Chapter 1

On the day I went into labor, my husband, Edward Finch, was with his first love, Charlotte Wynn, helping her finalize her divorce.

I called him dozens of times, but he didn't answer.

Charlotte asked why he ignored the calls.

He scoffed, "It must be morning sickness again. All women deal with it, but she always has to make a scene. Your divorce is a serious matter. You need me here."

What he didn't know was that on that very day, I was in a car accident and died in the delivery room.

When he finally saw my body, he broke down completely.

*****

I died, right there in the delivery room.

A searing, tearing pain overwhelmed me. Through the haze, I heard the nurses urging me to hold on. "Stay with us," they said. "Think of your baby. Think of your husband. You have to fight.

"Push! The baby's crown is right there. If you stop now, you'll endanger both your lives. Please, you can do this."

But they didn't know that my husband had never loved me. In truth, no one ever had.

A child unwanted by its father would face a life of hardship, much like I had.

My eyes were fixed on the ceiling, my fingers clenched around the metal bar at my side. It had been worn smooth in spots by the grasp of countless women before me.

In that moment, I wondered if their suffering, if any of this, had been worth it.

Amid the nurses' urgent cries, I felt my spirit separate from my body and rise. The agony vanished, replaced by a profound, weightless relief. This was the most peace I had ever known.

A nurse rushed out to get consent from my family, but found no one there.

She hurried back to my side and patted my cheek. "Can you hear me?" she asked. "The emergency contact isn't answering. Is there anyone else I can try?" Her voice trembled, thick with restrained tears.

It struck me how rare it was for anyone to cry for me. I wished I could tell her to save her tears. We were strangers, after all.

A quick search of my belongings turned up no identification. The only personal item was a gift bag on the floor where I'd dropped it when the contractions overwhelmed me.

My body was growing cold and rigid. I heard their urgent calls for an emergency C-section to save the baby.

The baby was only eight months old and had suffered severe trauma. Survival would be a miracle. That was why their initial efforts were focused on me.

Perhaps the baby didn't want to stay either. Despite their efforts, neither of us made it.

Earlier that day, I had been out buying a birthday gift for Edward. His birthday was the next day.

On my way back, a car hit me. It happened at an intersection without traffic cameras, and the driver fled the scene.

At that moment, my only thought was to call him. I called him more than a dozen times, but he never answered. I managed to crawl toward the sidewalk before someone finally noticed me.

In those moments, my only thought was to save my baby. She was my only family.

But now, floating above it all, I felt a somber relief that my baby would leave this world with me.

She would never know the loneliness or the pain that had been my life.

The doctors did everything they could to save me, but my body was unresponsive. They performed the C-section, but the baby they delivered was blue and still.

There we lay, mother and child. Around us, the medical staff stood frozen, some stunned into stillness, others weeping openly.

I drifted to my baby's side. I reached out, but my hand passed through her tiny form. My poor child, you drew the short straw with me. May you land in a warm home and a father's love, in your new life.

With no next of kin to claim me, the hospital transferred my body to the morgue.

I was trapped there. An immeasurable stretch of time passed, formless and silent.

Then one day, suddenly, I felt a release. I drifted free from that sunless place and moved, as if drawn by a thread, toward the home I had shared with him.