Chapter 1

With just a month left to live, I went online and booked a mortician.

Rumor had it this guy was top-notch, handling every detail one could think of.

He didn't just make the deceased look presentable; he offered the full package: picking up the body, burial, the whole nine yards. Perfect for a loner like me with no one to sort out my remains.

But life's got a twisted sense of humor. When I met the guy, it was my ex from five years back—the one I totally ditched.

Talked about bad vibes. He took one look at me on the hospital bed, threw his hands up, and was ready to bounce. "No way I'm handling your corpse!"

I couldn't exactly start shopping for another mortician, so I hauled myself out of bed to block his exit. "Hold up! Total mix-up. This is for my grandma."

He gave me a look that could curdle milk, his face dark as a storm cloud, and stood there stewing for what felt like forever before snatching my card with a grunt.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Money paid, papers signed—he'd have to follow through when I was gone, right?

While I lay there, waiting to bite the dust, the old lady in the next bed, Olivia Morgan, slid her phone over and showed me a number.

She leaned in, all sneaky-like, and whispered, "This guy's a pro.

"He took care of everything when my husband kicked the bucket.

"The whole deal—moving the body, burial, you name it. Even threw in a free shroud and shoes.

"Don't slack on this. Get it done right, and you'll have good vibes in the next life."

Everyone in our ward was just hanging on, waiting for the end.

But I was the youngest by a long shot.

When I first rolled in, the old dudes and ladies felt bad for me.

They said it was a damn shame, someone so young landing here.

But as the weeks dragged on, they saw I wasn't exactly crying a river over it.

So we started talking about death like it was no big deal.

I thought it over and added the contact Olivia gave me.

Good vibes in the next life? Yeah, I wasn't holding my breath.

But when I was gone, I had nobody to sort out my body.

My parents had passed years ago.

My grandma was bedridden, barely able to move, let alone handle my funeral.

Funerals were a headache, and I was too wiped to plan one myself.

I was so close to the end, I hadn't even picked out an urn.

Good thing I had some cash stashed. A full-service funeral package sounded like my best bet.

I sent the guy a friend request on WhatsApp.

After, like, ten minutes of waiting, I finally got a reply.

But it wasn't in my chats—it popped up on the verification page, just one line: [What's good?]

I blinked, double-checking I hadn't screwed up the contact. Nope, it was the right guy.

So I fired off a message, explaining I wanted to book their all-in-one funeral package.

This time, it took him a solid half-hour to hit me back with a single question mark. Still no friend request accepted.

I scrunched my face, totally stumped, and showed my phone to Olivia. "Does this dude just not deal with strangers?"

She glanced at my WhatsApp, looking just as confused. "That's weird.

"These people are in the business—they add strangers all the time."

She grabbed her own phone and sent a voice message. "He's probably slammed. I'll get him to swing by."

I'd been so drowsy lately, I could barely stay awake.

I mumbled a thanks, flopped back on the bed, and tried to catch a nap.

But sleep wasn't happening. Outside, the sky got dark.

One of the old guys in the ward started snoring like a chainsaw. I checked my phone—almost 8 p.m.

Figured the guy wasn't showing up.

Then my nose felt warm. I reached up, half out of it, and my hand came back covered in blood.

That jolted me awake. I grabbed some tissues from the nightstand, pressed them to my nose, and dragged myself to the bathroom.

Nosebleeds were old hat by then.

I pinched my nose, stuffed it with medical cotton balls, and went through a few until the blood stopped dripping.

Then I washed the blood off my hands and neck in front of the mirror.

Back in the ward, the snoring had turned into a full-blown concert—everyone else was out cold.

Nobody noticed my nosebleed, which was a relief.

Whenever they saw me like that, they'd get all down in the dumps, and that dragged me down too.

I leaned on the bathroom sink, waiting for the dizziness to fade.

I started thinking about the next day—time to talk to the doc about checking out.

My grandma was still at home, stuck in bed. In my final days, besides sorting my funeral, I wanted to spend every minute I could with her.

Feeling a bit steadier, I shuffled back and pulled open the bathroom door.

Right as I walked out, I heard someone knocking at the ward door.

The doc always swings by for rounds at night, so I reached over and opened the door.