Married for three years and my husband had never once touched me.

I assumed he was impotent. Out of respect for his dignity, I kept quiet, living like a widow in my own marriage. Until the day I discovered what he was hiding in the basement: the corpse of his first love.

He gently stroked the matted strands of her decaying hair, his face full of longing. "Macey, no one could ever replace you. I know your biggest wish, when you were alive, was to have my child."

"That’s why, until you carry our baby, Anna won't be allowed to get pregnant."

That night, I logged into one of the forums my husband frequented and posted anonymously: [Guys, I think I found a way to get a dead woman pregnant.]

——

[You’ve been married three years and your dad still won’t hand over the company?]

The speaker was Dennis’s childhood friend, Nick Donnovan.

Dennis flicked his lighter, clearly irritated. “He’s stubborn as hell. First, he said I had to settle down to get my stake in the company. Now he’s saying no heir, no shares.”

“Only Macey deserves to have my child. Once she’s pregnant, I’m divorcing Anna.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got some serious self-control. Ignoring a woman like Anna for three years? But… how do you even…” He didn’t get to finish.

Dennis’s tone softened as he interrupted. “I’ve kept Macey in good condition. Her body’s still… intact. As long as I can extract viable eggs…”

“I’m ready to invest another billion if that’s what it takes. I will make this happen.”

“That medical report I tricked Anna into giving me—her oxytocin levels are high. The experts said she’s biologically perfect to be a mother.”

To mother a child born from a corpse? I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, just to keep from screaming.

I couldn’t believe it. The man I slept beside every night had tricked me into a sham marriage… just to raise a dead woman’s child.

He had gone with me to every check-up for three years, pretending to care. In reality, he was evaluating my suitability—to raise her baby.

“What if she finds out?” Nick asked.

Dennis sneered. “Her? She’s an idiot. It’s been three years and she’s never even discovered the basement.”

“And even if she does? Anna’s the kind of woman who’ll believe anything you tell her. What’s she gonna do—get jealous of a corpse?”

“Besides, I’ve got ways of handling her. Just like I did with that nosy cat of hers.”

The blood rushed to my head in an instant.

Last year, my British Shorthair suddenly vanished. Dennis said the cat had run off. Now I knew the truth—it had wandered into the basement. And he… did something to it.

Dennis kept talking, every word more disturbing than the last. But I couldn’t hear him clearly anymore—my mind had gone numb, my thoughts a fog.

For three years, I thought he was sick. I thought we were in this together and that with time and patience, I could help him heal. But it wasn’t his body that was broken—it was his mind. His heart already rotten to the core.

From the day we got our marriage certificate, I’d been nothing more than a prop—A stand-in wife to show off to his family. A future mom… for his dead girlfriend’s child.

I pulled out my phone and posted anonymously on his favorite tech forum—the one he checked religiously.

I used to think his obsession with that site was just a nerdy hobby. Now I saw it for what it was: every single thing in his life revolved around Macey.

The woman he never once mentioned to me.

Well—except for once. It was during one of our rare moments of physical contact. He was drunk, pushed me against the wall, rough and clumsy.

I thought it was messy, desperate foreplay.

But then he slurred, “Macey…” I laughed it off. Thought he was just being kinky, role-playing maybe.

Then he cupped my face, stared at me—and in an instant, sobered up.

Expressionless, he shoved me aside and walked straight into his study. Didn’t say another word.

Now everything made sense. All the pieces fit.

Even pretending to be Macey wasn’t enough. To him, I wasn’t worthy. Not to touch. Not to share a bed with. Not even to exist as a substitute.

I crouched behind the coffin, fighting every instinct in my body not to cry.

Night after night, I tried everything I could find online to seduce him. Dennis was never interested. He never responded to my touch, never gave in to any attempt at intimacy.

The rare times he did show any reaction—flushed cheeks, a slight stir—he’d abruptly make an excuse to take a shower, or retreat to his study to "work," leaving me alone in bed, humiliated.

Starting today, I’m done waiting. If he wanted to make a dead woman pregnant, fine. I’d help him achieve that dream—in the most terrifying way possible.

As Dennis walked our guests out, I slipped back into the bedroom, quietly but quickly.

“Ann?” His voice floated in from the living room, warm and gentle—deliberately so.

My entire body shuddered.

“Are you okay? Not feeling well?” He touched my forehead, the picture of a concerned husband. That same man who'd been whispering to a corpse in our basement not half an hour ago.

The whiplash between the two sides of him made my skin crawl.

“You seem fine,” he said after a moment, sitting beside me on the bed. “How about we go to that clinic and get your uterus checked? You’re not getting any younger. Gotta make sure everything stays in good shape.”

He gave me a soft smile.

“I know it’s been hard on you, but once I figure out how to make this work, you’ll carry our child. I promise.”

“Okay,” I smiled back, forcing my voice to stay steady while my fingernails dug deep into my palm.

He reached over and ruffled my hair, almost playfully. “As long as you behave, you’ll get the best of everything.”

Behave? What an interesting choice of words. What did “behaving” mean, exactly?

Being a docile surrogate? Quietly giving birth to his dead lover’s child, then what? Getting “taken care of,” the way he took care of my cat?

As soon as he turned away to grab his coat, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to an old friend from college—someone I could still trust.

“Can you help me install some cctv in the basement? When no one’s home. I’ll text when I leave the house. Just be fast and discreet.”

He replied almost immediately. No questions. Just a simple, “Got it.”

Meanwhile, Dennis was zipping up his coat and answering a call. “Nick? Yeah, I was just about to take Anna to that clinic you recommended.”

“Wait—what did you say? There’s what on the forum?” he responded.

I saw his expression shifted into panic, but he caught himself quickly when he noticed me watching from across the room. And just like that, his mask went back on.

“Ann, I’ve got some company stuff to deal with.”

Dennis rushed into his study and locked the door behind him. A few seconds later, my phone lit up with a notification.

The anonymous forum post I had made earlier had just received a new comment:

[Poster! hurry up, tell us! How do you get a dead woman pregnant?]

The username was SweetAnnon. Dennis had taken the bait. He couldn’t help himself—he was desperate to know how to make a corpse carry his child.

Most of the other comments were from normal people, horrified or confused:

[Poster! says nothing. Starts off with a creepy line and just ghosted. What kind of horror story is this?]

[Making a dead woman pregnant? Maybe fix infertility first. I’m dying laughing.]

[And here we go—two lunatics in one thread. Isn’t there some guy on this forum obsessed with this exact thing? Perfect match!]

Dennis was infamous on the forum. Every day, he posted offers of huge payouts to anyone who could provide a method. Not a single day missed.

Now users were starting to connect the dots.

[Wait… this has to be bait, right? Targeted at that guy?]

[No way. Hahaha—this Poster is trolling him for sure.]

[Check the latest reply—LOL they totally fished that SweetMace dude out!]

With Dennis now active in the thread, the post exploded in popularity.

People started egging me on, clearly entertained by the twisted game unfolding in real time.

[C’mon Poster, spill it. I need to see if your plan is crazier, or if his is.]

[If this actually gets him to send money, please update. I’ll post one too!]

From the other side of the wall, I could hear Dennis pacing frantically in the study.

[Getting a dead woman pregnant? It’s actually pretty simple. Just transplant her womb into a living body. Let the living carry the dead.]

Seeing my seemingly serious reply, the comment section was crowded.

[Are you insane? A dead person’s uterus is just rotting tissue—how would that even work? It’d kill the host!]

[This is beyond stupid. Anyone who believes this needs help.]

[What kind of horror movie plot is this?]

Dennis, though, didn’t hesitate. He replied instantly. [Thank you! If this works, I’ll pay a hundred million.]

He didn’t care how absurd my reply was. As long as there was even a chance to bring Macey’s child into the world, he would do anything. After all, the cost was nothing to him. Just one disposable woman he never loved.

Moments later, Dennis burst out of the study, eyes wild with adrenaline. “Ann! Let’s go—right now. Full-body checkup today.”

“Actually—better idea. You should be admitted. Stay for full treatment, prep your body properly. Don’t worry about packing—I’ll bring you anything you need!” Without waiting for a reply, he scooped me into his arms and carried me out the door, as if every second mattered.

In all the six years I’d known him—three years of dating, three years of marriage—he’d barely ever touched me. And now? He held me nonstop the entire way to the hospital, carrying me like I was precious cargo.

Denny didn’t realize this, of course. But this would be the last time he ever laid hands on me. One week from now, I’d disappear from his world completely.

At the hospital, he placed me gently onto the bed and kissed my forehead like a doting husband.

“I’ll go handle your admission paperwork, okay?”

He rushed out before I could respond, heading straight for the doctors’ offices.

I followed quietly, careful not to be seen—just in time to hear how he really saw me.

“Don’t waste my time with ethics. You’re the best hospital in the country,” Dennis snapped at a doctor, his voice low and charged with excitement. “Uterus transplant surgery—you have the tech. When can you do it? I’ll donate three entire buildings to your department.”

“Mr. Cunningham, this goes against everything we stand for,” the doctor shot back. “Implanting a deceased uterus into a living woman would trigger full-system infection. It’s completely unethical—and medically impossible.”

“Money isn’t the issue,” Dennis' voice rising with impatience.

“Mr. Cunningham,” the doctor cut in. “This is a hospital. Not an execution chamber.”

SLAM.

A loud crash echoed from the office as Dennis pounded his fist on the desk.

The next moment, Dennis’s voice dropped to something gloomy, “Dr. Anderson, don’t forget—I have the power to end your medical career. Wherever you go, whatever hospital you try to join, I’ll destroy it.”

“I’ve come to you about Macey so many times. You know what she means to me.”

“Anyone who tries to stop me from having a child with Macey... deserves to die!”

Silence fell across the room.

Finally, Dr. Anderson let out a weary sigh and asked, “Even if I were willing… does your wife agree to this? Why her? Why risk her body?”

“She’s your wife, Mr. Cunningham. If you’re that determined, find a death row inmate or someone who—at the very least—makes this slightly less horrific, morally speaking…”

Dennis cut him off with a cold laugh. “And what makes a death row inmate worthy of lying next to Macey on an operating table?”

“Anna lives in my house. Spends my money. Wears the title of Mrs. Cunningham. The least she can do is fulfill a wife’s basic duty.”

He said it like he was talking about a couch. Like I was something he bought—and now wanted to repurpose.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

Three years of sleeping beside this man. Three years of thinking we were building a life. And none of it meant anything?

Why did it have to be me? Even when the doctor offered alternatives—other bodies, other options—Dennis refused. He was set on using mine. In that moment, I knew, with terrifying clarity—he never loved me.

Dennis' affection was staged. The tenderness? A lie. Even that wedding vow—“I’ll spend the rest of my life treating you right”—was nothing but a lure to pull me into his trap.

Right then, my phone buzzed with a new message. It was from my college friend who finished installing the cctv back at the basement.

He’d attached a photo too. Macey’s corpse.

[The woman in the photo... looks a lot like you.]