Chapter 1
I didn't see Julian Sterling until the third day after my death, and even then, it was as a wandering soul. He still had no idea he had become a widower.
He had been working nonstop at the hospital for three days.
At last, a young nurse, Daisy Miller, rushed into his office, breathless and pale, holding up her phone with trembling hands.
"Dr. Sterling, they found a woman's body at Southside Apartments. It looks like it might be your wife."
Julian didn't even pause in the middle of writing his chart.
"Don't jump to conclusions."
Daisy's hand shook, and her phone slipped from her grip, hitting the floor with a sharp crack. A live broadcast was still playing on the screen.
"The deceased is named Clara Sinclair."
The pen in Julian's hand tore straight through the paper, and the ink spread into a harsh, jagged blot of black.
*****
I was dead.
My soul hovered in midair, looking down at the body that had already gone cold, lying in a pool of dark red paint and blood.
The intruder was a fugitive with a history of murder. After breaking into the place, he seemed to decide to kill me as well, a woman living alone.
My easel had been knocked over. The unfinished sunflowers on the canvas were now soaked in deep red.
Outside the window, the leaves of the plane trees drifted down one by one in the late autumn air.
The wind blew in, stirring the blood on the floor and spreading a metallic scent through the room.
On the balcony, the pot of sunflowers I had been raising was still in bloom. Their bright yellow petals faced the setting sun, as if mocking my death.
They had no way of knowing that the person who watered them every day would never come back.
The window was still open, and the late autumn wind slipped inside, making the hem of my dress sway gently on my lifeless body.
I wondered when Julian would realize I was missing.
We had argued a few days earlier.
He had said, "Clara, Seraphina just returned to the country, and her mental state is unstable. As her attending physician, I have to stay with her.
"If you keep making a fuss, then we should separate for a while and calm down."
Night fell.
No one came, and no calls came either.
I drifted out of the apartment and made my way to the VIP ward of the cardiothoracic surgery department at the City General Hospital.
Julian sat beside the hospital bed, a fruit knife in his hand as he peeled an apple.
His fingers were long and steady, the hands of someone used to holding a scalpel. The peel came off in one unbroken strip.
Seraphina Moore leaned against the headboard, her face pale but smiling.
"Julian, it's so late. If you don't go home, won't Clara get upset?"
Julian didn't stop what he was doing, and his tone stayed flat.
"Don't worry about her. That's just how she is. If I ignore her for a few days, she'll calm down."
My heart had already stopped, yet something still felt like a needle piercing it.
For the three days I had lain dead on that cold floor, my husband had spent all three days peeling apples for the woman he truly loved.
When he finished, he cut the apple into small pieces and fed them to Seraphina.
She ate happily, a bit of fruit clinging to the corner of her lips.
Without thinking, Julian took a tissue and gently wiped it away.
"Get some rest. You still have tests tomorrow."
Seraphina nodded obediently, though her eyes stayed fixed on him.
"Julian, will you stay with me? I'm scared."
Julian was quiet for a moment, then tucked the blanket around her.
"I'm your doctor. I'll take responsibility for you to the end."
When he stepped out of the room, Julian pressed his fingers to his brow, exhaustion finally showing.
As he passed the nurses' station, he happened to overhear two junior nurses whispering about the murder at Southside Apartments.
"I heard the woman died horribly; she was stabbed more than a dozen times."
Julian frowned and walked past them quickly, his expression openly annoyed.
To him, it was probably just pointless gossip.
My insubstantial soul followed behind him, watching the straight, composed figure that had once captivated me.
In the three years of our marriage, he had always been like this, distant and self-controlled, as if nothing in the world could truly affect him.
Even when the person who had "died so horribly" was his own wife.
Back in his office, the head nurse, Eleanor Rigby, was waiting with a file in her hands.
"Dr. Sterling, Ms. Sinclair missed her follow-up gastroscopy appointment last week, and we haven't been able to reach her by phone. How should we proceed?"
Julian paused abruptly in the middle of taking off his white coat.
Then he let out a cold laugh.
"Don't worry about her."
Eleanor hesitated. "But Ms. Sinclair's stomach condition is quite serious."
"She won't die." Julian hung his coat on the rack, irritation clear in his voice. "She's just trying to get attention this way. It's childish."
Eleanor fell silent, embarrassed, and left with the file in her arms.
Julian sat down and pulled out his phone, glancing at it.
Our chat was still frozen on the conversation from three days ago.
The last message I had sent read: [Julian, I think someone is trying to break in. I'm scared.]
His reply at the time had been: [Seraphina is threatening suicide. Can you be reasonable for once? Don't make things up like this.]
Now, as he looked at that message, his eyes were cold.
He probably still thought I had gone all out with the act.
But Julian, this time I wasn't acting.
I was truly afraid, and I really did die.
Julian stared at the missed calls on his phone, and a memory suddenly surfaced.
Two years ago, he had missed Clara's birthday for the first time because of Seraphina.
That day, he had stood in the operating room for eighteen hours straight, exhausted to the point of collapse. Clara had driven over to pick him up and waited outside the hospital all night.
She didn't complain. She simply smiled and handed him a cake.
"Julian, happy birthday."
"What birthday? Is it my birthday today?" He had been so tired that he had lost track of the date.
Clara paused, then shook her head. "No, it's my birthday. But I want to give the wish to you, because you must have saved a lot of lives today."
In that instant, something hit him hard in the chest.
But all he did was take the cake and say calmly, "Let's go home and eat it. Don't just stand around outside the hospital."
Later, the cake sat in the fridge until it grew mold, and he never brought himself to throw it away.
Now Julian clenched his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white.
Even that moldy cake had become a memory he could no longer reach.