Chapter 1

After staying up all night binge-watching trashy mini-series with my bestie, I suddenly felt dizzy at work the next day.

When I went to the hospital for a check-up, they found a mass in my brain.

After three months of chemo, I'd lost twenty pounds and decided to jump into the sea.

Emily Green tried to scare me out of it. "If you jump into the ocean, they'll never find your body. You won't even get an afterlife."

I sat up in shock and immediately booked a meeting with an underwater recovery diver.

The guy was handsome and a man of few words, but his height and build looked exactly like the ex I had a bitter fallout with five years ago.

I leaned in closer and realized his face looked the same too.

Then I met those cold, detached eyes.

Oh, it was him.

I sluggishly turned to leave, only to hear him scoff. "Sophie Lane, if you regret it and want to get back together, just say it."

I shot him an annoyed look, totally pissed off. "Is it so wrong to treat this like buying insurance, just in case I accidentally take a dive into the sea one day?"

He was silent for a long moment, his voice laced with disgust. "Fine."

I whipped out the contract and handed it to him to sign.

Then I double-checked, just to be sure. "I can call you a day ahead, and you'll be on call, right?"

His tone was icy, as if he expected me to keep bothering him. "I charge per job."

I immediately agreed, feeling relieved. "Of course."

The contract was for a single fee. It wasn't like I could die twice, right?

*****

The day I decided to jump into the sea was an incredibly ordinary day.

The doctor finished his afternoon rounds and scheduled my fifth chemotherapy session.

The older man in the next bed, who also had brain cancer, passed away after holding on for two months.

His wife looked utterly heartbroken, clutching the hand of her son, who looked about ten.

She just stood there, her mouth open, but no tears would come.

The nurse came in, cleared away the blood-stained sheets, and put on fresh bedding, getting the bed ready for the next patient.

When someone dies, it's like a single drop of water falling into the ocean—gone without a trace.

After the sheets were swapped out, it was like he'd never even been there.

He used to be a big guy, weighing over 150 pounds, but after all that chemo, he was barely scraping 100.

He gritted his teeth through every round of chemo, but when the pain got bad, he'd end up bawling like a kid.

The painkillers worked at first, but after a while, they didn't do a damn thing anymore.

Then he started wetting himself.

His wife had to clean him up, and his face would shake, totally embarrassed.

He endured every possible agony, but he still left this world.

It suddenly hit me that once you end up here, the outcome is all the same.

I wasn't about to let myself go through all that pain and humiliation.

That night, after work, my best friend rushed over to keep me company.

Late at night, she snuggled up next to me, both of us wearing headphones, scrolling through those silly short dramas.

It felt just like back then, when we'd squeeze into our cramped apartment after work and pull all-nighters together.

Neither of us brought up my illness.

During a commercial break, she complained in my ear, "Jason from HR keeps asking when you're coming back. I already told him you're sick and need to stay out a while longer.

"I keep telling him you're sick and need to stay in the hospital a bit longer."

I wasn't going back, and she knew it.

I had asked her to submit my resignation for me.

She flat out refused and only requested an extended leave of absence on my behalf.

I stared at the phone screen as the episode neared its end. The male and female leads were locked in a passionate embrace by the ocean.

Suddenly, for some reason, I asked her softly. "Do you think it hurts a lot when someone drowns in the sea?"

Emily snapped her head to look at me.

Moonlight streamed in through the hospital window.

Her eyes were getting teary, and she quickly turned away, swiping at her face with her hand.

She turned back to me, her voice serious. "Absolutely!

"If you fall into the ocean, there's a good chance they'll never find your body, which means no afterlife.

"You'll be a wandering ghost forever, getting bullied by all the mean, vicious spirits out there."

I was such a chicken about ghosts, and she knew it all too well.

I was at a loss for words.

Late at night, I just couldn't sleep, kept thinking about what my best friend said about the next life.

Maybe when someone was about to die, they suddenly developed these unrealistic fantasies.

I just lay there, lost in thought for ages.

When I finally snapped out of it, I'd already grabbed my phone and sent a message in a group chat.

[Does anyone know where I can find the contact info for a body recovery diver?]

I glanced at the group chat's name. It was my high school class group.

My brain just went boom for a second.

The last time I'd sent a message in this group was the day after the SATs.

I scrambled to delete the message, but it was too late.

Even though it was the middle of the night, a few night owls popped up in the chat, replying with a unified string of question marks.

Then, someone started snarking in the chat.

[Recover who? Your own body?]

[Come on, don't make me laugh.]

[She's the star student who got into the state's top university and completely looked down on the Ivy Leagues.]

[Her name is still hanging on the school's Honor Roll plaque.]

[Hey, valedictorian, what made you finally stoop so low as to speak in our little rundown chat group.]

Everyone jumped in with more sarcasm.

Within half an hour, almost everyone's profile picture lit up with activity.

All except for one, a profile picture with a solid black background.

I set my phone down, staring up at the pale gray ceiling in the dark, and took a shallow breath.

I drifted off into a hazy sleep.

When I woke up again, it was already broad daylight.

I grabbed my phone.

Suddenly, I saw someone had tagged me in the group chat.

After all the sarcastic comments, the class rep, who'd been silent this whole time, finally dropped a phone number in the chat.

Right after the number, he added: [Contact him.]

I grabbed my phone and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

My gums were bleeding again, mixed with blood from my nose. I looked like a wreck.

I just wiped it off carelessly with some tissues, then waited a bit until the bleeding finally stopped.

The phone number was just sitting there, quietly at the bottom of the group chat.

I stared at it in a daze.

After a while, I finally pressed and dialed the number.

I had a splitting headache, and my ears were buzzing.

And it felt like my hearing was starting to go, too.

The voice on the other end was fuzzy, but I could just barely tell it was a guy.

He sounded distant—cold, and somehow, strangely familiar.

Maybe I was just getting delirious from being sick.

I pushed through the throbbing pain in my temples, taking a moment before I could force the words out. "I'd like to hire you for a body recovery.

"Not right now... but as an advance booking. Is that possible?"

There was a long silence on the other end.

Maybe what I said really threw him off.

In their line of work, people usually only call when someone has already drowned and family members need the body recovered.

I gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, meeting my increasingly pale reflection in the mirror, and waited silently.

I waited for what felt like forever.

Just as I started to think he had written me off as a lunatic and wasn't going to respond, the man finally spoke.

He let out a cold, sarcastic chuckle. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

I had no idea where to begin explaining, so I simply asked, "Do you have time to meet and discuss this in person?"

I was so sick I couldn't even step outside the hospital.

I suggested meeting at the lawn outside the inpatient building, carefully adding, "I will compensate you extra for your travel expenses and your time."

I didn't get any response from him, and I wasn't sure if my hearing was just messed up or if he really didn't say anything.

A moment later, the dial tone buzzed in my ear as the call disconnected.

Only then did I realize I hadn't even set a specific time.

Staring at the ended call, I had no clue if he was actually going to show up or not.

I sat on my hospital bed for a while.

After thinking it over, I couldn't shake the worry that I'd end up leaving him hanging.

I layered up over my flimsy hospital gown.

I pulled a beanie low over my head, then finally left my room and headed out to the lawn outside the hospital.

It was already June and the heat was kicking in, but I just couldn't shake the chill.