Chapter 4

Late at night, they snuggled up together, sleeping in my bed, under my blanket.

I wandered alone through the empty living room, staring at the blank space on the wall of photos where the pictures had been ripped away.

The place filled with memories of our love, however, was left with a bare, pale wall.

I remembered the version of myself at the bottom of the lake, wrapped in water weeds, the icy cold piercing through me.

Maybe that was where I was meant to be.

The morning sunlight was blinding, dust swirling in the air.

Richard was lavishly rubbing my thousand-dollar body lotion onto Laura's skin. "Your skin is so perfect."

Then, with a look of disdain, he added, "Not like that ugly freak. Her skin feels like tree bark. Every time I touched her, it felt like a punishment."

Laura giggled and nudged him. "Sophie's still here."

They were planning a trip to the very place Richard had once promised me for our honeymoon.

Sophie came downstairs with her backpack, and as she passed through the living room, she gave a hard kick to the yoga mat I used when I was alive, struggling through rehab. "Get rid of this. It's such an eyesore."

Sophie pinched her nose, as if she'd spotted a walking germ factory. "That monster used this. It's probably crawling with germs. It reeks."

Richard's phone rang.

Someone said, "Is this Emily's family? This is the Westside Police Station. We've found a female body in the artificial lake. Preliminary investigation suggests she drowned—"

Richard snorted, cutting them off, "Seriously? Another scam? Emily's got nine lives. She could survive a fire and still come out kicking. Tell her to drop the act. I don't care, and she can stay as far away from me as possible."

After hanging up, he scoffed at Laura, "She's always coming up with new drama. Getting someone to play a cop? Who's dumb enough to fall for her words?"

Laura gently massaged his shoulders, a sly glint in her eyes. "She's lost all her dignity. Now all she can do is play the victim for attention. Honestly, those cheap tantrums are embarrassing."

*****

Half an hour later, the doorbell started ringing like crazy.

Richard was cursing under his breath as he opened the door, only to find two solemn-faced police officers standing outside.

The officers pulled out an evidence bag containing an ID card swollen from water and a warped white mask inside.

Richard had bought that mask for me himself, and on the inside, the word "Darling" was scratched in messy, crooked letters.

With a loud crash, the coffee cup slipped from Richard's hand and shattered on the floor. Scalding coffee splashed onto his pants, but he didn't flinch.

"The victim's face was badly burned, but the description matches. We found the body buried in the mud downstream. We need you to come with us right now to identify her," one of the officers said.

Sophie was halfway through her sandwich when she froze, then a hint of relief flashed across her face. "She's dead? So, I won't get mocked for having a creepy mom anymore? Can Laura be my mom at school stuff now?"

The officers exchanged shocked glances, their brows furrowing at her vicious remark.

Richard's face went ghostly pale as he stared at the mask, his voice trembling. "No way. She texted Laura yesterday, threatening to throw acid at her. She was so afraid of pain. How could she possibly be dead?"

The officer fixed him with a cold stare. "The coroner says she's been dead for over 24 hours. There's no way she sent that text. Unless someone else had her phone."

Richard whipped his head around, staring at Laura, whose face was as pale.

The curtain hiding the truth was finally torn open, a little.

*****

The morgue was buried three floors underground, washed out by harsh fluorescent lights, the air thick with formaldehyde and mold.

It was so cold it cut right through you, but I felt nothing at all.

Richard's legs were weighed down with lead as he dragged himself toward the metal bed, his hands shaking as he pulled back the sheet.

The face underneath was swollen and decayed from being underwater, with wounds so bad that one could see the bone underneath.

Richard gagged, his body recoiling in disgust as he stumbled back, knocking into a cart behind him that clattered loudly.

All he showed was fear and disgust, no sadness at all. "How did she get so messed up? Looks like a freak..."

His face turned gray as he hurried to defend himself. "It's not my fault, she was too weak. She went this far to take revenge on me."

The officers dragged Sophie in. The moment she saw the body, her scream pierced the dead silence. "A ghost."

She clamped her nose shut and hid behind the officer. "Take it away. It's so gross. I'm gonna puke. It's a rotten monster, like a dead rat from the sewer. Dad, let's get out of here. This place is freaking me out."

Watching Sophie, the daughter I nearly died to save, shun me like I was poison, treating me as nothing but garbage, I felt it broke me completely.

In their eyes, I was a burden when I was alive, and since I was gone, I was nothing but a gross problem they wished would disappear.

Laura pretended to wipe away tears, but a smug, victorious smirk curled at the corners of her mouth as she added in a low, cutting voice, "Richard, she definitely did it to get back at us.

"She's so ruthless. Even in death, she had to make sure someone else paid the price."

Richard grabbed onto Laura's words like a drowning man, his fear flipping into loud, self-righteous anger. "That's right. She was selfish. After dying, she had to mess things up for me and freak Sophie out."

He dialed his assistant, his voice chillingly calm. "Keep this quiet. Say it was a sudden heart attack. Make sure it doesn't hit the stock price. Have her cremated right away and skip the funeral.

"Her face is a mess; no one should see it. Bury the ashes somewhere, and don't bring them back here. I don't want that bad luck in the house."

Watching the man I'd slept beside for ten years handle my death like he was tossing out expired goods, I finally let go.

Good thing I was dead, dead and gone for good. There was no more pain, no more expectations, nothing left to care about.

My funeral was rushed and absurd. It was less a farewell, more a carefully orchestrated PR event.

There was no funeral parlor, no portrait. Richard deliberately kept my parents in the dark to avoid any trouble from them.

In the corner, a few bouquets from clueless relatives were piled carelessly, their petals long since wilted, mirroring the faded remnants of my own life.