside Emma, and my screams echoed through the room. I reached for her over and over, but my hands passed uselessly through her, unable to hold her, unable to save her. And then I watched—helpless—as Amelia pulled herself together. She wiped away the blood with gloved hands, changed into my clothes, and stuffed Emma’s tiny body into a suitcase. She drove to an isolated forest on the outskirts of town, dumped Emma’s body, and went about her gruesome work. She gouged out Emma’s eyes, smashed her face with a rock, and poured acid over her small, fragile body to erase all traces. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could a pregnant woman commit such unspeakable evil? Amelia was a monster through and through. When she was finished, she burned the gloves and clothes, then sent a message to Charles: [Olivia just came back and took Emma away.] And Charles—fool that he was—believed her without question. He thought I was using our daughter as a pawn to delay the divorce. He never once doubted Amelia. The sunlight pierced through my soul, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. Beside me, Charles and Amelia—the shameless pair—were still tangled up in each other, sound asleep. Suddenly, Charles’ phone rang from the nightstand. It was a call from one of his colleagues at the station. After answering, Charles quickly got up to wash and get ready. The noise roused Amelia. “Charles, are you leaving this early?” Charles replied, “Yeah, I need to follow up on the case from last night.” Amelia’s expression darkened for a moment before she composed herself again. As Charles slipped on his jacket, ready to leave, Amelia suddenly let out a pained gasp, clutching her stomach and dropping into a squat. “What’s wrong, Amelia?” Charles rushed back to her side, helping her onto the couch. Amelia sobbed, “Charles, I think there’s something wrong with the baby. My stomach really hurts. Can you take me to the hospital?” I saw through her act immediately. She was deliberately stalling for time, trying to stop him from going to the crime scene. But Charles, the gullible fool, fell for it in seconds. After only a brief hesitation, he helped her to her feet. “Let’s go now. Be careful.” My numb heart twisted painfully once more as I watched him treat Amelia like a precious treasure. Eight years ago, when my water broke at home, I’d dialed Charles’ number in the midst of agonizing contractions. Panicked and helpless, I’d told Charles what was happening. But he said coldly and dismissively, “Stop making such a big deal out of it. I’m at work. Call an ambulance yourself.” He hung up before I could say another word. Charles didn’t show up at the hospital until after Emma was born, and even then, his attention was solely on the baby. Not one word of concern for me. After that, I convinced myself that his work came first—that his dedication to his job was simply who he was. But now I knew the truth. I just wasn’t important enough. I followed them into the car. As they drove toward the hospital, Charles got another call from his colleague. He glanced at Amelia in the passenger seat and said, “My wife isn’t feeling well. I’m taking her to the hospital first. I’ll head over a bit later.” Amelia froze at his words. So did I. Recovering quickly, Amelia smiled coyly. “What did you just call me?” Charles flushed a little. “Once I get in touch with Olivia, I’ll divorce her immediately. So, Amelia, will you marry me?” “But I’m carrying my ex-husband’s child, Charles. I don’t deserve you.” “I don’t care,” Charles blurted, eager to reassure her. “I know that man tricked you. I swear I’ll treat this baby as my own.” Amelia looked up at him, and her eyes brimmed with gratitude. “Thank you, Charles.” Charles gazed back at her with a deep tenderness that made me want to gouge his eyes out. Eyes that couldn’t see good from evil weren’t worth keeping anyway. Just as I’d expected, after the hospital check-up, Amelia was perfectly fine. Pretending to feel guilty, she said softly, “I’m so sorry, Charles. I think I was just too nervous.” Charles smiled and tapped her playfully on the cheek. “Why are you apologizing? Your health always comes first.” After dropping Amelia back home, Charles finally headed to the crime scene. “How’s it looking?” he asked as he pulled on gloves and a mask, stepping under the police tape. “Not much to go on,” his colleague replied. “We only found part of a shoe print. The killer’s careful—feels like they’ve done this before.” Charles frowned slightly and started combing the area, searching for any clue. But there was nothing. On the way back to the station, his colleague turned to him and asked, “Is Olivia all right? I haven’t seen her in a while. I was hoping to snag another home-cooked meal sometime soon.”
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