My Husband’s Regret After I Was Killed by His First Love

My body was discovered in an abandoned building.

The construction worker vomited as he dialed emergency services.

Mark rushed from Emma's kidney treatment to the crime scene.

The forensic expert frowned, gesturing for them to put on masks.

My husband Mark was the city's most renowned detective. He'd solved countless murder cases, yet even he faltered when he saw this corpse.

The summer heat had done its work. The body was bloated, the face beaten beyond recognition - a mass of flesh and blood where features should have been.

The injuries were extensive. The head barely hung onto the neck by a strip of skin.

The stench of decomposition filled the air.

Mark closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and pulled on his gloves to begin the preliminary examination.

I watched nervously as he removed the blood-stained necklace from my neck.

Two rings hung from the chain - our wedding rings that I had handcrafted for us with love.

I remembered how proud I'd been, presenting them to Mark. Days spent carefully making them perfect.

But when Emma saw him wearing his, she had laughed cruelly. "What is that ugly thing? Did you fish it out of a dumpster?"

Mark had ripped off the ring immediately, throwing it back at me. His face had burned with humiliation.

"You're my wife," he had snapped. "You're supposed to help me succeed, not make me look ridiculous in front of others."

Though his cold words still echoed in my ears, I believed surely he would recognize these rings now.

These symbols of our marriage, of my love for him.

But Mark just impassively instructed his assistant to bag them as evidence.

His colleague worked methodically, then suddenly paused. "Mark... the victim was pregnant. About two months along."

I watched, heart breaking, as Mark's expression darkened with rage.

"These animals!" he snarled, slamming his hand against the wall. "How could they be so cruel to a pregnant woman?"

I wanted to scream. To shake him.

Emma was diagnosed with kidney failure just five days ago. The doctors said she needed a transplant urgently.

Mark had rushed to the hospital at midnight. On the way, he begged me.

"You have to help her, Alice. You're a match. You're the only match they've found."

"I'm pregnant, Mark. Two months. That's why I can't donate my kidney to Emma. Please understand."

His response had been instant and cruel: "Another lie? First you refuse to help Emma, now you make up a pregnancy? How low will you sink?"

He abandoned me on the highway and then I was kidnapped.

Now he stood over my body, burning with righteous anger for an unknown victim.

But he refused to believe his own wife's pregnancy.

He just instructed his assistant to note it down as just another detail in the case file. "Make sure to highlight the pregnancy in the report. This makes the case high priority."

I shouldn't have hoped. I never existed in Mark's heart. He never believed me, never trusted me, not since the day we married.

In Mark's heart, every word I spoke was a lie, every action suspicious. He saved his trust and love for Emma.

Even though I was his wife. Even though I had loved him with everything I had.

My friend Sarah had warned me from the start. "Mark only married you because he couldn't be with Emma, Emma will always be his true love."

I hadn't believed her then. I'd thought our love was real, that time would prove her wrong.

But after marriage, the truth became impossible to ignore.

I realized I had no place in his heart. Every room in our house held photos of him and Emma from their past. Every story he told somehow included her name.

I was just an intruder in their love story. A placeholder until Emma could return to her rightful place.

Taking off his gloves, his colleague rubbed his furrowed brow: "Victim appears to be around 25 years old. Preliminary cause of death is throat cutting. Shows signs of prolonged torture before death."

"The method is extremely cruel. This will cause public outrage. We need to solve this before it explodes in the media." Mark lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag, seemingly troubled.

Even in death, I was causing him problems.

The forensic expert warned: "The killer's still out there. Tell your loved ones to be careful. Don't let Emma go out alone at night."

Mark irritably replied: "Emma always listens to me. It's my wife, Alice, I can't control."

The forensic expert was an old friend and knew their situation well.

Mark absently rubbed his stomach.

The forensic expert noticed Mark wincing. "Your stomach acting up again?"

Mark waved it off. "It's fine. Alice bought me some medicine and kept it at home."

He trailed off, suddenly silent.

His supposedly defiant wife had always cared deeply about his health.

The expert patted Mark's back: "Be kinder to your wife. She's the one who chose to marry you."

Mark shook his head: "The other day, Emma was diagnosed with kidney failure. Alice even refused to donate a kidney to Emma, making up lies about being two months pregnant."

The expert hesitated. "Mark... maybe she really is pregnant?"

"Impossible!" Mark snapped. "I haven't touched her in over two months."

"But remember that night two months ago? When you got completely drunk at the bar..."

Mark cut him off. "Emma stayed with me that night. She told me Alice never showed up."

My soul ached hearing those words.

The person who had stayed by your side that night was me.

I had held your hand while you were sick.

I had wiped your face with a cool towel.

I had watched over you until dawn broke.

But Emma had twisted everything, convincing you I'd abandoned you that night.

"She hasn't been home for days. Who knows what trouble she's getting into. I should never have married her." Mark continued.

Hearing Mark's accusations and complaints about me, my heart turned to ice.

Mark, it's not that I didn't want to come home.

I just... can't come home anymore.

Your defiant wife died the day you chose to accompany Emma to her treatment.

My body lies right before your eyes, carrying the child you refuse to believe existed.