It wasn't until I rushed toward death that the truth finally pierced the veil.

Mandy's disappearance wasn't my fault.

It was her. Bonnie. To protect Brandon, to rekindle their old flame, she'd abused her badge to spin a monstrous lie.

Mandy wasn't lost. She was hidden.

And I wasn't the villain. I was just Brandon's scapegoat.

My spectral heart seized—a phantom agony sharper than the icy water that had claimed me. Grief threatened to dissolve what little remained of my soul.

Oblivious to my anguish, Bonnie sat with Brandon. They weren't just chatting; they were weaving a future together from threads of their shared past. They spoke of the sweetness of their youth, the passion they'd once shared. Brandon's smile grew brighter, radiant and triumphant.

Just as they leaned into that shared fantasy, a phone shattered the moment.

Mrs. Henson's shrill voice pierced the air, dripping with loathing.

"Where is Justin? Where is that coward hiding?" she demanded. "Today is the anniversary of Mandy's death. As a father, he not only killed his own daughter, but he can't even be bothered to handle her funeral rites? Bonnie, tell me—you're so brilliant, so capable. How did you end up shackled to a waste like him?"

That familiar tirade stirred memories I thought I'd left behind.

Years ago, Brandon had abandoned Bonnie—a girl from a humble background—to chase his dreams abroad. She'd been devastated. Spiraled. Surrendered her guaranteed university admission, her one ticket out of poverty.

To pull her from that abyss, I did everything. Begged my parents to pull strings, to pave her way. Back then, Mrs. Henson called me the family's "lucky star," the son-in-law she'd prayed for.

But as Bonnie's talent surfaced and her career skyrocketed, the dynamic shifted. Mrs. Henson's adoration curdled. Once Mandy went missing, that simmering resentment boiled over into open hatred. Every encounter ended in vicious insults or physical blows.

For years, Bonnie played the mediator. I used to think it was because she loved me. Now I realized it was nothing more than guilt—a payment on a debt she could never clear.

The barrage of accusations made Bonnie rub her temples. She glanced toward the hidden room where Mandy lay, her hand instinctively tightening around Brandon's.

"Mom, Mandy is just missing. Don't speak of her as if she's dead," she said, voice strained. "And you can't pin everything on Justin. He... he hasn't had it easy these past few years. Go easy on him."

Witnessing her half-hearted defense, a bitter smile twisted my lips.

Even now.

Bonnie would rather let the world believe our daughter was dead than expose her lover. She would rather let her husband rot under infamy than hand Brandon over to justice.

The bond of a first love ran deep indeed. Her protection of him was absolute, bordering on pathological.

I tried to look away, but the invisible tether of the afterlife dragged me in her wake.

The night deepened. My body was drifting down the dark currents of the river, cold and alone. Yet here, Bonnie noticed nothing amiss. Her world had narrowed to one man.

Worried the night wind might chill him, she ushered him inside.

This was the same Bonnie who would give me the cold shoulder for days if I spoke out of turn. Yet tonight, she knelt before him. Removed his shoes. Took his bag. Prepared a warm foot bath with her own hands.

A level of tenderness I had never received. Not once in my life.

Not even in my death.

They say loving someone is like tending to a garden. Watching them now, I realized how true that was.

Years ago, Brandon Pruitt had been deported, returning in disgrace. He came to Bonnie like a wounded animal, begging for a place to stay. I tried to stop it. Bonnie respected my wishes at the time.

I never expected Brandon to hold such a deep grudge over my hesitation. I never expected him to abduct my daughter in retaliation.

And I certainly never expected Bonnie to help him cover it up.

Looking back, I had sacrificed everything to find Mandy. My job. My family's financial security. Every cent went to search teams and missing person flyers. I mortgaged my parents' home and sold off every asset to my name.

Bonnie knew the truth. She watched me drown in debt and agony.

Yet while I was on my knees begging for help, she used our joint savings to buy this villa for Brandon. She brought Mandy here, living openly with her first love in a twisted domestic fantasy.

I looked around the room. The decor was exquisite, the furnishings meticulous. Every cushion, every vase, every painting—hand-picked by Bonnie.

The woman who procrastinated for days before washing a single bowl at our house had poured her soul into this place. She moved mountains for Brandon. I couldn't even get her to look at me.

The difference between obligation and obsession was painful to witness.

I forced down the bile rising in my throat, willing the ghostly tears to stay unshed. Then Mandy looked up at Bonnie, her eyes wide and terrifyingly innocent.

"Mommy, when are you going to marry Uncle Brandon?" Her voice was sweet. "I want him to be my daddy."

The words were small, but they gutted me.

Bonnie froze. She didn't correct the child. She didn't rush to explain. Instead, she turned to Brandon, her expression softening into guilt.

"I'm sorry, Brandon," she murmured. "Being with me forces you to live in the shadows. You're such a good man, and I can't even give you the status you deserve."

Brandon leaned into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder in practiced vulnerability.

"Just being with you is enough for me, Bonnie." His voice was soft. "I don't mind suffering a little. I just..." He paused. "I worry that I've wronged our child."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over her lower abdomen.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this baby. How much I've looked forward to starting a real family."

A baby?

The revelation struck like a physical blow. Before Bonnie could respond, her phone shattered the moment.

Bonnie, usually the model of professional discipline, ignored it. The ringtone persisted, grating and urgent. She declined the call four, maybe five times, desperate to preserve the mood.

Finally, with no other choice, she answered, her tone sharp.

"What is it? I told you not to disturb me when I'm off duty."

Spencer Lawrence's voice came through tight with panic.

"Captain, it's bad. We found a male corpse downstream. Forensics puts time of death as tonight."

Bonnie frowned, her hand still covering Brandon's on her stomach.

"The higher-ups say the timing is sensitive," Spencer continued. "To prevent public panic, they need you at the scene immediately."

Bonnie looked at Brandon, then at the cozy living room she had built for him.

"I have a family emergency," she lied. "I can't go."

"Captain, this is a major homicide case!" Spencer's voice rose. "A human life is at stake!"

Bonnie didn't move. She was already formulating a stronger excuse, searching for a way to brush off her duty so she could stay here in her perfect lie.

Watching her, a bitter, hollow laugh escaped me.

Before I died, I had made one last struggle. Countless times, I had called her. I begged Bonnie to come home, to just sit with me for a moment. I begged her to help me look for Mandy one last time.

I begged her to just look at me.

And now, she wouldn't even come to look at my body.

Every call ended the same way: with the sharp click of a disconnected line.

Her last words to me echoed in the silence. "Justin Simmons, you created this mess; you fix it. Don't come crying to me, even if you're dying. Don't cause me any more trouble."

Well, she got her wish. I was dead.

The irony was suffocating. Even in death, I couldn't make her look back at me. Not once. Years of devotion, years of love... all of it amounted to nothing.

Now, as a drifting spirit, I was forced to watch. I watched her cling to Brandon, kissing him, reluctant to leave his side. I watched her walk away from him, glancing back three times before finally focusing on her duty.

Meanwhile, down on the damp riverbank, the object of everyone's attention lay exposed.

My corpse.

Bloated and hideous. A night in the churning water had distorted my features beyond recognition. The face that was once mine was now a swollen, gruesome mask.

Bonnie arrived at the scene. A frown creased her forehead, but she quickly shifted into professional mode.

"No foreign footprints," she stated, her voice clipped. "Preliminary assessment rules out homicide. The deceased has multiple hesitation wounds on the arms, consistent with self-harm."

She stood over me, analyzing the wreckage of my life with clinical detachment.

"All evidence points to suicide. We'll need the autopsy to confirm."

She paused, letting out a rare sigh. "It's almost New Year's. What could have driven him to end it all right now?"

Spencer shook his head. "Yeah. No family here to identify him, either. Poor guy. He looks young."

He glanced at Bonnie, his tone turning casual. "Captain, I noticed you drove in from the south side. Were you celebrating the holiday with your husband, or out having fun somewhere else?"

Bonnie froze.

Her gaze drifted toward the residential complex in the distance—toward our apartment. Amidst the sea of festive lights, our windows remained dark.

She opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. Instead, she shot Spencer a sharp look and returned to her work.

As she examined the corpse's hand, her eyes lingered on the wedding band for a fraction of a second.

But there was no spark of recognition. She didn't know it was me.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Bonnie was a busy woman. Busy with her career, busy covering Brandon's tracks. Why would she remember the details of a marriage I had forced upon her?

I was the one who begged to marry her. I bought the rings. I arranged everything in our home. The one who loves more is always the one who gets overlooked.

I had poured my entire soul into this family. In the end, I lost my daughter, I lost my wife, and now, my life.

I let out a silent sigh.

When I looked up, Brandon was standing by the police tape, waving.

The contrast was brutal. Whenever I brought meals to her office, she would scold me for disturbing her work, complaining that I was a nuisance. But now? She rushed over to him, her face lighting up with surprise.

She positioned herself carefully, blocking his view of the gruesome scene behind her, her eyes crinkling with a smile she never showed me.

"It's freezing out here," she murmured. "What are you doing here?"

Brandon smiled, reaching out to adjust her scarf. "It's late. I was worried about you. I made some sweet rice dumplings. Make sure you eat them when you're done."

Bonnie sighed, a sound of affectionate exasperation. "You really... You shouldn't have come. This place is filthy. I didn't want you to see anything that might scare you."

Filthy.

The word echoed in my mind.

She wasn't afraid of rumors. She wasn't afraid that her husband might find out about her affair.

Her only fear was that my bloated, rotting corpse might offend Brandon's delicate eyes.