Damari Ross dashed back a little after five in the afternoon. His hair was tousled, as if a gale had ripped through it, leaving it in wild disarray. The cold evening air clung to his shoulders like a shroud. Almost instinctively, he reached for a pack of cigarettes, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

My phone kept buzzing relentlessly on the marble table, vibrating with an insistent hum before going silent again. This happened multiple times, wearing thin his already frayed patience. Downstairs, Damari ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, his slender fingers restlessly swiping across the screen.

"Harlee, what kind of game are you playing? Be down here in five minutes."

The phone screen flashed on and then went dark again, lying still on the tabletop. I won't respond.

"If you don't come down, then don’t bother coming back at all."

I'll never come back. Damari stood there, eyes lowered, his fingers curling unconsciously. He was still waiting for me to come down.

But I would never go down.

Aileen Richards, the elderly neighbor, called out to him: "Damari, you're back."

Her voice crackled like an old radio, drawing out her words: "Quickly, you should go take a look, yeah~"

An indescribable regret lingered on her face.

In an instant, Damari's hand, which held the phone, dropped to his side.

"Based on the surveillance footage, it appears Miss Gilbert's death was a suicide."

Detective Kennedy sat with his hands clasped on the table, a serious expression on his face. "If everything looks right, Mr. Ross, please sign here."

A thick stack of reports detailing the incident lay before Damari Ross. The stark, monochrome text declared my death.

Damari barely glanced at the document, sitting in silence.

Detective Kennedy, sensing this might take some time, swallowed and continued, "Mr. Ross, if there are no issues, please sign. We will proceed to transfer Miss Gilbert to the mortuary."

Damari remained in his own world, disconnected from everything around him.

Just as Detective Kennedy braced himself for a long wait, Damari suddenly spoke, "Did she suffer?"

"Uh, well..."

Detective Kennedy was momentarily taken aback, not expecting Damari to break his silence with such a question.

But before he could respond, Damari let out a faint, bitter laugh, as if realizing the absurdity of his question.

His pale lips moved slightly, "Sorry, forget I asked."

Then, with a decisive gesture, he signed his name on the document, pressing the pen heavily enough that it seemed it might bleed through to the next page.

"Please follow me," Detective Kennedy said, opening the door.

Damari stood up, his long legs striding forward, resuming his role as the unflappable businessman.

In the narrow corridor, Detective Kennedy spoke cautiously, "Mr. Ross, I need to prepare you. Your wife, Miss Gilbert's body, is not in the best condition."

He lowered his voice, "She fell from a great height and there was an impact."

He paused, "You need to be ready for that."

Damari's only response was a quiet "hmm," without any further reaction.

Detective Kennedy glanced at Damari, sighing quietly, sensing he'd done all he could.

Once we arrived, they followed procedure and brought "me" out.

Damari gave a brief, detached glance before efficiently assisting the police in transferring my body to the mortuary.

Throughout, Detective Kennedy couldn't help but watch Damari.

After all, during his time on the scene, the sight had left him feeling incredibly nauseous.

My body was battered from the fall, limbs broken and lifelessly splayed out.

My head was misshapen, thick blood covered my face, soaking into my hair.

I was no longer recognizable as a person.

The fear of death is ingrained in human nature, and few could remain as composed as Damari when faced with a corpse.

When everything was settled, Damari stood in the shadows, hands in his pockets. "Can I leave now?"

Detective Kennedy nodded, stunned. Damari left without a backward glance.

It was as if I, Harlee Gilbert, meant nothing to him.

Damari didn't go back to Nora's place; instead, he came home to us.

When Nora called, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice smooth and calming, "Nora, I'm alright. There's no need for you to come over."

From what I could gather, she was likely offering some comforting words, to which Damari occasionally replied with an "Mm-hmm" to reassure her.

As the conversation went on, Damari's voice grew sharper, tinged with annoyance: "Nora, Harlee's decision to jump was her own choice. She brought it on herself. It's not your fault."

His eyes turned a shade darker. "Even if there's payback, let it come for me."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before he realized he might have been too harsh. He softened his tone, "Nora, get some rest. Don't make me worry."

The room was silent, and Damari lay back on the Victorian-style couch, eyes closed, as still and silent as a statue.

He stayed like that for so long that I almost thought he had drifted off to sleep.

Then suddenly, I heard a quiet, sarcastic whisper: "Idiot..."

Idiot?

Indeed, an idiot.

How foolish it was, after ten years of being in love, to find out that Damari had fallen for someone else.

How foolish it was to expose his deceitful lies and still stubbornly go through with marrying him.