When the criminal tortured me to death, I was three-month pregnant.

But my husband Mark - the city's most prominent detective - was at the hospital with his first love Emma, accompanying her for her medical checkup.

Three days ago, he demanded me to donate my kidney to Emma.

When I refused, telling him I was two months pregnant with our child, his eyes had turned cold.

"Stop lying," he had snarled. "You're just being selfish, trying to let Emma die."

He pulled over on the dark highway. "Get out," he ordered. "Walk home since you're so heartless. "

I stood there in the darkness and was kidnapped by the vengeful criminal, whom Mark had once imprisoned.

He cut out my tongue. With cruel satisfaction, he used my phone to call my husband.

Mark's response was brief and cold: "Whatever it is, Emma's medical checkup is more important! She needs me right now."

The criminal let out a dark chuckle. "Well, well... Seems like the great detective values his ex's life more than his current wife's."

When Mark arrived at the crime scene hours later, he was horrified by the brutality inflicted on the corpse. He angrily condemned the murderer for treating a pregnant woman so cruelly

But he didn't recognize that the mutilated body before him was his own wife - me.

1

My body was discovered in an abandoned building.

The construction worker vomited as he dialed emergency services.

Mark rushed from Emma's kidney treatment to the crime scene.

The forensic expert frowned, gesturing for them to put on masks.

My husband Mark was the city's most renowned detective. He'd solved countless murder cases, yet even he faltered when he saw this corpse.

The summer heat had done its work. The body was bloated, the face beaten beyond recognition - a mass of flesh and blood where features should have been.

The injuries were extensive. The head barely hung onto the neck by a strip of skin.

The stench of decomposition filled the air.

Mark closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and pulled on his gloves to begin the preliminary examination.

I watched nervously as he removed the blood-stained necklace from my neck.

Two rings hung from the chain - our wedding rings that I had handcrafted for us with love.

I remembered how proud I'd been, presenting them to Mark. Days spent carefully making them perfect.

But when Emma saw him wearing his, she had laughed cruelly. "What is that ugly thing? Did you fish it out of a dumpster?"

Mark had ripped off the ring immediately, throwing it back at me. His face had burned with humiliation.

"You're my wife," he had snapped. "You're supposed to help me succeed, not make me look ridiculous in front of others."

Though his cold words still echoed in my ears, I believed surely he would recognize these rings now.

These symbols of our marriage, of my love for him.

But Mark just impassively instructed his assistant to bag them as evidence.

His colleague worked methodically, then suddenly paused. "Mark... the victim was pregnant. About two months along."

I watched, heart breaking, as Mark's expression darkened with rage.

"These animals!" he snarled, slamming his hand against the wall. "How could they be so cruel to a pregnant woman?"

I wanted to scream. To shake him.

Emma was diagnosed with kidney failure just five days ago. The doctors said she needed a transplant urgently.

Mark had rushed to the hospital at midnight. On the way, he begged me.

"You have to help her, Alice. You're a match. You're the only match they've found."

"I'm pregnant, Mark. Two months. That's why I can't donate my kidney to Emma. Please understand."

His response had been instant and cruel: "Another lie? First you refuse to help Emma, now you make up a pregnancy? How low will you sink?"

He abandoned me on the highway and then I was kidnapped.

Now he stood over my body, burning with righteous anger for an unknown victim.

But he refused to believe his own wife's pregnancy.

He just instructed his assistant to note it down as just another detail in the case file. "Make sure to highlight the pregnancy in the report. This makes the case high priority."

I shouldn't have hoped. I never existed in Mark's heart. He never believed me, never trusted me, not since the day we married.

In Mark's heart, every word I spoke was a lie, every action suspicious. He saved his trust and love for Emma.

Even though I was his wife. Even though I had loved him with everything I had.

My friend Sarah had warned me from the start. "Mark only married you because he couldn't be with Emma, Emma will always be his true love."

I hadn't believed her then. I'd thought our love was real, that time would prove her wrong.

But after marriage, the truth became impossible to ignore.

I realized I had no place in his heart. Every room in our house held photos of him and Emma from their past. Every story he told somehow included her name.

I was just an intruder in their love story. A placeholder until Emma could return to her rightful place.

Taking off his gloves, his colleague rubbed his furrowed brow: "Victim appears to be around 25 years old. Preliminary cause of death is throat cutting. Shows signs of prolonged torture before death."

"The method is extremely cruel. This will cause public outrage. We need to solve this before it explodes in the media." Mark lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag, seemingly troubled.

Even in death, I was causing him problems.

The forensic expert warned: "The killer's still out there. Tell your loved ones to be careful. Don't let Emma go out alone at night."

Mark irritably replied: "Emma always listens to me. It's my wife, Alice, I can't control."

The forensic expert was an old friend and knew their situation well.

Mark absently rubbed his stomach.

The forensic expert noticed Mark wincing. "Your stomach acting up again?"

Mark waved it off. "It's fine. Alice bought me some medicine and kept it at home."

He trailed off, suddenly silent.

His supposedly defiant wife had always cared deeply about his health.

The expert patted Mark's back: "Be kinder to your wife. She's the one who chose to marry you."

Mark shook his head: "The other day, Emma was diagnosed with kidney failure. Alice even refused to donate a kidney to Emma, making up lies about being two months pregnant."

The expert hesitated. "Mark... maybe she really is pregnant?"

"Impossible!" Mark snapped. "I haven't touched her in over two months."

"But remember that night two months ago? When you got completely drunk at the bar..."

Mark cut him off. "Emma stayed with me that night. She told me Alice never showed up."

My soul ached hearing those words.

The person who had stayed by your side that night was me.

I had held your hand while you were sick.

I had wiped your face with a cool towel.

I had watched over you until dawn broke.

But Emma had twisted everything, convincing you I'd abandoned you that night.

"She hasn't been home for days. Who knows what trouble she's getting into. I should never have married her." Mark continued.

Hearing Mark's accusations and complaints about me, my heart turned to ice.

Mark, it's not that I didn't want to come home.

I just... can't come home anymore.

Your defiant wife died the day you chose to accompany Emma to her treatment.

My body lies right before your eyes, carrying the child you refuse to believe existed.

2

After the briefing at the police station, the officers' faces grew grave as they listened to the autopsy report.

"The victim suffered extensive torture before death," the medical examiner explained, clicking through graphic photos on the screen. "Multiple broken bones, systematic abuse."

Due to the horrific state of my body, facial recognition was impossible.

The abandoned building wasn't the primary crime scene, which significantly complicated the investigation.

Mark stood at the front of the room, his jaw clenched tight.

"Canvas the entire area," he ordered his team. "Check every security camera within a five-mile radius. Someone must have seen something."

"Please perform another detailed autopsy," Mark told his colleague. "Check for any new findings, and rush the DNA analysis to the lab. I want to know who she is."

With those instructions, he hurried out with his team.

My husband showed more concern for this anonymous corpse than he ever had for me.

I remembered last month, when I had given him my father's necklace - the only thing I had left of my family.

"It protected my father for thirty years," I had told Mark, clasping it around his neck. "Now it will protect you too."

He had actually smiled then, one of his rare genuine smiles. For a moment, I thought I had finally reached his heart.

But then Emma visited the next day.

"Oh, that old thing?" she had sneered, fingering the pendant. "It looks so cheap, Mark. You deserve better."

Before I could stop her, she had unclasped it and tossed it in the kitchen trash can.

I slapped her. Hard. The crack of palm against cheek was loud in our kitchen.

Mark's reaction was instant and violent. He grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back.

"You dare touch Emma?" he had snarled, his face contorted with rage. "You should be grateful she even speaks to you, you worthless bitch!"

He dragged me to the basement, threw me down the stairs, and locked the door.

For two days, I sat in the dark. No food. No water. Just the sound of Emma's laughter floating down from above.

Now, as he examined my body with gentle hands, he noted softly, "Such a tragic death. Her husband must be heartbroken."

I couldn't help but smile bitterly. My husband would probably celebrate my death, or perhaps only pretend to mourn for appearances.

Mark's gloved hands traced the long scar on my back. Twenty-three inches of raised tissue, running from shoulder to hip.

That scar - I got it saving his life in a car accident two years ago.

We were driving home from a dinner party when a truck ran a red light. I had seen it coming before he did.

I didn't think. I just acted. Unbuckled my seatbelt, pushed him out of the driver's side door, took the impact myself.

But after I recovered, he could barely look at me during sex, saying the scar disgusted him. "Can't you wear a shirt?" he would snap. "I don't want to see that thing."

Could he recognize me now, through this scar that he despised so much?

I held my breath, watching his face intently.

But he simply muttered, "Old injury. Not related to the murder."

His voice was clinical, detached. Just another detail in his case file.

Suddenly, his assistant called out, "Detective, there's paper in the victim's stomach!"

Mark's eyes widened as he took it. "Too degraded by stomach acid. Send it to forensics for analysis."

Just then, a phone rang - Emma's special ringtone.

Mark stripped off his gloves and rushed to the hallway, his voice instantly softening.

"Emma? What's wrong, sweetheart? I'm at work."

"Tomorrow's treatment? Of course I'll be there."

Emma's sweet voice carried through the phone: "I know you're busy with this case. It's okay if you can't make it. And please don't force Alice about the kidney donation. I understand if she doesn't want to help."

"I'd never choose a case over you," Mark answered tenderly. "And don't worry about Alice. I'll tie her down and drag her to the hospital myself if I have to. She doesn't get to choose whether to save your life."

"You're too kind," Emma's voice dripped with false concern. "I heard she's claiming to be pregnant? Poor thing must be desperate for attention."

"Alice isn't pregnant," Mark spat. "She's just trying to avoid helping you. But I won't let her get away with it."

Emma sighed softly. "Still, be careful, okay? The killer's still out there. I worry about everyone's safety."

"Just worry about yourself, sweetheart. I don't care what happens to Alice as long as she doesn't die before giving you that kidney."

His casual cruelty twisted my ghostly heart.

They discussed my fate so callously, never knowing my corpse lay just feet away. Never realizing that the kidney Emma needed so desperately was now too destroyed to save her.

My death was orchestrated by Emma, but my husband's blindness made it possible.

If only he knew the truth - that his precious Emma had arranged my murder, and he was examining his own wife's body.

But even if he knew, would he care? Or would he just be angry that Emma could no longer get my kidney?

3

After sweetly assuring Emma he'd be there tomorrow, Mark received another call - this time from Sarah, my best friend.

"Mark, have you been able to reach Alice? She has an ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow morning," Sarah's worried voice came through the phone.

Sarah was the only one who had stood by me after I married Mark. She had been his friend first, but she saw through his facade.

The only warmth I'd felt in my marriage came from Sarah's friendship.

Mark paused for a moment, then sneered, "Ultrasound? What ultrasound?"

Sarah's voice turned incredulous. "The pregnancy checkup. It's been scheduled for weeks. Don't tell me you forgot..."

"I've been trying to call her for days," Sarah continued. "She's not answering my calls, and she hasn't replied to any of my messages. I'm getting worried."

Mark paused for a moment, then sneered, "Worried? About what? Another one of her lies?"

Sarah's voice turned incredulous. "She's your wife, Mark. She could be pregnant with your child. Don't you care at all?"

Mark angrily cut her off. "Sarah, you were my friend first. Don't let Alice fool you with her lies. She's just making up this pregnancy to avoid helping Emma. She's always been selfish and manipulative."

I heard Sarah sigh heavily through the phone. "Mark, I've known you for ten years. You've changed. The Mark I knew would never treat his wife like this."

"Tell Alice she has one last chance," Mark's voice turned cold. "If she doesn't agree to donate her kidney to Emma, I'm filing for divorce. I won't let her selfishness kill the woman I love."

The woman he loved. Not me. Never me.

Mark hung up before Sarah could respond, his face twisted with anger.

His colleague approached him cautiously. "Any news about your wife? I heard she hasn't been answering calls for days."

Mark scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Probably hiding somewhere, trying to make me feel guilty. She's good at playing victim."

The older detective shook his head sadly. "I was at your wedding, Mark. You were so happy then. What happened to you two?"

I couldn't help but remember that first dinner after our wedding, when he took me to meet Emma.

I had worn my best dress, nervous about meeting Mark's old friend. I didn't know then that she was his first love.

The restaurant was expensive, all crystal and candlelight. Emma sat there like a queen, perfect in her designer dress.

Her eyes had swept over me, lips curving in a mock-innocent smile. "Mark, darling, who is this... aunt?"

I was only twenty-three, five years younger than her. But she made me feel ancient and shabby.

Mark's face darkened instantly.

I could see the embarrassment and anger in his eyes - not at Emma's cruelty, but at me for embarrassing him in front of his precious first love.

"Alice," he hissed through clenched teeth, "go home and change. You look like you're going to a market, not a fine dining restaurant."

My cheeks burned with shame. The dress had cost me a month's salary, but next to Emma's elegant outfit, it might as well have been a potato sack.

"I... I'm sorry," I whispered, fighting back tears.

"Just go," he snapped, not even looking at me. "Emma and I will order first. Try to come back looking presentable."

That was the first crack in my perfect marriage.

"Sir," a young officer approached with case records. "I've checked the reports - no missing persons filed in the last few days."

"A missing wife and the family didn't even notice?" another officer wondered aloud. "What kind of relationship did they have?"

"What kind of husband doesn't care when his wife disappears?" Mark muttered.

Their words wrapped around my ghost like chains, heavy with truth.

Mark would worry about a stranger's corpse but never spared a thought for his missing wife.

When Emma had first returned to town, he had dropped everything to help her settle in.

But now he suspected my disappearance was just another trick to get his attention.

Perhaps I should never have married him.

This was Emma's place in his heart, not mine.

The love that should have been mine had already been given to her years ago.

Mark handed the degraded paper from my stomach to the forensics team.

His colleague hesitated before speaking. "Do you think... do you think something might have really happened to Alice? Maybe I should look into it..."

"Oh, come on," Mark interrupted. "You know how she is. She's probably just hiding, waiting for me to come begging. She'll call tomorrow, crying and apologizing like always."

What he didn't know was that there would be no call tomorrow.

No more apologies.

No more begging for the love I'd never had.

My corpse lay on their table, and still, he couldn't see me.

I was just a replacement, a stand-in for the woman Mark had always loved.

And now, like a prop no longer needed, I had been discarded.

The only difference was that this time, the disposal was permanent.

4

The last time I disappeared, it was during the camping trip with Mark's friends.

Emma had suggested we pick wild berries together, just us girls. "Let's bond," she'd said with that sweet smile of hers.

When we were alone deep in the woods, far from the others, she suddenly pushed me toward the river.

I couldn't swim. She knew that. Mark had mentioned it at dinner once, and I'd seen the gleam in her eyes.

The water was freezing. Dark. I thrashed desperately, my lungs burning.

Somehow, I managed to drag myself to shore, my ankle twisted in the struggle.

I limped back to the campsite, soaking wet and shivering, only to find everyone gone.

They'd packed up and left without me.

When I finally made it home hours later, Mark was waiting with rage in his eyes.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Emma said you stormed off alone. Always causing trouble, always making scenes!"

I couldn't defend myself. Could only watch Emma's secret, triumphant smile.

Sarah helped me treat my injured ankle later that night, her gentle hands a stark contrast to Mark's harsh words.

"He does love you," she said softly, applying ointment to my bruises. "He just... he's blind when it comes to Emma."

But I knew better. Next to clever, beautiful Emma, I would never have Mark's concern.

The scales of love always tipped toward the one he truly cared for.

And that person would never be me.

If I were still alive, I'd be making his favorite stomach medicine soup, delivering it to the police station during his long shifts.

But this time, I couldn't appear with apologies as he expected.

After all, I was just a corpse now.

The forensics results came back quickly. The paper in my stomach was a registration form.

The killer had forced it down my throat with contempt: "Cooking classes for your husband? He'll probably just eat Emma's cooking anyway."

"What is this place?" Mark frowned at the address.

The forensic expert checked his notes. "It's a culinary school, specializing in therapeutic cooking and dietary health."

When Mark and the other officers visited the school, the instructor was startled by their badges.

She examined the damaged form, checking the registration number against her records.

"A young woman registered a few days ago," she explained. "Said her husband had chronic stomach problems. She wanted to learn to cook better for him, help him heal."

"But she never showed up for class. Didn't answer our confirmation calls either."

The instructor pulled out a course syllabus. "She signed up for our 'Healing Kitchen' program. It focuses on digestive health and stomach care."

Mark took the syllabus, a strange expression crossing his face. "Do you have security footage from that day?"

The instructor nodded. "Sweet girl. Spent ages asking questions about acid reflux and gastritis treatments. Made quite an impression."

But when the footage played, everyone in the room fell silent.

Mark swallowed hard, staring at the screen. "That... that looks like Alice."

The instructor brightened. "Yes, Alice! That was her name on the form."