The Doctor's Wife

My husband Christopher Lumiere succumbed to a deliberate overdose of sleeping pills.

He was promptly rushed to the hospital, but was declared dead upon arrival—a lifeless husk. Emily Landon, his junior and the doctor tasked with saving him, failed to revive him despite her efforts.

She solemnly passed me his official death certificate, heavy with sorrow.

"He's gone, Yuna," she told me, anguished. "Please accept my condolences. I just need your sign here so we can send his body to the morgue."

I jolted awake, breaking free from my daze. My eyes fell on Emily.

I touched my legs, tracing their shape. To my great surprise, they were perfectly fine. Realization struck me like lightning—I had been reborn, given the chance for a second life.

Before, in my previous life, Christopher had chosen to end his life via sleeping pills. I had rushed to the hospital the moment I caught wind of it, but I had been a step too late. Despite strenuous rescue efforts, it was futile—he was declared dead and gone.

Upon receiving his death certificate, I had been overwhelmed with so much grief that I blacked out.

When I came to, his body had already been cremated. It was his mother, Lucy, who took care of the funeral. Standing there, the raging fire within the cremation furnace burned before my very eyes. All I received was an urn of ashes—Christopher's.

Lucy, consumed by fury and sorrow, blamed his death on me. I was an ill omen who had brought him misfortune. She threw me out of the house and refused to see me ever again.

Abandoned, I had nowhere to go.

However, the worst had yet to come. One of Christopher's patients fell to a fatal error he had committed during surgery, earning the wrath of the patient's family. In their fury, they broke my legs and sold me off to a remote village in the mountains.

There, I endured a humiliating fate worse than death—chained by the neck like a mutt, and forced to fight pigs for food. It was only years later that the police found me. Yet, I received no respite. I was informed that I suffered from terminal stomach cancer and had less than a year to live.

Filled with despair, I decided to end my life somewhere.

To my shock, I ran into Christopher. My husband, who was supposed to have died long ago, stood right in front of me, accompanied by his mistress and their child.

So shocked I was, I stumbled out of my wheelchair and crawled on my knees to confront him.

His gaze was heavy with contempt and disdain. He scoffed at my broken legs, calling me a cripple. Without warning, he pushed my wheelchair down a slope and threw me a mocking sneer.

"If you want it, crawl over and get it yourself."

I was furious.

Christopher, however, paid no mind to my anger and sauntered away arrogantly with his mistress. They stepped into a luxury car awaiting nearby, all smiles and laughter.

Recalling that dark memory, I couldn't help but clench my fists. As I looked at the man lying before me, pretending to be dead, a sneer crossed my lips.

'Since you're so eager to die,' I thought vengefully, 'I'll make it real for you.'

Just then, Emily's voice interrupted my musings.

"Yuna, please sign quickly. If we delay, it might not be good for Christopher," she urged.

I knew exactly what they were trying to do.

Christopher wanted to fake his death, so it was likely that his plan involved the morgue. In that case, I couldn't let them take him out of my sight.

With that in mind, I flung myself toward him and bawled my heart out. I even added a few hard slaps for good measure.

"Wake up! I know you're lying to me! Aren't you? If you wake up, I won't hold it against you! How could you be so cruel and leave me all alone?"

I wailed loudly in the hospital corridor, drawing the attention of many onlookers.

Previously, Christopher botched a surgery which led to the patient's death. To avoid paying the hefty compensation fees, he faked his death and ran away in silence.

It wasn't only until much later that I came across the truth.

Before his fake death, he had won a fifty-million-dollar lottery. By pretending to be dead, he could escape his responsibility and enjoy a life of wealth and freedom with his mistress.

This time, there was no way I would let him have that opportunity.

Emily, seeing my loud and tearful display, handed me a bottle of mineral water she had prepared in advance.

"Yuna, please calm down," she whispered. "This is a hospital, and we need to be quiet…"

Looking at the water bottle in her hand, I remembered how I had mysteriously passed out before Christopher's cremation. It must have been drugged.

Well, I wasn't going to fall for her trick now.

Right after those words passed her lips, I cried even harder.