Chapter 1

When we hit rock bottom, Mark Winters sold his own blood so I could keep studying.

For the next ten years, he worked from dawn till dusk and earned only one thousand dollars a month, but he gave every single cent to me.

My friends always said jokingly, "Nora, you've lucked out. Mark is so hopelessly in love with you."

I smiled, slipped the terminal cancer report out of sight, and gave Mark every bit of love I had left.

Out of nowhere, a bus crash sent me sprawling in a pool of my own blood.

As my vision blurred, I saw Mark stroll past with his spoiled mistress, both of them dripping with luxury.

"One thousand dollars a month? Does she have any clue you rake in one hundred million dollars every month?" the mistress scoffed.

Mark took a lazy drag on his cigarette and said, "She's nothing like you. If she ever figures out who I am, she will never let me go."

Later, Mark received the only thing I left behind, a notebook that recorded how every single dollar of that one thousand dollars had been spent.

The doctor patted his shoulder and said with a sigh, "If she'd had enough money, she might've lived to see another spring."

At that moment, Mark's eyes turned blood-red as he collapsed before my tombstone.

*****

I remembered the last thing I saw before my mind faded.

A runaway truck swerved across the line, crashing straight at me.

I died a brutal death, with a gaping hole torn through my forehead.

When I finally felt the pain, my soul was already drifting above.

When I saw Mark again in that ghostly limbo, for a second, I wondered if I was still dreaming.

I crept along the wall, gliding by like a shadow.

The moment my arm brushed across Mark's eyes, it melted away and vanished into mist.

Mark's eyelids creased faintly.

I was right there, inches away from him.

But he would never lift my fingers away the way he used to.

He'd never quip at me in that mock-surprised, teasing tone.

"What else can I say?" Mark chuckled, "Who else could be as childish as you, Nora?"

He couldn't see me anymore—not now, not ever.

Right along with the realization that I was dead, that fact crashed into me too.

And there was Mark, clad in a custom-tailored suit that looked like it cost a fortune.

I rubbed my eyes, my thoughts sluggish, trying to piece things together.

This morning, I was the one who sent Mark off.

He wore that blue plaid shirt I had carefully ironed for him.

And that new jacket I managed to buy for him came from the little I had spared from my own living expenses.

Sometimes, I'd catch myself thinking Mark looked way too scruffy for a man in his thirties.

But every time I checked my pockets, all I had was barely eight dollars in loose change.

That custom wool suit looked good on him.

With that cold face, he looked made for suits like these.

I couldn't drag my gaze away, scared he'd disappear if I blinked.

I admired the flawless Windsor knot sitting at his throat and those elegant fingers casually draped over his watch.

Then, I saw a woman flutter into his arms, light as a butterfly.

I hugged myself, stunned, as a sharp pain stabbed through my chest.

I tried telling myself maybe this was some new part-time job Mark picked up.

But the way he looked at her made it clear that his affection was genuine and impossible to hide.

"You're two minutes late," Mark said.

Clinging to his arm, the woman pouted, "Why do you always have to be so tough on me? I ran out to buy you that bread."

It only took thirteen minutes after I died for me to catch Mark hooking up with another woman.