He Dissected My Corpse, Not My Secret

Synopsis

As I was pushed off the rooftop by my fiancé's crazy admirer, there was only one thought in my mind. 'Don't hurt my belly.' Jonathan and I had a baby, just three months old, and I was planning to surprise him with the news tomorrow, on our wedding anniversary. But in the end, I still died, taking our baby with me. My soul hovered above, watching as the white sheet was drawn beneath the police tape, and then I saw Jonathan in his black trench coat, cutting through the crowd toward me. His face was icy and unreadable as he brushed past the officers blocking his way, saying nothing—just staring at my body, now hidden under that sheet. Everyone expected him to fall apart. But instead, he just said calmly to his colleague, "The victim is my wife. To keep things fair and avoid any suspicion, I'll handle the autopsy myself." Then he turned away, leaving me with nothing but the cold, unyielding line of his back. The world's top forensic expert was about to perform an autopsy on his own wife, all to show the world his "absolute impartiality." What a sensational story. I watched as he entered the autopsy room, changed into a white surgical gown, put on his mask and gloves, and picked up the scalpel—the very blade that had revealed the truth for so many victims. Then, step by step, he walked toward me, lying there on the cold mortuary slab. The icy gleam of the scalpel flashed in his eyes—the same eyes that had once gazed at me with such tenderness. Now, all that remained was pure, unfeeling logic.