True Love? True Murderer?

On the third day after my death, my soul lingered by my husband's side. I watched Clifford Holmes celebrate with Marie Harding for finally losing a difficult patient. He brought her back to our bedroom.

"That pregnant patient suffered from congenital heart disease and lobar pneumonia. I pitied her. Whenever I think about the fact that I was behind her death, I feel super guilty," Marie sobbed, nearly fainting as she recounted the incident.

Clifford, who often gave me the cold shoulder, offered Marie a consoling hug. "You can tell that the patient wasn't well-loved since her family didn't even visit the hospital after her death. Besides, it was a medical accident. You shouldn't feel sad over her death."

I grew up an orphan. As my only family, Clifford should have fought for justice instead of helping Marie evade her responsibilities. Because of him, I was denied a dignified funeral. My ashes remained unclaimed at the funeral home.

Marie bit her lip. "I'm so thankful for you."

Clifford tenderly caressed her head. "I promised to be by your side whenever you needed it. Now, take a shower and rest early. Think of this as a nightmare that has ended."

"Okay." A thought struck Marie. "Cliff, hasn't your wife come home? It's been weeks. Does she have a lover?"

"Nah, she's not the type to keep a lover," he replied without hesitation.

Then, he coldly reminded her, "Do not mention her anymore!"

Marie playfully winked at him. "From how you refuse to mention her name, you sure seem to hate her very much!"

He pursed his lips in what appeared to be silent agreement.

We never had a wedding, and he refused to introduce me to his friends. The mention of my name appalled him, so Marie had no idea I was his wife. Moreover, he was so busy helping Marie that he hadn't even asked about the deceased patient's name. He had no idea it was me.

Clifford carried Marie to the bathroom. As he passed the living room, he turned a photo frame face down with a frown.

The bedroom we shared betrayed no trace of my existence. In fact, I had quietly placed that photo of mine from just now in the last few days in his absence.

Thankfully, I did not have to bear the brunt of his anger now that I was dead.

Clifford called me when Marie was taking a shower. It had been weeks since we last saw each other, during which I failed to get in touch with him. This marked the first time he'd reached out to me.

He made a few calls, but my phone seemed to be turned off. He hissed through gritted teeth, "Fine, Holly Lewis, don't pick up my calls. You'd better not come home too!"

He seemed to have forgotten that he made Marie destroy my phone and flush it down the toilet.

Marie stepped out of the bathroom and flirted with him. "Cliff, I don't feel like walking."

"You poor thing." He lovingly tapped the tip of her nose and carried her into the bedroom next to ours. That room was off-limits to me. So, this was my first time entering that space.

The bedroom next door was cozier than the main bedroom. It resembled a space shared by newlyweds.

"Gosh, Cliff! The room is—" Marie covered her mouth in shock.

Clifford gazed at her tenderly. "You told me you wanted our bedroom to look like this if we got married."

"It was just a casual remark. I can't believe you still remember that."

"I remember everything you say."

I listened to their conversation in deep disappointment. I took Clifford's words seriously when he claimed to dislike extravagant decor. Never had I thought that he had turned our love nest into a home with his mistress.

Overjoyed, Marie draped her arms around his shoulders and tried to kiss him. One didn't need to guess what would happen next.

Refusing to watch my husband sleep with another woman, I tried to leave. At that moment, my close friend George Rackman knocked on the bedroom door.

Upon witnessing the scene, George bellowed at Clifford, "How dare you bring home your mistress when Holly just died? Clifford Holmes, you're shameless!"