I stepped out of the car to buy my daughter the ice cream she loved most.

But when I came back, the little girl in the back seat was gone.

For the next four years, I searched for her like a woman possessed. Ninety-nine times.

My mother-in-law cursed me, hated me. My own mother cried until she went blind.

And Bruno Gilbert looked at me with nothing but disgust. "If you can't find her, you'll never know a moment's peace for the rest of your life."

The hundredth search failed too. Something inside me turned to ash, and I swallowed poison.

As I slipped toward the end, I heard Bruno's voice, and the voice of the poor college girl he'd been bankrolling.

"Bruno, it's been four years. When are you going to tell Ruth Stephens that Rosie Abbott's been with you in Harborisle the whole time?"

Bruno's voice was cold as frost. "There's no rush. The day she threw her family name in my face and tried to force you out of school, the day she waved that divorce paper at me, she should have known the price."

"Until I've snapped that proud spine of hers clean through, I won't stop."

A tear slid down my cheek, and my soul drifted free, light as smoke.

Bruno. You finally got everything you wanted.

——

To stay close to whatever trace of Rosie still lingered, I had chosen to die in the room that had once been hers.

The private elevator gave a soft chime, and Bruno walked in trailing a wave of cold air.

He yanked his tie loose and swept his eyes over the vast, silent foyer.

"Ruth still isn't back? She probably swallowed some con artist's lie again. God knows what filthy backwater gutter she's gotten herself killed in this time."

Irma Finch hung off his arm like a boneless vine, laughing so hard her whole body trembled.

"How many times is that now? I've never seen a so-called high-and-mighty heiress turn out this stupid. She believes every word anyone tells her."

"Bruno, remember last time? She heard there was news about Rosie and ran off alone into the worst part of the underground black market. She nearly didn't make it out alive..."

"By the time the bodyguards found her, her clothes were half torn off and she was waving a shard of glass around like a lunatic. Who knows what those filthy men down there did to her..."

Bruno's eyes went glacial in an instant, and he shoved her away.

Irma read the room and bit off the rest, then slithered right back, looping her arms around his neck, her breath soft and sweet against him.

"Bruno, it's been so long since you came to me... I've missed you so much."

He pressed her down onto the sofa, a cruel, mocking curve pulling at his lips.

"You little minx. You really do know how to please a man better than she ever did. And you're not half so full of yourself."

"Back then, if she'd just been a little softer, a little more gracious, the title of Mrs. Gilbert was hers for the keeping.

"But no, she had to throw her fortune around, force you out of school, slam that divorce agreement in my face and dare me. Until I break that wicked pride of hers completely, what face does the Gilbert family have left?"

The sharp rip of tearing fabric cut through the quiet living room.

Expensive suit, shirt, and a long dress shredded to pieces and scattered across the floor.

In this very room, where he and I had spent our days and nights together, the two of them tangled into each other without a shred of shame.

My soul hovered in the air.

I had thought that once I was dead I would feel nothing at all. But the spot over my heart ached as though a piece had been gouged out of it, raw and alive.

Once, this man had knelt before me too, clutching my wrist and refusing to let go, his usually indifferent eyes holding back tears.

"Ruth, don't go! I was just drunk, I mistook her for a stand-in for you. I've already thrown her out. Believe me this one time. Don't talk about divorce!"

Back then I had made up my mind to leave, so right in front of me, he smashed the heirloom jade toad his family had passed down for generations, then snatched up a shard and drove it into his own throat.

The motion was fast, savage, without an ounce of regret.

I didn't even have time to stop him. I lunged forward to press down on the wound, but the blood only kept pouring, more and more.

I cried and screamed until my voice cracked, until all I had left were broken sobs.

Bruno Gilbert had clung to consciousness by sheer will.

Then that calloused hand of his had brushed against my cheek. "If I die, let it be my way of atoning. All I want is for you to forgive me, and to take Rosie and live a good life."

Of course Bruno didn't die. And I softened. I struggled and agonized for months, and in the end I chose to forgive him.

But never once did I imagine that what I'd get in return was being toyed with like a fool for four whole years.

The sound of the two of them carried on late into the night.

Bruno lit a cigarette, brow furrowed as he stared at the shut front door.

"Where the hell did she go? It's this late and she can't even call to say she's safe."

Irritated, he reached for his phone and dialed my number.

In the dead silence, a shrill ringtone suddenly cut through the air, coming from the locked nursery next door.

The hand holding his cigarette froze in midair.

A flicker of glee shot through Irma Finch's eyes before she arranged her face into worry. "Bruno, why is Ruth in there? Those things we just said... do you think she heard all of it?"

Face dark, Bruno buttoned his shirt, pushed her aside, and strode toward that closed door.

My spirit drifted behind him, watching his palm clamp down on the handle, his knuckles whitening from the force.

He hesitated a few seconds. Then, click.

The door swung open.

I lay there, body rigid, curled under the blanket with my back to him.

Bruno stared at my back and tugged the corner of his mouth into something almost self-mocking.

"Ruth Stephens, since you've already heard it, there's no point hiding anything from you. Yes, I sent Rosie to Harborisle. But you brought this on yourself. Who told you to throw your family's weight around and force Irma to drop out of school back then? And then threaten me with divorce?"

His voice was ice-cold, carrying the certainty of a man handing down charity. "As long as you drop that high-and-mighty act of yours from now on, the position of Mrs. Gilbert is still yours, and no one else's."

The air went terrifyingly still.

When Bruno had waited a long moment and heard nothing, his expression turned vicious. "Giving me the silent treatment? Fine. Let's see how long you can keep it up."

He slammed the door and stormed off in a fury.

I gazed helplessly at his enraged back, wanting to call out for him to stop.

No matter how much he loathed me, we were still husband and wife, weren't we? Cremate me soon, so I could go find Rosie, instead of being chained here beside my own corpse.

But what I couldn't manage in life, how could I possibly do in death?

What I never expected was that, after only ten minutes, he came back.

In his hand he dragged a small, stumbling figure.

It was Rosie!

The daughter I had ached for, day and night, for four years!

"Didn't you go mad for four years trying to find her? I brought her back from Harborisle ages ago. Are you satisfied now?"

Bruno gave a cold laugh and tossed the crying child toward the corner of the bed, then swept out with Irma at his side.

Animal!

How could he lock a sobbing child in with a corpse?

Rosie pounded on the door until her little palms went swollen, and still it never opened.

The room was very dark, and she was frightened of the shape rising under the blanket on the bed, too scared to make another sound.

So she huddled in the corner, buried her face against her shoulder, and shivered now and then.

I knelt before her in despair, desperate to wrap her in my arms. "Rosie, don't be scared, Mommy's here. Even as a ghost, Mommy would never hurt you..."

But again and again my spirit passed straight through her tiny body.

Cried out and exhausted, Rosie finally fell into a deep sleep beside the corpse.

When morning came, Rosie sat up, rubbing her swollen red eyes, and looked timidly at me lying on the bed, my face mottled blue.

A long while passed before she seemed unable to hold it in any longer, and spoke in a small voice. "Lady, can you wake up? I'm so hungry..."

The figure on the bed still hadn't moved.

Rosie's head drooped, crestfallen.

Then her eyes lit up, and she snatched up the pill bottle from the floor, the one I'd emptied into myself.

"Wow, pretty candy!"

Two stray pills still rolled in the bottom of the bottle. Pure poison.

Rosie popped them toward her mouth, delighted. "Sorry, lady, I'll only eat two. I'm just really, really hungry."

"No!"

The scream tore out of me, shrill and useless. I couldn't stop her. I couldn't touch anything.

That was the moment the door burst open with a crash.

Bruno Gilbert had come to see whether I'd finally caved. Instead he walked straight into this.

He ripped the bottle from her hand, read the label, and the color drained from his face. In an instant he had her cheeks pinned between his fingers, digging into her mouth. "Spit it out! Spit it out right now, you idiot child!"

Rosie wailed, terrified. "Daddy, don't hit me, I won't do it again, I promise…"

Only when he was sure she hadn't swallowed did he let go, white to the lips.

He turned toward me on the bed, worn down and bitterly disappointed.

Irma Finch had followed him in. One glance, and she gasped. "Ruth, no matter how much you hate us, how could you poison your own daughter? She's just a baby. You were going to kill her!"

Bruno wrenched his face away, unwilling to look at me a second longer.

One more step and he could have touched my cold, stiffened skin, caught the faint smell of death already thickening the air.

But he only scooped Rosie up, turned on his heel, and walked out.

Irma trailed after him, easy as anything.

Bruno drove to the most expensive restaurant in the city and ordered a whole table of lavish handmade brunch.

Rosie dug in, eating happily.

He couldn't settle.

The tea Irma poured for him sat pushed to one side. He lit one cigarette, then another.

Restless, he swiped his phone open. The last message between us still sat there, two days old.

My wife had her pride, deep in the bone, but she had never once gone dark this long.

Something inside him snapped taut and broke. A cold sweat broke out across his back.

"No… something's wrong with her!"

The blood left his face as he shoved his chair back. He didn't even spare a glance for the startled child. He bolted for the parking lot like a man who'd lost control of himself.

His hand was on the car door when Irma caught the hem of his jacket, breathless.

"Bruno, don't panic. The truth is, late last night I caught Ruth up rummaging through the fridge. I went over, meaning well, just to ask after her. She wouldn't even answer me. She shoved me, hard, and told me to mind my own business…"

Then she let go, deflated, and pressed her lips together. "Bruno… do you think Ruth still hasn't forgiven us?"

His step toward the car froze mid-motion.

He let out a quiet breath and turned around, the fury in his chest curdling into a sneer. "I knew it. So she's using a hunger strike for cover. She'd even gamble Rosie's life to play the martyr. How clever of her."

Cold-laughing, Bruno went back into the private room and set aside, for now, any thought of going home.

My soul drifted back to that empty mansion.

Before long, footsteps came stumbling and lurching through the front hall.

It was my mother.

Four years of helping me search for Rosie, like hunting a needle in the ocean, had cried her eyes nearly blind.

"Ruth, where are you? Mom brought you some rib soup…"

She felt her way to the nursery and pushed the door open.

When those trembling hands finally found my long-cold, stiffened cheek, a single scream of pure despair ripped through the dead silence.

Watching my mother clutch my corpse, sobbing as if her own breath would give out, my spirit body actually felt the pain of it.

Hours later, she wiped her eyes dry.

To keep my body from being defiled by Bruno's touch one more time, she steeled herself, hired a professional funeral team, and quietly carried me away.