After Death Romance Short Stories & Mistress Novels

The day I discover that my husband, Nick Goldberg, is cheating on me, my severe depression drives me to climb up to the rooftop. My older sister, Natalie Swift, stabs him before dragging him over to apologize to me. From then on, Natalie moves in with us and becomes his strictest watchdog. Every time he so much as twitches, Natalie is even more anxious than I am. With Natalie keeping watch over Nick, he genuinely changes. He deletes all of the female contacts he has and comes back home on time. It's to the point that he even reports to me when he's just going out to throw the trash. Because of this, I think that this battered, broken marriage of ours is finally getting a fresh start. However, that only lasts until I receive a call from me ten years into the future. As I take in the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman in front of me, I ask tentatively, "It's been ten years. Is my depression still not cured?" Instead of answering, she curls her lips into a smile that was more a horrible grimace and shows me a video. The video she shows me is of Nick pinning Natalie to the closet wall. His eyes are filled with suppressed pain as he says, "For three years now, we've stayed under the same roof, yet we still can't openly be together. Just how long do you plan on punishing me?" Natalie shuts her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. "What we did to Lena was unforgivable. Only by being apart can we atone for our sins." I stiffen, feeling as though I've been plunged into freezing waters. As it turns out, the woman I've been searching the entire city of Hollerton for is none other than my beloved older sister. Nick truly is quite skilled at hiding her, to the point that she's been living right under my nose for three entire years without me being any the wiser. The screen abruptly cuts back to my future self, who leans in closer with a crazed smile on her lips. "You hear that? As long as you still breathe, everyone is suffering. Only with you dead can everyone be free."

In my third year overseas as a war correspondent, I get seriously injured during a grenade explosion and lose all my memories. I develop severe PTSD and spend two years in a psychiatric hospital. Two months ago, I finally remember who I am. On the day of my return, my best friend, Beckett Jobling, and my wife, Gina Spencer, come to the airport to pick me up. They cry even harder than I do. Gina's eyes are red, but her voice is still as gentle as ever. "I've tidied up our new home. You move in first. I'll come keep you company after work tonight." However, I go back to the villa where we used to live. The moment I push open the door, I see a wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The groom isn't me but my best friend, Beckett. The sound of the key turning in the lock comes from outside. Gina, who is supposedly busy at work, walks in hand in hand with Beckett. In her arms, she's holding a little child. In a sweet, childish voice, the child calls her, "Mommy." I stand frozen. I am so stunned that I even forget to breathe. I've only been away for two years. How can their child already be three years old?

On the night of our wedding, Simone Laurent did not inject the promised capital into the Holt family's company. Instead, she had someone carry in a crate of scratch-off tickets. She undid the top buttons of her blouse, her eyes lazy with amusement. "Here are 2,000,000 dollars' worth of scratch-offs. Whatever you scratch off, that is what you get. Be good, Spencer, and maybe next time I will give you something real." I knew what she was doing. She punished me because yesterday I had ruined her evening, and I had thrown a glass of red wine all over her assistant, the one in the see-through shirt. I did not cry this time. I did not make a scene. My fingers found an ultra-thin condom in her pocket that was not my size, and I simply wiped my hand clean and said nothing. The surprise in her eyes lasted half a second before it softened into a satisfied smile. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, warm breath spilling against my ear. "That is right. Now you are starting to act like a husband who knows his place." She pulled out an unlimited black card and pressed it to my chest, the plastic cold through my shirt. "Take it. This should be more than enough for your family's company." I managed a stiff smile, pulled the card free, and handed it back. "I do not need it." She did not know this. During the days she spent breaking me in, my father had already been cornered by debt collectors on a rooftop and forced past the edge. Dead men did not need money.

My fiancé sent me overseas and immediately burned my wallet, threw away my phone, and tore up my visa. He did it all to make sure I couldn't return home and ruin his wedding to his first love. His friends tried to warn him. "Don't go too far. What if your fiancée really gets angry?" But my fiancé didn't care at all. "She's gotten too spoiled because I've always treated her too well. I'm just teaching her to be more understanding. Besides, Yvonne and I aren't really getting married. I'm only doing this so her dying grandmother can pass away without regrets. Nothing will happen between us. Once the wedding is over, I'll make it up to Winnie." The moment his wedding ended, he rushed to find me and apologize. But he never got the chance to see me. Later, he even took my documents and planned to register our marriage first as a way to make it up to me. It seemed he truly had no idea that I had already died the night he sent me overseas.

On the day of her daughter Nina’s funeral, before the pastor could finish the eulogy, Rosalind answered Samson’s phone call. “Change of plans. Let’s meet earlier. I’m on my way now.” Ethan held the small cremation urn in his arms. His knuckles turned white from gripping it too tightly. Nina had been critically ill with leukemia. Only Samson’s bone marrow matched hers. Driven to the brink, Ethan desperately begged Rosalind to go along with Samson’s request. She promised that she would only be playing pretend and would not fall for Samson. However, as time passed, she eventually fell for Samson and indulged him in every way. On the night when Nina needed the transplant the most, Ethan called her, frantic. However, she was unreachable because she was camping deep in the mountains. Ethan helplessly watched the three-year-old die in the emergency room. Later, Rosalind even protected Samson and let him stomp on Nina’s cross necklace. She even forcibly confined Ethan to a sanatorium and forced him to donate blood to Samson. It was not until Rosalind learned that Samson had deceived her from the very beginning that she felt piercing regret. She gave him fifty percent of her shares, knelt for hours at the cemetery, and tried to make amends wherever she could. However, no amount of regret could bring back the man she had deeply wounded.

I spend three years in prison taking the fall for Dwight Reed, the precious assistant of my hospital director wife, Gretchen Payne. On the day I am released, the first thing I see is yet another Medical Malpractice Liability Acknowledgment. "Sign it, Dustin. I want you to take the blame for this incident, too. Dwi has a bright future ahead of him. He can't have a stain on his record." Gretchen shoves a pen into my hand. "You've already served time. So, one more charge isn't going to make a difference." When I don't budge, she clicks her tongue impatiently. "Dustin, you're a convicted felon. You should be grateful for the chance to take the fall for Dwi! It's only five years! "Don't push your luck. Or is this about money? In that case, name your price!" I look at Dwight, who's sitting in the car with his arm around her waist, and let out a silent, bitter chuckle. My hand tightens around the late-stage leukemia diagnosis in my pocket. Gretchen, how am I supposed to serve five years when I only have seven days left to live?

Everyone said my wife, Zoey Harper, was an amazing wife and mom who'd do anything for me and our son, Leo. Leo's doctor warned us three times that he might not make it. Then he died. Zoey claimed she was overseas for work. She wasn't. She'd invited Peter Cole—the first love she'd never gotten over—and his family to our apartment for dinner. I came home carrying Leo's urn, ready to confront her. Instead, she tossed my luggage into the hall. "We have guests, and we're out of rooms. Go stay somewhere else for a few days."

When my boyfriend, Caleb Steele, loses his family and everything he has, I walk away. After he makes a comeback, I come to see him every year. The first year, I hold my daughter, Claire Sutton, in my arms. Caleb throws fifty thousand dollars at me and tells me to stay away. The second year, I bring my late-stage cancer diagnosis, and he doesn't even look at it. Instead, he gives me a hundred thousand dollars and tells me to disappear for good. In the third and fourth years, I vanish just as he wants. Then, in the fifth year, he gets a call from Claire. "Mommy, when are you bringing me dinner? I'm hungry."

To help her childhood sweetheart, David Middleton, take my place studying abroad, my wife, Sharon Griffin, destroys my records and deliberately fills in false information, ensuring that I'm permanently denied a visa. She even severely injured my hands before sending me to the Behavioral Reform Center. My mother-in-law, Paula Brown, who has always treated me with affection, takes Sharon's side. "Kyle is so ungrateful. We gave him everything, and he still wanted to get a PhD abroad to find his biological parents. Who's going to take care of me if he's gone?" Sharon snorts. "He's just vain. When he found out I'd turned down Westbridge's offer of admission, he gave me the silent treatment and threatened to divorce me. If I let him go abroad, he'd think he could do whatever he wanted. "As my husband, he has everything he could ever need, yet he still wants to take David's opportunities away from him. Maybe the Behavioral Reform Center can teach him to appreciate what he has." A semester later, Sharon goes to the airport to pick up David, who's returning from his studies abroad. For the first time in a long while, she asks her assistant, Adam Norris, "It's been so long. Has Kyle learned his lesson? Tell him he can come home for the winter break." She doesn't know that I've already died on the very first day she sent me to that reform center.

It's only a day after my death, and my wife, Abbie Johnson, is at a hotel with her first love, wearing a red dress. I once told her while I was drunk, "Next life around, I'll let you go. And I'll set myself free, too." Abbie just rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I can't wait. Hope that day comes sooner." Now she gets her wish. I'm gone. She walks right past my body without batting an eye. Yet the moment they slide me into the incinerator, she suddenly charges forward like she has lost her mind. "Can we please just stop fighting?"

To help my husband, Julian Parker, pay off the debt from his stock-market losses, I agreed to sell one of my kidneys. But on the day of the surgery, our six-year-old daughter, Ella Parker, ran to the clinic all by herself and frantically called Julian for help. Julian sounded conflicted. "Mom's only having one kidney removed. It'll get Dad out of this mess for good. But if she doesn't do it, Dad's whole future is ruined." Ella kept begging him to stop the surgery, but Julian simply hung up. Then he hurried toward a private hospital suite nearby, his face filled with worry. Inside lay Claire Morgan, the woman he'd never gotten over. Her face was deathly pale. "Don't worry. We've got a kidney for you. You're going to be fine." He lowered his voice. "And don't feel guilty. I'm the one who chose to lie to her. She's still young. She can live just fine with one kidney." Claire's transplant was a success. Julian was in such a good mood afterward that, for once, he even suggested taking Ella and me on a trip, calling it a belated honeymoon. But he had no idea I was already dead. After my kidney was removed, I couldn't even afford $9.90 for the antibiotics I needed. The wound became infected, and I died. And Ella finally gave up on her father, too.

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.”

The night Helen Kerr's first love proposes, I stand on the 33rd-floor terrace, holding my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis. Through the glass, I watch the man drop to one knee. They exchange rings, and she slides the ring meant for me onto his finger. I stay hidden outside in the excruciating pain, refusing to ruin their moment. Then Helen spots me. There is no panic or guilt, just pure disgust in her eyes. She sneers, gestures toward the ledge, and mouths through the window, "Jump, if you're gonna jump. Stop acting just to ruin my night. If you actually die, maybe I'll believe you." Right then, the last flicker of life in me goes dark. I look at the woman I've loved for a decade and finally smile. That's a smile of pure relief. I turn and climb over the railing. "You're free now, Helen. Enjoy the final gift."

In my third year as a blind massage therapist, Henry Young took his employees on a company retreat. By sheer coincidence, he ended up booking me. When he saw me, he remained perfectly composed, so much so that even his breathing did not falter. I served him the same way I treated every other client. Then his phone rang. My hands paused for a moment as my own voice, young and girlish, came through his phone speaker. His employees immediately started teasing him. Henry simply explained in a gentle voice, “My wife recorded that when she was young and didn’t know any better.” Just as he was leaving, Henry suddenly turned around. “Anya Walt, I’ve never forgotten you. “Are you really going to keep living this hard life, with my child by your side?” I rubbed my fingertips again and again, but said nothing. It seemed he still had no idea. Back then, I kept our child and delivered the baby. But the baby was stillborn.

The night Justin Lane proposed to his first love, I stood on the terrace of the thirty-third floor, holding a report that diagnosed me with late-stage stomach cancer. Through the windows, I watched him kneel and slide the pink diamond ring that had once belonged to me onto another woman's finger. I endured the excruciating pain and stayed out on the terrace beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows so I wouldn't disturb their beautiful moment. Then Justin saw me. There was no panic or guilt in his eyes. There was only disgust. From the other side of the glass, he sneered and pointed toward the edge of the terrace. Then, he mouthed the words to me. "If you want to jump, then jump. Enough with the disgusting act already. "If you really have the nerve to die, I'll believe that you weren't lying." At that moment, the last spark of my will to live was finally extinguished. I looked at him, at the man I had loved for a decade… And I finally smiled. It was the smile of someone who had finally found peace. I turned around and climbed onto the railing. You're free, my dear Justin. Get ready to accept this last gift of mine.

My daughter and my husband’s godson were diagnosed with acute leukemia at the same time. The doctors said a banked cord-blood unit could save a life. His foster sister, Rebecca Sloan, knelt in front of me with her son in her arms and begged until her voice gave out. “Claire, please, let Leo have the cord blood. His father died right after he was born and I never banked any of my own. Have some pity on the two of us. “Leo is the only child I have. I’m begging you. Save him.” I refused outright. I was not going to gamble with my daughter’s life. Then, on the morning of my daughter’s treatment, my husband, Ethan Hale hit me with his car and left me critically injured. The wheels went over my thigh and back again. The pain nearly took me under. He stood over me while I struggled in the blood on the pavement, and I couldn’t read anything in his eyes. “Claire, I’m sorry. For Leo’s sake, this is the only thing I can do. “You shouldn’t have fought Rebecca over the cord blood. Leo is far sicker than our daughter. If anyone gets saved first, it should be him.” They rushed me into surgery. He turned around, took the cord blood, and gave it to Rebecca’s son. By the time I woke up in my room, the only thing waiting for me was my daughter’s death certificate.

Ethan Shaw is dead. His face has been destroyed and his limbs severed. When his body reaches the morgue, the person who performs the autopsy is his own wife, Dr. Vivian Sullivan. She is a cool, rational professor of forensic pathology, and she is the woman Ethan loved for more than a decade. Six years ago he lost his voice saving her life, and she married him because of it. In all the years that followed, she remembered every one of his follow-up appointments yet never once remembered his birthday. She tended his injuries, but gave every ounce of warmth and favor she had to his younger brother. Right up until the moment he died, Ethan was calling her, over and over. And she hung up on his last plea for help so she could film a meteor shower for his brother. Afterward, Vivian finds a scar she knows on the body, a red mole behind its ear, and the ring he died protecting--the one he'd meant to give her. She finally recognizes him.

After being forced to donate my blood to Zachary Doolithe, my wife Anna Lang's childhood sweetheart, I died in the small quarters that she had personally decorated for me. Before I died, my five-year-old son ran to the main quarters and begged Anna three times. The first time, he broke in and said that I was vomiting blood. Anna scoffed. "I see he's improved his ways. He's even taught our son to lie." Then she ordered the servants to take my son out. The second time, he knocked on the door and said that I was already beginning to convulse in pain. Anna tutted. "I only asked for a little blood, didn't I? It's not like I cut out his heart. Why is he pretending?” The servant stepped forward again and forcefully pushed my son out of the main quarters. The third time, he knelt at Anna's room door, begging for a full hour. He told her that I was unconscious. Anna finally lost her temper. She snapped his arm and threw him out of the main quarters. "I told you, your father won't die. If you disturb me again, I'll throw him into a mass grave!" He had no choice but to give his emerald pendant, a symbol of his status as a prince, to the young beggar at the door. "Young lad, I don't want to be a prince anymore. I just want my father to live." The beggar accepted his emerald pendant and quickly brought a healer. However, Zachary had the healer dragged to the kennel of his dog. He said calmly, "I'm sorry, Your Highness. Your mother was worried I'd be too upset over the dog's illness, so she specifically ordered all the healers in the city to be sent to my quarters. Your father will have to wait."

After losing his entire retirement savings to a scam, my father-in-law, Kyle Knight, tried to kill himself by overdosing on pills. I frantically called my husband, Joshua Knight, a psychology expert, hoping he could talk his father out of it. "Dad lost his entire retirement fund to a scam. He left a suicide note, and he's trying to kill himself. Come home!" Instead, Joshua snapped at me for making such a big deal out of it. "Your dad's made plenty of bad decisions before. Maybe this'll finally teach him a lesson. Don't bother me with stupid stuff like this again. I'm trying to watch a movie with Vanessa." For a second, I thought he hadn't heard me clearly. I was about to tell him that the man dying was his own father. Then Vanessa Morgan's voice came through the phone. The horror movie scared her. Joshua immediately turned to comfort her. Later, he casually told me to put together a PowerPoint on how my dad got scammed so he could use the case in one of his anti-scam livestreams. I swallowed everything I was about to say and obediently said, "Okay." After all, the person who scammed Kyle out of his retirement savings and drove him to suicide was Vanessa's mother.

As I was rummaging through the trash for leftovers, my wife, who had died three years ago, suddenly showed up. She stepped out of the Voyce and looked down at me from above. “Honey, you really did pass my test.” I was holding some moldy stale bread. I stared at her in bewilderment. It turned out that three years ago, at a class reunion, the school heartthrob she had once dated had suggested it. “I wanted to see if your love is real.”