38 Proposals Later, He Became My Brother-in-Law

Synopsis

The flatline tore through my ears. Through the ICU glass, I heard my husband negotiate with the attending physician. "Brain death confirmed?" Charles Rivers's voice was scalpel-cold. "The estate notarization requires a death certificate. Hurry it up." I floated in the ceiling corner, staring down at my corpse: I was twenty-eight, killed in a car accident, brain dead on impact, with the left side of my face shredded by windshield glass. The doctor said, "Mr. Rivers, standard protocol requires seventy-two hours of observation—" Charles cut him off. "I'll pay you more." I laughed, realizing that even souls could feel heartbreak. Three days ago, this same man had gotten down on one knee to propose to me on a Ferris wheel, presenting a pink diamond ring—fat as a pigeon's egg—in its box. That was the thirty-seventh time he'd proposed to me. From our university days to now, Charles had proposed thirty-seven times, and I'd turned him down thirty-six times. I finally said yes not out of emotion, but because I'd been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect and had at most three months to live without a donor. I wanted to die as his wife. But on our wedding day, I walked in on him in bed with my twin sister, Isabelle Shaw. I fled in a panic, driving too fast, and ended up in a car accident.