When the wicked men tore into my heart and internal organs savagely, I was still holding the phone tightly, trying to ask Steve Harrington for help. Steve was my husband.

“I told you not to bother me,Even if you die out there, don't call me!” Steve barked before cutting the call.

As I listened to the call being hung up, the last bit of hope in my eyes died out.

The next second, with a hideous grin, the man stabbed the dagger into my stomach.

——

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration—our five-year wedding anniversary.

I had been home all day, waiting for Steve to return from work, filled with excitement.

The news I received earlier was too good to keep to myself: after years of trying, we were finally going to have a baby.

The pregnancy test had come back positive, and I couldn’t wait to share the joy with Steve.

When I first heard the news, I called him immediately from the hospital, but he didn’t pick up. Figuring he was busy, I sent him the news via text, expecting an overjoyed response. But nothing came.

I rushed home afterward, eager to prepare a special dinner for Steve. I cooked all his favorite meals, set them out on the table, and waited. Hours passed, and the food grew cold, but my anticipation kept me warm.

Finally, Steve called. But instead of coming home, he said he was swamped with work and wouldn’t be able to make it. He asked me to meet him at a restaurant near his office instead, promising to slip out for a bit. I was a little surprised he hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy, but I brushed it off, thinking maybe he wanted to talk about it in person.

As usual, being the stupid wife in love, I hurriedly left the house. I arrived at the restaurant, waiting anxiously, but then a text message buzzed on my phone. Steve said he couldn’t make it after all—too much work, he claimed.

Anger surged through me. I sent him a flurry of texts, pouring out my frustration and disappointment, but all of them were ignored. Deep down, I knew where he probably was.

Dejected and annoyed, I wandered the streets aimlessly, the city lights blurring through my tears. I had given everything to this marriage, only to be left alone on a night that should have been special.

Suddenly, out of the shadows, a group of men appeared, their faces masked by the night. Before I could react, they grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. Panic set in as they began beating me mercilessly, their fists and boots raining down on me with brutal force. They targeted my stomach, as if they knew exactly where to strike.

Through the haze of pain, I managed to reach for my phone. I dialed Steve, hoping against hope that he would answer, that he would save me. But when he picked up, his voice was cold, laced with irritation. "I told you not to bother me," he snapped, before hanging up.

My heart broke in that moment, more than my body ever could. The love of my life, the father of our unborn child, had abandoned me in my darkest hour. As I lay there, bleeding and broken, I realized how utterly alone I was.

The last thing I felt was the searing pain as my stomach was torn apart, the life I had carried inside me slipping away along with my own. The world faded to black, and I knew—this was how it would end. Alone, betrayed, and forgotten by the one person I had loved more than anything.

The next thing I knew, my soul was standing in front of Kelsey’s room. She was curled up in bed with Steve, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close. The sight made my already shattered heart ache.

So while I was being kidnapped and tortured, my darling husband was nestled in the arms of his first love. I wasn’t surprised, though. Steve had been obsessed with Kelsey ever since college. When she left New York City after we graduated, I was the one who comforted him, who picked up the pieces of his broken heart. I was relieved when he asked me to marry him, thinking I had finally filled the void she left behind.

But then, four years later, she returned and shattered the happiness I thought we had built. Steve stopped caring about me, always running to Kelsey whenever she called. It was as if I no longer existed.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I don't know what happened. My stomach just started to hurt out of nowhere," she pouted, snuggling closer into his broad chest.

"It’s alright, Kels. Remember, you're my friend," he replied softly.

"But today was your anniversary. I feel really bad..." she murmured, feigning guilt.

"It’s alright. I’m sure Emma understands," Steve's tone was dismissive.

Oh yes, I understand, Steve. I understand that you're nothing but a piece of shit.

I stood silently by the window, watching passively as they drifted off to sleep, their breaths slowing in unison. All the while, my body was out there in the cold, rotting away, forgotten by the one person who was supposed to love me.

The next day, I floated behind Steve, watching as he left Kelsey’s place and headed straight to his office. He hadn’t bothered to check on me or even return home. It was as if I didn’t exist. Steve came from a respectable family and held the prestigious position of director at the company he worked for. But to me, he was now just a cold, heartless man.

Once at work, Steve buried himself in paperwork.. After a while, he paused, frowning as he dialed my phone. The call fell through, and his frustration was evident as he threw the phone onto his desk.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Emma? Quit acting like a brat,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head before returning to his work.

By noon, his stomach growled, and he reached for his phone again. He was probably expecting me to bring his lunch by now, as I always did. Steve was a picky eater, and I had always taken care of all his meals—breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Where the hell are you, Emma? What the fuck…” he grumbled, growing more irritated by the minute.

I was right there, floating by his side. “I’m right here, you prick,” I shouted, though I knew he couldn’t hear me. I tried to kick the desk in frustration, but my leg passed right through it, as if I were nothing more than a ghost. Which, I suppose, I was.

After a few more minutes of pacing, Steve grabbed his keys and stormed out of his office. I followed behind him. People passed through my soul as though I was nothing more than a wisp of air.

When we arrived home, Steve walked into the living room and noticed the food I had prepared the night before, now spoiled and untouched on the table. He glanced over it, realization slowly dawning on him. For the first time, I saw worry etch itself across his usually composed face.

“Where are you, Emma?” he whispered, the unease in his voice growing as he pulled out his phone and dialed my number again. But, just like before, there was no reply.

Desperation crumpled his forehead as he decided to send a voice note instead. “Emma, where are you? Are you angry? I’m sorry, okay? Just come back.”

I watched him, a hollow sadness filling me. If only he had cared this much when I was alive. But now, it was too late. I was gone, and nothing he said or did could change that.

“Well, I can’t anymore, husband,” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. “I’m dead, and you caused it.”

Steve glanced at the table once more, noticing a bouquet of roses lying there. He picked it up, sniffing the faded scent. These were the roses he had given me when he proposed—back when we were happy, so full of hope for the future. His gaze then drifted to the wall, where our wedding picture hung. In it, we were staring into each other’s eyes, completely enamored with one another. But I had seen it happen—the way his eyes had grown distant ever since she returned.

"Why are you looking at that, Steve?" I scoffed bitterly. "You stopped caring about me the moment Kelsey came back five months ago."

For a moment, Steve seemed lost in thought, his gaze lingering on the photograph. But after a few minutes, he tore his eyes away and started cleaning the table, grumbling to himself.

"This isn’t funny, Emma. You’re making me clean this crap up," he muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his voice