Three months after my death

My name was Oliver Pettyfer. My wife, Fiona Jameson, was a surgeon. Throughout her career, she had saved countless lives. But the one person she couldn’t save was me. Nathan Aniston, her true love, and I were in a car accident together. She rushed to his side first. It wasn’t until three months after my death that she realized the person frequently chatting with her on WhatsApp wasn’t me, and she panicked. After my death, bound by unfinished destiny, I lingered on as a spirit, quietly staying by Fiona’s side. The hospital corridors echoed with the sounds of screams and cries. Just an hour ago, a severe multi-vehicle collision had occurred on the city’s bridge; the scene was unbearable. Every doctor in the city, including Fiona, was called in to help. I lay in a pool of blood, struggling to suppress the metallic taste rising in my throat. When I saw Fiona, I felt a surge of relief. But the next moment, I felt as if I had plunged into an icy abyss. Fiona saw me lying there, yet she stepped over me and rushed to Nathan’s side. She lifted him, her face filled with concern and urgency I had never seen before. I was covered in blood, and I tried to tell her I was hurt, but as I opened my mouth, a torrent of blood gushed out. By the time I could lift my head again, Fiona had already placed Nathan in the ambulance. I didn’t want to die alone, so I mustered all my strength and called out her name, “Fiona…” Fiona turned back and looked at me coldly. “You just vomited some blood. Nathan has multiple fractures; he needs me more than you do. I know what you’re going to say, but you wait here. Someone else will come to help you.” With that, she slammed the ambulance door shut and disappeared from my sight with Nathan. Fiona didn’t know that a piece of rebar was embedded in my back, piercing through my body. I was about to die. If she had just looked closely, she would have seen it, but her attention was entirely on Nathan. But none of that mattered anymore. After all, what was left to fight for when one was about to die? The hospital was overflowing with patients, and there weren’t enough beds to go around. After finishing Nathan’s surgery, Fiona had no choice but to place him on a temporary bed in the hallway.

  Wrapped in bandages and looking pale and drained, Nathan tugged at Fiona’s heartstrings. In a hoarse voice, Nathan said, “I’m fine now. You should go check on Oliver; he sounded pretty bad too…” Fiona frowned sharply at the mention of my name. “What does it matter about that jealous, petty guy? Your health is what’s important right now.” Nathan fell silent for a moment. Then, as if reflecting on something significant, he continued, “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t come back, you two wouldn’t be in such a mess that it’s come to the brink of a divorce.” That was true. Just before the accident, Fiona and I were in heated discussions about our looming separation. Our marriage had been an arrangement between families, while Nathan was her university classmate. I knew all along that Fiona didn’t like me, but under the pressure from our families, we went through with it anyway. I tried everything to be the husband she deserved, hoping that one day I could take Nathan’s place in her heart. Then Nathan returned from abroad, shattering my hopes. Upon his return, he called Fiona first. It changed everything. Despite the fact that I was the one who married her, Fiona spent most of her time with Nathan. We had an explosive argument just before my accident. After I lost my cool, she stormed off. Moments later, I got a call from Nathan asking to meet. I never imagined I would crash my car on the way to see him—and that it would cost me my life. Shaking off those thoughts, I watched as Fiona tucked the blanket around Nathan, speaking softly, “It’s not your fault. Oliver and I were never on the same page. He’s too suspicious and overly sensitive; he doesn’t even take the time to understand me. Our divorce was mutual, so don’t blame yourself.” I wore a wry smile, thinking, “So, this is how she views me.” Just then, a frazzled nurse rushed over, holding my ID. “Dr. Jameson, your husband, Oliver, he…” Fiona’s expression instantly turned cold. “So he wants me to go see him? Please. He just coughed up a little blood. A grown man can handle that; he’s probably just faking to get some sympathy. Tell him I’m going through with the divorce and that he needs to stop bothering me.” Without allowing the nurse to respond, Fiona spun on her heel and walked away briskly, a wave of indignation trailing behind her. I remembered a time when I had a fever so high I barely knew what was happening. I’d pleaded with her to stay by my side. When I finally came to, she had slapped me hard and said, “Today was Nathan’s birthday! You made me break my promise to spend it with him just because you were sick. I know you did this on purpose, Oliver!” From that moment on, her disdain for me only deepened. Now, once again, she believed I was merely playing the sympathy card and would no longer trust me.

  My spirit followed Fiona as she left the hospital corridor. Just outside, she paused, pulling out her phone. After hesitating for a while, typing, and deleting, Fiona finally settled on one simple word: [Divorce.] Then she hit send. Fiona didn’t know I was gone and wouldn’t be able to respond to her message. But to my surprise, just as her message was sent, I found “myself” replying on the other end: [So you want a divorce because of Nathan, huh? Fine by me. I’ll sign whatever you want; you and this little charmer deserve each other!] At the sight of that message, Fiona’s anger boiled over, and she smashed her phone into pieces. “You’d better be serious about wanting a divorce! Don’t come crying to me later about regretting it!” As my spirit hovered nearby, I couldn’t help but feel bewildered. “Wait, I’m dead! How can I still respond to Fiona’s messages?” It felt like the person was deliberately imitating my tone down to the same punctuation. Before I could process it, Fiona picked up the shattered pieces of her phone from the floor and turned to leave. A week later, Nathan was discharged from the hospital. Fiona brought him back to our home. Nathan, perched in a wheelchair, looked around nervously and asked, “Are you sure Oliver won’t be upset about me being here?” Fiona shrugged off his concern. “Let him be. He has no right to question who I bring home, especially since he’s already agreed to the divorce.” Nathan’s surprise was palpable. “I can’t believe Oliver, who loves you so much, would actually agree to this. Did he say it himself?” With a soft “Hmm,” Fiona confirmed it. My spirit floated above them. I was desperate to shout that I was no longer alive and that I had never sent that message about the divorce. Yet whether I screamed or shouted, she couldn’t hear me. Fiona seemed determined to avoid mentioning my name. She changed the subject, saying, “You sit tight. I’ll get you a glass of water.” As she walked away, I noticed Nathan making an attempt to stand from his wheelchair. Nathan was unsteady, and just as he managed to get on his feet, his legs buckled, threatening to send him crashing to the floor. Fiona, seeing his struggle, tossed the water cup aside and rushed to catch him. The two of them tumbled down, Nathan landing heavily on top of Fiona, their bodies tangled in an intimate embrace. Looking deep into her eyes, Nathan said, “I’ve always held back because of Oliver, but now that you two are getting divorced, I feel free. Fiona, I like you—can we start over?” Fiona was clearly moved by his heartfelt declaration. She nodded, tears of joy welling in her eyes. Moments later, Nathan leaned in and kissed her, and she didn’t hesitate to respond with the same fervor. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. After all those years of marriage, Fiona had always kept me at a distance, never allowing me even the slightest touch, let alone anything more intimate. I had always respected her wishes and never forced myself on her. But now, the woman I had cared for so deeply was wrapped up in another man’s arms, responding to his every advance with a passion I had never witnessed from her. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to leave this nightmare behind, but it was as if some invisible force held me captive, making me a helpless witness to this steamy scene. The sounds of their pleasure pierced through my ears as they somehow ended up rolling onto the bed, right in front of our wedding photos, crossing boundaries I had never imagined they would. I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the reality unfolding before me. Time stretched on, feeling like an eternity, until finally, an hour had passed, and they drew their intimate encounter to a close. I watched coldly as the two of them lay in bed, having just finished their tryst. Fiona got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. After she cleaned herself up, she decided to find a fresh pair of pajamas. But when Fiona opened the cupboard, she couldn’t find a single clean set. I used to take care of all the household chores—cleaning the clothes and preparing meals. I’d pampered her like a princess, so Fiona never had to worry about a thing. But now, nearly a week since my death, our once-tidy home had become a filthy mess. Irritated, she picked up the scattered clothes from the floor and dumped them into the washing machine, only to realize she had no idea how to use it. The kettle was empty, and the electric pot had no water. When Fiona opened the fridge, a nauseating odor of rotting vegetables hit her. Fiona stared at the chaos before her; her brow furrowed deeply. She thought about calling me but soon remembered her phone was broken and she hadn’t replaced it yet. With a bitter laugh, she muttered, “Oliver, did you really think all your efforts would keep me from moving on? How ridiculous!” With no other option and her stomach growling, Fiona reluctantly ordered takeout. ***** The next day, Fiona bought a new phone. Once she set it up and logged into WhatsApp, she noticed a plethora of unread messages. Among them were a few of my friends. One message read: [Do you know where Oliver is? It’s been a week since he went missing. I invited him to dinner, but he hasn’t shown up.] Fiona frowned but didn’t reply. Instead, she browsed through my status updates. Normally, I was someone who loved sharing snippets of my life, yet I hadn’t posted anything in almost a week. Her frown deepened further, and after a moment of contemplation, she decided to message me again. [Oliver, weren’t you the one who wanted a divorce? We can go get the paperwork in a few days!] The other side replied quickly: [Ha, you’re really eager to be with Nathan, huh? I’ll agree to the divorce, but you owe me for all those years of emotional damage.] [After all these years of marriage, you barely even let me touch you, and you had the nerve to cheat on me with Nathan. You owe me at least three million dollars in damages!] Fiona seethed as she read the message from the other side of my WhatsApp. Her chest heaved with anger. [Oliver, I can’t believe I ever trusted you!] Then, just like that, she transferred 500 thousand dollars to the other end of the chat. Fiona added, [I only have this much! Take it or leave it! See you in court in three days!] With that, she blocked me. Perhaps in her fury, she muttered one last insult, “Oliver, why don’t you just go die!” I thought, “Well, as you wished, Fiona, I really am dead.” If only she had paid a little more attention, she might have realized the truth of my death, but her heart was completely focused on Nathan. Fiona had been swamped with work, but she had taken three months off just to care for Nathan. Three months passed. Fiona finally returned to her job at the hospital. During the monthly staff meeting, the hospital administration brought up the tragic accident that had occurred on the cross-river bridge last month. They mentioned that 17 people had been critically injured and, sadly, one person had lost his life. The young nurse who had taken my ID to find Fiona sat next to her. She tugged at Fiona’s sleeve and leaned in. “Dr. Jameson, do you know who the single fatality from that accident was?” Fiona shook her head. “Actually, it was…” the nurse whispered.

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