After Death Marriage Short Stories & Novels

Five years after my death, my wife, Charlotte Blake, once again asks me to take the fall for Leo Cane, her first love, in his drunk driving case. She barges into my home with fabricated evidence but finds no trace of me anywhere. Left with no other choice, she knocks on my neighbor's door. My neighbor tells her something unexpected. "Shane Foster? He's been dead for a long time. I heard the victim's family from the case he was convicted for wasn't satisfied with the verdict. "They abducted him the day he got out of prison and tortured him for three days straight." Charlotte refuses to believe it. She furiously accuses me of making up any lie to escape responsibility. She storms at the neighbor, shouting, "You think I don't know Shane paid you to cover for him? "Tell him there's no use in hiding. If he doesn't contact me within three days, he won't get a single cent of child support for that bastard." But she doesn't know that the person Leo killed in that drunk driving accident is the very "bastard" she keeps referring to.

When Cornelia Montero’s childhood sweetheart, Trevor Hampton, accidentally shoved someone into some concrete, she immediately got to the scene. The Montero family had always been in construction, so Cornelia knew exactly what to do after such an incident. She helped Trevor make it look as though the victim fell by accident. She even brought Trevor to the police station to give his statement. They hoped that the next of kin would be more understanding that way. But Cornelia did not know that it was me, her husband, who was pushed off the building. She was my next of kin.

I was twenty-two when my luck went bad. A flowerpot came off a third-floor ledge while I was walking under it. My brother Julian shoved me clear and took it on the head. Wolves heal from almost anything. The doctors told my parents he would never wake up. A month later, my sister Felicity rode with me to visit him. A truck ran the light. Her leg was crushed in four places, and it never healed right. A witch passing through Greyridge took one look at me across the pack meeting and told my Alpha father, in front of everyone, that I would bury whoever stood closest to me. He threw me out that same night. But my fiancé did not give up on me. The most powerful witch in the entire country said that as long as I remained alone on the island, I would not be affected by the curse. So he bought me an island. Five years. Nothing bad happened to me in all that time. The only thing was, Dominic had a pack to run, so I got him two or three days a month. I tried to go to him. But the boat docked fine. A car hit mine on the way to the airport and I spent two weeks in a hospital bed. "Mer, I'm scared every time you leave this island." His voice was shaking. "I can't lose you. I'll come more often. I swear." I missed him so much I couldn't sleep. I told myself to be good about it anyway. This year, he said a project would keep him away on his birthday. So I got on a boat without telling anyone. I wanted to see his face. The crossing was smooth. When I reached the Stonecrest pack house, the main doors opened. My sister walked in, wearing a couture gown, holding Dominic's arm. Felicity. On both legs. Two she-wolves beside my pillar were watching them too. "Five years mated, a three-year-old pup, and look at them. Still like that." "Alpha Cross never so much as looks at another woman. You won't find another one like him in any pack." A little boy in a tiny copy of Dominic's suit came running through the doors with his arms up. "Daddy! Happy birthday!" My hands went cold. Every accident had been bought. Every witch had been paid. Even my mating certificate was a fake. So I walked out of that hospital alone, got on the first plane I could find, and had every trace of me erased. Three years later, I walked into a ballroom wearing nine figures around my neck, under a name he'd never heard. Dominic Cross crushed a glass in his fist and begged for one more chance.

I came home from a night shift and caught my husband in bed with his secretary. After the screaming and the chaos, I ran out like a woman losing her mind. Derek chased after me. We ended up at the river, fighting. Somehow we both fell in. He nearly drowned trying to save me—the doctors said the oxygen deprivation had caused severe brain damage. When he woke up, he could barely function. No memory. No independence. He followed me around like a lost child. "Wifey, don't leave me. I'm scared." Looking at that helpless, broken man, I gritted my teeth and held this family together. The secretary vanished without a trace. Six years passed. Derek slowly seemed to recover. He was gentle with me, attentive, loving. I even got pregnant with our second child. Then came the family dinner. Derek knocked back two glasses of whiskey and suddenly slammed his hand on the table, his face twisted with frustration. "My oldest boy is already in first grade, and I haven't made it to a single parent-teacher conference!" I thought his brain was glitching again. MY sister-in-law Vanessa rushed to cover his mouth, but he shoved her away and let out a cold laugh. "You really thought the water scrambled my brains?" "Chloe gave me a son. I haven't forgotten about him for a single day!"

I'm six months pregnant when my cousin Hallie Thorne's mate dies. Worried that she has no one to look after her, my mate, Ragnar Clairmont, suggests she move in with us. I don't think twice before agreeing. The moment Hallie walks through the door and sees my pregnant belly, she bursts into tears. Ragnar pulls me aside and says quietly, "Try not to walk around showing off your pregnancy in front of her. Her mate just died before they could even have a pup. Don't rub it in her face." I feel sorry for her, so I agree. That night, Hallie spills dish soap by the kitchen door, causing me to slip and nearly lose my pup. I suspect that she does it on purpose and tell Ragnar. But he just looks at me with frustration. "The three of us grew up together. She would never do something like that. Pregnancy can make you paranoid. Stop assuming the worst of her." But later, while we're camping, she suddenly pushes me into the river before jumping in after me. Ragnar comes running when he hears the splash and immediately dives in to save us. I beg him to save me and our pup, but he swims right past me and gets Hallie to shore first. "She's just a fragile Omega. I need to make sure she's safe first. You're an Alpha. You can handle yourself. I'll go get help," Ragnar says. Under normal circumstances, I could easily swim to shore. But now that I'm pregnant, my body feels heavy and sluggish. I try to shout for Ragnar, but weeds wrap around my legs, and water closes over my mouth and nose. I hear approaching footsteps in the distance, but it's already too late.

After getting into another argument with Marilyn Cortell, I miss out on the chance to see my mother one last time. From then on, I become Marilyn's perfect husband—never possessive, never jealous, and never asking for a divorce. Even when a photo of her and Henry Solon together in bed makes it onto the trending topics online, all I do is tell the media that I hope she gets what she wishes for. However, for once, Marilyn attempts to explain to me without me confronting her about it. I smile and tell her that I understand. "I know that it's all for work. You're only able to get inspiration for your songs when you're with him. I don't mind." Everyone in the industry praises her for training me so well, turning me from an easily jealous man who will go crazy at the very mention of Henry's name to the ideal husband that I am that day. One day, Marilyn gets drunk and initiates intimacy with me. Yet, I push her away and call Henry's number. Snatching the phone from me, she throws it to the ground and snaps, "Why are you pushing me toward another man?" I reply in confusion, "Didn't you tell me previously that you had no inspiration when sleeping with me?"

Three years after my death, my wife’s first love was hanging onto life by a thread, and only my system could save him. To force me to show up, she cut off my father’s medical payments. My sick mother was forced to beg her out in the summer heat until she collapsed. She even threw my beloved little sister into a bonfire to be eaten up by the flames. As she waited for me to show up, apologize to her, and use the system to save her first love, my sister finally stopped hiding the truth. “He died three years ago! Three years ago, he traded his life so you would survive that car crash!”

I'm 32 years old. Eighteen months after my colon cancer diagnosis, I decided to donate my body to science. The day I signed the body donation forms, my ex-husband was still keeping our old bedroom ready for me, waiting for me to come back and admit I was wrong. He doesn't know the cancer is killing me. Ethan Walker and I have been divorced for two years. Back then, everything in my family fell apart. My father, George Bennett, became seriously ill. Ethan gave up a chance to advance his career and spent all our savings on my father's treatment. In the end, the strain of it all drove us apart. And now I have the same illness my father had. Ethan can't stand me. He keeps me at arm's length. But he still holds on to the home we shared as newlyweds, stubbornly waiting for me to admit I was wrong and come back. All I want is one last meal with him while I'm still strong enough to sit up.

The year I die, my wife, Liana Chandler, despises me more than ever before. Unable to handle her endless emotional abuse, I choose to end my own life by swallowing pills. At the crematorium, she watches the roaring flames in the cremation chamber with a rare smile. "Filth like him doesn't deserve a proper burial," she comments. When the employee hands her my cremation urn, she swiftly overturns it, scattering my ashes all over the floor in an instant. All this time, she has believed that I'm the one who caused her first love's death. So, she took great pains to formulate a plan—all for this very moment. When everything is over, she walks away without looking back, trampling my ashes underfoot. But before long, she's on her knees, begging for the funeral parlor to give my ashes back to her.

Six years after donating my heart to my wife, she destroyed the last of my family. Over those six years, she ended my mother’s treatment, letting her die slowly in agony. She deliberately caused a car accident that shattered my father’s spine, forcing him to watch my mother die while trapped in a paralyzed body. Even our daughter was not spared—locked away in a pitch-black basement, she starved to death alone. She did all of this for one reason: to force me—the heartless, faithless man she believed I was—to reveal myself. But during those six years, the love I once had for her turned into boundless hatred. I refused to let my soul dissipate. I stayed—waiting for the day she would learn the truth, and collapse under the weight of her regret.

My mother suddenly suffered a brain hemorrhage, and I needed to pay $80,000 for surgery immediately. I called my wife right away. Before I could finish, she cut me off impatiently. "Gabriel Cole, didn't we agree when we got married that we'd keep our finances separate? Your mother being sick is your family's problem. Why should you touch my savings? Can't you have a little respect for the contract?" Then my stepson's sneering voice came through from her side. "Uncle Gabriel, can you stop morally blackmailing my mom? As a grown man, isn't it pathetic that you can't even pay your own mother's medical bills? Stop bothering us while we're eating sushi." Because I couldn't pay the fee in time, my mother missed the best window for surgery and died. It wasn't until noon the next day that my wife called me. Her first words were an accusation. "What's wrong with you? It's already noon. Why aren't you back to cook? Don't you know Mason has tutoring this afternoon?" "My mom died of a brain hemorrhage!" I roared through gritted teeth. My wife froze for a second. The first thing she blurted out was: "Well, don't expect me to pay for the funeral. That's a matter of principle. "And your mother dying is your mother dying. That's not a reason for you to skip cooking." In that instant, I knew the devotion I'd poured out for more than ten years meant nothing to her. Rage hit my heart. I suffered a heart attack and followed my mother into death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my wife proposed separate finances after marriage.

My wolf was hurt three years ago. I have to sleep eighteen hours a day, or my heart gives out. My Alpha mate’s best friend says I’m lazy. She puts ice in my bed and alarm clocks under my pillow, and she streams it for her followers. My Alpha ruffles her hair and tells me not to take it personally. The night before my Mating Ceremony, my doctor warned me that one more forced wake-up could stop my heart. I sent Dominic the diagnosis. “Don’t worry,” he wrote back. “I’ll tell her to back off.” At three in the morning, she fired a cannon next to my ear. I grabbed his pant leg and begged him to save me. He pried my fingers off one at a time, turned out the light, and told me not to be late. Two hundred guests are waiting at the hotel. My Alpha is furious that I overslept. He has no idea I’ve been dead since 3:07.

Everyone in the North knew I was Damian Holt's true fated mate. But I was never his first choice. Seven years ago, he returned after winning the war. In front of the whole pack, he took my sister's hand and announced that she would be his chosen mate. But on the day of the ceremony, the fated bond between us suddenly awakened. A werewolf's instincts don't lie. Everyone knew I was the one truly bound to him. Damian didn't reject me. But he didn't let go of my sister either. From then on, my sister was his publicly acknowledged mate. She had his children and the respect of the whole pack. All I had was a title everyone envied: "fated mate." Damian indulged me from time to time. When I charged into the forbidden hunting grounds, he slung me over his shoulder and carried me back. When I got drunk and climbed out a second-floor window, he stood underneath and caught me. When I rode Snowfoot off our lands, he chased me for dozens of miles and put his own coat around my shoulders. "Evelyn, when are you going to behave yourself?" Back then, I always laughed, because I knew he'd come find me no matter how far I ran. Later, I really did behave. I stopped climbing walls and riding off wherever I pleased. I started staying home, just like my sister. I even thought that if we had a child, Damian might finally stop seeing me as a problem he had to deal with. But I waited seven years. My sister had three children by then. I had nothing. Then a pack doctor tested the medicine I took every day. He said it had always contained something that suppressed my wolf. The longer I took it, the less likely I was to ever get pregnant. And I finally let go.

The day my girlfriend’s condition worsened and she needed urgent surgery, I publicly called her a burden in front of everyone. Despite her pleas, I abandoned her cruelly. Seven years later, she became a formidable international tycoon and returned home with great fanfare. To exact her revenge on me, the heartless man, she poisoned my mother into silence and sent my father to prison. Eager to see me beg for mercy, she mobilized every connection to track me down. At this point, her parents could no longer bear to watch. With tears streaming down their faces, they revealed the entire truth. “He died seven years ago to donate his organs to you!”

When I found Silas Pembroke, he was carefully untangling a strand of another woman’s hair from his tie clip. The two of them were wrapped around each other, far too close to pretend otherwise. He let out a mocking laugh. “Jenna, what exactly are you going to accuse Sienna and me of this time?” Sienna Vale smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Pembroke, you stayed away longer than usual this time.” I steadied myself and said, “I’m not Jenna. I’m her twin sister, Summer Sinclair.” Silas burst out laughing. “What is this, your latest stunt?” Then his expression hardened. “Keep pushing me, and I can’t promise you’ll stay Mrs. Pembroke forever.” I only looked at him and said quietly, “Silas, my sister left three keepsakes behind for you.”

Alpha Evan Scott, who once loved me beyond all reason, stopped loving me overnight. Because he had chosen the wrong wolf. What he never realized was that, on that very same day, I awakened too. If, in his eyes, I was nothing but an imposter who had occupied Julia Lawson's place for all these years, then it was time to return what was never meant to be mine. I followed fate's design all the way to my death. Only after that did Evan sink to his knees beside my corpse, his cries filled with unbearable regret. At last, I remembered. The truth was, he had come for me.

On the day of our wedding, my vampire husband confessed that he had a severe emotional disorder. He could barely understand other people's feelings and had no idea how to respond to them. Because I had already fallen in love with him, I chose to accept it. I believed that if I gave him enough time, he would eventually learn how to love me. The day the vampire hunters attacked, I threw myself in front of a bullet meant for him. A bullet struck my arm, and the pain nearly brought me to my knees. Adrian Blackwood only glanced down at the carpet. "Go get that wound taken care of." He frowned. "Don't get blood everywhere." Every vampire in our circles knew my husband didn't love me. I had become the punchline everyone whispered about. But I never blamed him. I truly believed he simply wasn't capable of loving anyone. Until I finally got pregnant and went to surprise him with the news, only to hear his human blood servant laughing on the other side of his office door. "She actually believes you have an emotional disorder?" To my shock, Adrian laughed too. His voice was so gentle I hardly recognized it. "She loves me that much. Of course she believes it." "If it weren't for an heir, I never would have married her." I stood outside the door and looked down at my arm. The scar from the silver bullet was still there, jagged and ugly. There was no point in sharing this surprise anymore. I would take my baby and disappear from his world for good.

All it takes is one offhand remark from Tanya Smith's childhood sweetheart, Harry Lieberman, calling our daughter, Melanie Curry, and me fat and ugly to wound her pride and send us both to a weight-loss training camp. For an entire year, I barely get enough to eat. I starve until I develop heart disease and endure one torment after another. Melanie has it worse. The grueling workouts and constant hunger push her body to its breaking point, leaving her barely alive. Desperate, I call Tanya for help, but she sounds heartbreakingly contemptuous. "It's just a weight-loss camp. So what if you skip a few meals? Think of it as detoxing. Don't make such a big deal out of it. And don't call me again until Melanie reaches her target weight!" With that, she hangs up. Later, Melanie passes away from organ failure due to malnutrition and overtraining. Tanya comes to take me out of the camp. Her tone is as critical and condescending as ever. "Has she finally lost weight? Or is she planning to stay in there until she dies from being so fat?" My eyes are empty, my gaze hollow. Tanya has no idea that our daughter is dead.

When I was eight months pregnant, my husband's foster sister invited me to hike a snow-covered mountain. Midway up, an avalanche hit. We were both buried. My husband rushed to the scene, but before I could utter a word, his sister accused me: "She planned this! She tricked me into coming today!" I tried desperately to explain. He didn't listen. Instead, he lashed out at me. "Sandra doesn't know any better, but you should! So what if she's blunt? Is this your petty revenge? Your pathetic life couldn't even begin to repay hers if she'd been hurt!" Then he left. Took her hand. Walked away. I screamed after him, begging him to save our baby. He didn't even glance back. Worse, he unhooked my safety harness and shoved me out of the rescue group. "Since you're so clever, find your own way down." Not long after, another avalanche hit. This time, I couldn't get back up. Three hours later, Sandra was in a car accident. She needed a blood transfusion. That's when he finally thought of me. But by then, he didn't know—I was already gone. Me, and the child I'd never hold, were still buried under the snow.

My younger twin sister, Emma Lawson, is everyone's favorite because she is sickly. A snowstorm traps us on the mountain and the rescue helicopter arrives with room for only one more. I have terminal cancer and am ready to let Emma take my place. Then she suddenly clutches her head and cries that she feels dizzy. My whole family rushes to her side and together they push her into the cabin. My husband, Leon Ziegler, touches my fractured arm and says, "Sarah, you'll have to wait for the next helicopter." My daughter, Daria Ziegler, even throws a snowball at me. "Aunt Emma is sicker than you. Stop trying to take her spot." Only when the helicopter takes off do I see Emma pressed against the window, smugly sticking her tongue out. She has been lying the whole time. When I am finally rescued, the doctors tell me I have three days left to live. I decide to trade everything I own for a small piece of my family's affection.