The Fake Death Package

My phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

It read, 'We offer professional fake-death services—revenge against cheating men and homewreckers. Honest prices and guaranteed results.'

Beneath the message was a mess of strange words and a suspicious link, practically daring me to click.

Without really knowing why, I opened my laptop and entered the link.

The website screamed danger, promising at least five new viruses, but I pressed on anyway.

After all, what did I have left to lose?

When my parents died, they left me more money than I could ever spend. Most of it just sat in a trust, untouched, waiting for a version of my life that no longer existed.

The site offered a menu of tragedies: car crashes, drownings, hiking mishaps, and medical emergencies.

My cursor hovered over one choice: sudden cardiac arrest.

Ten days from now, I was supposed to marry Callum.

Then I recalled Mara's words, 'I'll be Natalie's bridesmaid. When we walk down the aisle, just pretend she's not there. Pretend I'm the bride.'

I pictured the dress Mara picked out: a long, white gown.

Anyone present would have thought she was the bride.

My finger paused above the mouse, trembling.

Just as I was about to click, my phone rang.

Callum's name flashed on my screen—a video call.

I answered.

His face lit up my screen, eyes shining with excitement.

Behind him, Mara waved at me with a huge smile. "Nat, I'm only borrowing Callum for a few days. Don't be mad, okay?"

Callum reached back and pinched her cheek, as if he'd forgotten I was watching.

Then he looked back at me, guilt softening his eyes. "Nat, I promise we'll be back before the wedding."

A promise. Again.

He had made promises like that so many times before, and always broke them.

On our first anniversary, Mara called, and Callum left during dinner.

He said, "Nat, I promise I'll just check on her and come right back."

He never came back that night.

When he finally returned the next morning, there was a fresh gash across his forehead. He said he had gotten into a fight defending Mara.

The moment I saw the blood, my anger vanished.

Another time, at a party, he drank for Mara until he could barely stand. The next morning, he wrapped his arms around my waist and swore, "I'll never take drinks for her again."

At the very next party, he still took her glass.

Looking back, I realized how lonely I had been, and how badly I had wanted to be chosen.

So every time they crossed a line and called it friendship, I forgave them.

They were so bold about it, so casually shameless, that after a while, I even started to wonder if I was the one seeing things wrong.

Was I, truly?

I shrugged.

I pushed the thought away.

Moments after I placed the order for the fake-death package, my phone rang.

The voice on the other end sounded young, polite, and almost professional. "When would you be available to meet? We'll need to go over the details and prepare everything in advance."

I turned toward the window. Outside, the sky had already begun to pale.

Morning was creeping in.

'So this is survivable,' I thought. 'The hours after Callum leaves don't kill me after all.'

"Today," I answered. "The sooner, the better."