Todos os capítulos de Reincarnated as My Husband's Buried Wife : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

I'd been sick for three weeks before I ever thought to call it that.Not exactly sick. Just tired, in a way that never fully lifted no matter how much I slept. My hands had started shaking a little when I held things too long, a fine tremor I could usually hide by keeping them busy. My mouth carried this strange metallic taste most mornings, like I'd been sucking on old coins in my sleep. Some afternoons a wave of nausea would roll through me out of nowhere, quick and sharp, then gone before I could even decide if it was worth mentioning to anyone.Everyone had a theory. My doctor said stress, and prescribed rest and less caffeine. My assistant said I was running myself into the ground managing three properties and a husband who barely looked at a spreadsheet. My mother, over the phone, said I'd always pushed myself too hard, ever since law school, and that my body was finally sending the bill.And Gregory took care of me.That part mattered more than anything else. He didn't hover, d

Nora was asleep in the chair beside my bed when I woke up again.Her head had tipped sideways against the wall, mouth slightly open, one hand still resting near mine on the mattress like she'd fallen asleep mid-comfort and never let go. Someone had draped a thin hospital blanket over her shoulders at some point, probably a nurse who'd taken pity on her.I watched her for a while without waking her.She looked wrecked. Dark circles under her eyes, her clothes wrinkled in a way that suggested days, not hours. This woman clearly loved Vivienne, whoever Vivienne was, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with a love like that pointed straight at me.Because I wasn't her. Whatever body I was wearing, whatever name was stitched onto the hospital bracelet around my wrist, I wasn't the woman Nora had been crying over for five days.That felt like a problem I didn't have a name for yet.Eventually she stirred, blinked hard a few times, and sat up so fast the blanket slid off her shoulders."

I scrolled back up to the photograph instead of reading the headline again.Gregory stood outside the courthouse in a black suit, dark tie, one hand tucked into his pocket like he was waiting for a car and not standing on the steps where a judge had just agreed I no longer existed.He looked exactly the way I remembered him.Except he didn't look like a man who'd just lost his wife.He looked composed. Too composed, in the specific way that only registers as wrong once you already know what you're looking for.I zoomed in on his face.No swollen eyes. No grief carved into the lines around his mouth. Just that same controlled expression he'd worn on the balcony while he watched me shake apart in front of him.The expression of a man waiting for something.My fingers tightened around the phone."How long after she disappeared did he," I started, then stopped myself.Nora looked over. "Did he what?""Nothing," I said. "Sorry. Just thinking out loud."She let it go, and I went back to the

Nora was eating cold noodles straight out of the container when she mentioned him, like it was nothing, just casually "You had a fan, you know," she said between bites. "A weird one."I looked up from the magazine still open in my lap, the one with Gregory's face pressed against my grave. "A fan?""Mm hmm." She set the container down on the little rolling table beside my bed. "Used to sit in the last row.""Of what?""Every show you did."I stared at her. "Every single one?""Every single one," Nora confirmed, twirling her fork like this was a fun piece of trivia and not something that made the hair on my arms rise. "The community theater thing sophomore year, that awful student film festival, even the industrial safety video you did for that insurance company. Which, by the way, I will never let you live down.""He watched the safety video?""He watched everything," she said. "Never missed a single performance, as

The car stopped in front of the townhouse.I knew it before the door even opened.I ducked behind a delivery truck parked at the curb, my pulse hammering somewhere up near my throat, and told myself it was just a black sedan, the kind half of Manhattan's wealthy husbands drove home in every single day. Nothing special about it. Nothing worth this reaction.The driver's door opened first. A man in a dark suit came around to the back and pulled the rear door open with the kind of practiced ease that meant he'd done it a thousand times before for the exact same passenger.Then he stepped out.Gregory.My husband.Alive.For one ridiculous, unforgivable second, I forgot every single thing he'd done to me. I forgot the tea, the shovel, the soil, the patience on his face while I died in front of him. I just saw him, whole and breathing and impossibly familiar, and something in my chest reached for him before my brain could stop it.