Chapter 3
Michael didn't answer.
But when Emily reached out her hand, he didn't pull away either.
I lingered in the rain and suddenly realized how pathetic I was.
When I was alive, I fought for this marriage as if losing was never an option.
Only after I died did I understand that some battles were never fair from the start.
On the third day, the lady downstairs discovered water leaking from her ceiling.
Water dripped from the chandelier, one drop after another.
The lady downstairs called the management office, "Is anyone home at 1203? Did a pipe burst? Can you get maintenance over here? The water's getting everywhere!"
I drifted back home.
The bathroom faucet was still running.
When I fell that day, I hit the switch. The water had been running for three days.
It flooded the bathroom, spilled into the hallway, and seeped down to the floor below.
I stood in the doorway, staring at my pale fingers submerged in the water.
A wave of nausea hit me. Though I was dead, the feeling was still there.
The property management tried calling me first, but my phone was off. Then they called Michael.
He was in the hospital hallway, helping with Agnes's check-up. He let the phone ring twice before finally answering
"Mr. Goodwin, your apartment might leak. The neighbor downstairs says it's getting really bad. We tried calling Mrs. Goodwin, but no one's picking up. Can you come over and take a look?" the property manager asked.
Michael frowned. "Did you try knocking?"
"Yeah, but no one answered," the property manager replied.
"Maybe she's not home," Michael said.
The property manager hesitated, "But the neighbors said they haven't seen Mrs. Goodwin leave the apartment for days."
Michael's face changed for a split second, but he quickly went cold again. "She's giving me the silent treatment. Call a locksmith and get in to check the pipes. I'll cover the cost."
The property manager felt awkward. "We can't unlock the door if the owner's not here."
Michael clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. "Fine, then wait."
After hanging up, he stood there, lost in thought for a while.
Emily came out of the hospital room. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"We've got a leak at home," he replied.
"Has Grace still not answered your calls?" she continued.
Michael didn't say a word.
Emily sighed, "She's probably really upset. Sometimes girls want you to make it up to them."
Michael gave a cold, bitter laugh. "If she wants me to go home, she can just say it. Trying to use a leak to force me home? That's childish."
I drifted in front of him and whispered, "That's not it."
I never tried to force you.
I couldn't go back, and I couldn't turn off the water.
Agnes called out from inside the hospital room, "Michael, the doctor's here."
Michael put his phone away and walked back in.
He didn't come home again.
I followed him, watching as he looked down at his phone and typed out a message to me. [Grace, that's enough. Get the place cleaned up before tonight. Don't embarrass yourself in front of the neighbors.]
The message was sent. But there was no reply.
He stared at the chat box for a long time.
Finally, he closed his hand around the phone.
I saw his jaw tighten, and for the first time, I caught a flicker of unease on his face.
But that unease was barely there.
It disappeared the second he turned away.
That evening, Michael's buddy Ryan showed up at the hospital.
He brought two takeout boxes and, as soon as he walked in, joked, "You've been crashing at the hospital for days? Grace left you here on your own?"
Michael didn't look up. "Don't mention her," he said.
Ryan raised an eyebrow at his tone. "Fighting again?"
Agnes jumped in right away. "It's not a fight. She's making drama all by herself. I am in the hospital, and she can't be bothered to show her face. What's the point of having a daughter-in-law like that?"
Ryan awkwardly rubbed his nose.
We got along pretty well. Honestly, out of all Michael's friends, Ryan was the only one who treated me kindly and would stick up for me whenever Michael gave me the cold shoulder.
"Grace isn't the type to be this reckless," Ryan said.
Sophie rolled her eyes. "Ryan, don't let her fool you. She's really good at playing innocent."
Ryan didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the community feed.
He lived in the same neighborhood, though in a different building.
As he scrolled, his face suddenly changed. "Michael, your place is 1203, right?"
Michael finally looked up. "What's up?"
Ryan stared at his phone, his brow furrowed. "Someone downstairs says there's a weird smell coming from the door of 1203."
I froze.
A weird smell?
So death wasn't only about stopping to breathe.
It was about rotting away, bit by bit, until someone finally noticed.
Michael's face changed, too.
But Agnes jumped in right away. "What kind of smell could it be? Is she messing around with something weird at home again? Last time she made pickled veggies, I told her the whole apartment reeked."
I stood in the middle of the hospital room, and suddenly it all felt ridiculous.
Turns out, even the smell of my decaying body would somehow be my fault in Agnes's eyes.
Ryan didn't laugh. He handed his phone over. "Property management says they've called the cops, and the firefighters are coming."
Michael shot to his feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Emily startled. "Michael?"
Michael grabbed the phone. The homeowners' comments were blowing up.
[No one's picking up at 1203.]
[It's been leaking for three days now.]
[There's a weird smell at the door.]
[Is something wrong?]
Michael's finger froze on the screen.