Chapter 2

In the autopsy room, Julian had just picked up the scalpel to start on me when Alice called.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Julian, I just threw up a little blood. Am... Am I dying?"

He stripped off his gloves and headed out. "Don't be scared. I'll be right there."

One call from Alice, and he was gone, without so much as another glance at me on the table.

The man who'd been promising me justice a moment ago just left me lying there.

I remembered the night I'd run a high fever during our second year of marriage. Barely conscious, I'd called Julian for help, but he was busy with a case and told me to take a cab to the hospital.

Back then, I'd admired his dedication to his work. I thought he took his duty to the dead seriously.

Now I could see that I'd simply never been his first priority.

Julian got to the hospital fast. Alice leaned on his shoulder, pale as a sheet. "Julian, the doctor says my counts dropped again. I'm scared."

He stroked her hair, his gaze softening. "Don't be scared. I'm here."

I watched from beside them, the pain in my chest giving way to numbness.

Alice curled up against him and whispered, "Clara still won't do it? Is she... still blaming me?"

He frowned. "Forget about her. She's heartless—"

He stopped short, knowing full well that wasn't true.

Over the years, I'd donated everything I could to help homeless seniors. I'd cried my eyes out over a stray cat hit by a car and refused to go home until I'd buried it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, unease gnawing at him. After a long pause, he said, "She's just upset. She'll come around in a few days."

Alice lowered her head, a smug smile playing on her lips. I saw it clearly.

Ever since Alice came back, Julian and I had been fighting more and more.

At a party, she deliberately bumped into me, spilling my red wine, then accused me of throwing it at her out of jealousy.

On her birthday, she ate the cake I'd sent her, then started vomiting and having diarrhea. In front of everyone, she accused me of making her sick on purpose.

At a get-together with friends, she tossed my late mother's necklace into the river. When I confronted her, she deliberately jumped in, then rushed to Julian, claiming I'd pushed her.

Each incident only made Julian resent me more. He thought I was heartless, competing for his attention with a seriously ill woman.

Then, three days ago, he came to me and said Alice was getting worse. He wanted me to donate bone marrow to her.

I'd just gotten my test results from the hospital. I'd been diagnosed with stomach cancer, so I refused outright.

Before I could explain, Julian shot to his feet, called me selfish, and walked out without looking back.

Not long after he left, two masked men broke in.

They knocked me out, shoved me in a car, and took me to a warehouse, where they tortured me for a full day and night. In the end, they slashed my face and dumped me at the end of that alley.

The next day, Julian came back to the morgue, pulled on his gloves, and went through the dead woman's belongings. He found a blurry photo.

When I saw it, hope flared up in me. It was the picture we'd taken at the beach on our anniversary last year.

Julian had said back then that we'd go every year. Both our names were written on the back.

I'd kept it clenched in my hand until my last breath...

Julian's fingers stilled. As he turned the photo over, my heart leaped into my throat.

Would he realize this battered body was me?