I Traded Seven Years of My Life to Save Her

Three days before Valentine’s Day, I received a package with postage due.

I glanced at the sender information.

'Netherworld Express’

Everything else was blank.

The recipient was definitely me.

Chase Miller.

The phone number and address were both correct.

“What is it?” I asked.

The delivery guy was starting to get impatient. “No idea. Just a box. Pretty light, though…”

He paused, then lowered his voice.

“But my boss personally told me this had to be delivered directly into your hands.

“He said you had to sign for it before midnight.”

I stared at the box, wrapped tightly in yellow-brown kraft paper.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I scanned the code and paid.

I placed the box on the coffee table and sat there from afternoon until dark.

Outside, it began to rain.

Rain this time of year was always like this. Fine, steady, and endless.

Three years ago, my wife, Elena Moore, had died on a rainy day just like this.

At nine that night, I finally tore open the seal on the box.

A strange smell drifted out.

It smelled like old incense and moldy wood, like something sealed away for years.

There was no foam inside.

No packing material.

Only a copper coin covered in green rust.

I scraped at it with my fingernail until the worn engraving came into view.

It looked ancient, more like a ritual token than real currency.

When I flipped it over, the back was covered in symbols I couldn’t read.

That was it?

A worthless old coin?

And I had paid twenty dollars in delivery fees for this?

I was so angry I almost laughed.

But the moment my finger touched the edge of the coin, the chill made me freeze.

It was not the ordinary coldness of metal.

It was more like touching ice.

No.

Colder than ice.

The cold sank into my bones, numbing my fingers, and I quickly threw it back onto the table.

The coin rolled halfway across the coffee table.

Underneath it was a folded note.

Yellowed rice paper.

Small, neat brush-written characters.

The ink had already blurred slightly.

‘Hold this coin. Return at midnight, and you may see your late wife one last time.’

‘The price each time is one year of your life.’

‘Seven times is the limit. Go beyond that, and you remain forever.’

I stared at those three lines, my mind going blank.

A prank?

Who would make a joke like this?

But that handwriting…

I shot to my feet, rushed into the study, and yanked open the bottom drawer.

Inside were Elena’s belongings.

With trembling hands, I dug out the birthday card she had written me last year.

‘To Chase, on your thirtieth birthday. May you stay strong, steady, and unshaken.’

I placed the note and the card side by side under the lamp.

The curve of each turn.

The pressure at the end of each stroke.

They were identical.

My breathing grew heavy.

My fingers turned cold.

Elena had practiced calligraphy since she was a child. Her handwriting had always been distinctive, especially the letter “t”. She always flicked it upward, like a tiny hook.

Every ’t’ on this note was written the exact same way.

Outside the window, the sound of rain suddenly grew much louder.