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

I watched him, anger thumping my shattered heart. "Geez, I don’t know, husband. I can’t clean the damn table because I’m dead.”

As a housewife, I had taken pride in doing all the chores—cleaning, cooking, washing. I didn’t mind it, as long as I thought he loved me. But now, watching him so carelessly dismiss what we once had, I realized how much I had been taken for granted.

After some time, Steve went to take a shower. Just as the water started running, the doorbell rang. My presence shifted as I floated to the front door, already knowing who was on the other side.

"Emma?" Steve called out as he sprang out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, a mix of hope and frustration in his voice. He hurried to the door, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, it wasn’t me.

I could see her through the door—Kelsey, the woman who had come back and ruined everything.

"Kelsey?" Steve gasped in surprise as he opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you," she said with a soft smile. "I went to your office, and your coworkers said you left in a hurry. Can I come in?"

He nodded and let her in.

Kelsey stepped inside, her eyes sweeping the living room. "Where is Emma? I don't see her here."

Steve shrugged. "Oh, I don't know where she's run off to. Sometimes she acts silly."

Oh, that's what you have to say about this, Steve?

Kelsey’s hands soon found their way to Steve’s shoulders, her fake smile unwavering. "Don’t say that. Maybe she’s angry because you didn’t come back to her last night. It’s all my fault."

"Don’t blame yourself, Kels. You were sick; I couldn’t just leave you alone."

"But look at the situation, Steve—Emma hasn’t returned since last night."

Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion. "How did you know she hasn’t returned since last night?"

The lying witch looked flustered, her words stumbling over each other. "Oh... I just figured, you know, since the house looks untidy."

Steve's eyes scanned the room, taking in the tidy condition of the living space. I watched him closely, certain he would realize the house was spotless.

"You're right, Kels," he finally said.

Oh, sue me! I knew how much time I dedicated to keeping this house clean. He was aware, yet since he was in front of his sweetheart, he wanted to please her.

"But why are you here, Kels? You usually don’t like coming around because of Emma, remember?"

"Well, I was just worried and wanted to apologize to her," Kelsey said, her fingers gently rubbing his temples. The tension between them grew as their faces moved closer. Then, without another word, their lips met in a kiss.

Darling husband, have you forgotten that I’m missing?