I Made a Deal With the Devil
I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died.
The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary.
The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place.
He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name.
I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand.
Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study.
This time, I said nothing.
It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything."
He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called.
I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged.
That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines.
He never even knew I had carried a child.
Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands.
But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.