Gojo Death Stare

My husband was in the late stages of liver cancer. Afraid of dragging me down, he committed suicide by jumping into the river. I couldn’t swim, but I dove in after him without hesitation. To give him the will to live on, I told him about winning the lottery. He pretended to struggle but took the chance to shove me underwater, drowning me. Before I could rest in peace, he ran off abroad with his first love using my money. Only then did I realize that he had planned to fake his death all along just to get rid of me! When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he jumped into the river. You wanted to die, huh? Well, let me help you with that!

"Ms. Jones, the service to fake your death that you requested has been arranged. Here's the agreement. Please sign here." Isabella Jones glanced at the contract that the person placed before her. Client: Isabella Jones Cause of death: Falling from a mountain, eaten by wild animals. Unable to retrieve the remains of the body Time of death: One week from now One week from now would mark the fifth anniversary of her marriage to Samuel Grant. It was also the day she had planned to fake her death and leave him. Since that was the date it all began, it might as well be when it ended.

My husband forces me to donate my remaining kidney to his true love. He wants to save her from death by uremia. I try to tell him that I have kidney failure—I'll die if I donate my kidney. However, he roars, "Stop playing your jealous games when Shawna is so gravely ill! Don't you have a heart?" Under his forcefulness, I'm taken to the hospital to get my kidney removed. Ultimately, I die in a corner of the hospital.

My sister was the golden child, the pride of our family, but she had a rare blood disorder that required treatments costing thousands every month. To keep her alive, I became her personal blood donor, working nonstop to pay for her care and delivering food all day and night. But one day, she nearly died from hemorrhaging after trying to abort a pregnancy. That’s when I learned the child she was carrying belonged to my boyfriend. When I confronted him, he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he dragged me to the operating table himself. “You were born to be her blood bank. Dying for her? It’s the best thing you’ll ever do.” I was left there, bleeding out, my life slipping away with every drop. But as death closed in, something changed. The people who once hoped I’d disappear—the ones who used me, betrayed me—they all began to unravel, losing their insanity.

On the fourth day after my son's death, I decided to secretly dissolve my military marriage with my husband. Before that, I had three days to settle everything for my son. On the first day, I tricked my husband into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to the school and collected the textbooks my son would never get to use. On the third day, I cooked a table full of dishes and begged my husband to celebrate our son's last birthday. He agreed, but soon after claimed he had a mission. Instead, he spent the entire night setting off fireworks with his childhood sweetheart. That night, I cooked. Then, I sat alone before my son's photo and ate all my son's favorite foods. The next day, my husband returned, guilt flickering in his eyes as he handed me a brand-new backpack. He said it was a gift for our child's first day of school. But he didn't know—our child would never have a first day of school.

Lagi akong ikinukunsidera ng pamilya ko na tagapagdala ng kamalasan. Dahil ito sa nakikita ko ang countdown bago mamatay ang mga kamag-anak ko. Sinabi ko sa kanila kung kailan mamamatay si lolo, ama, at ina. Nagkakatotoo ito dahil sa iba’t ibang mga aksidente. Ang tatlong mga kapatid ko ay kinamumuhian ako mula sa kaibuturan nila dahil sa tingin nila isinumpa ko ang mga magulang ko at lolo. Ang nanay ko ay namatay matapos iluwal ang nakababata kong kapatid na babae, pero ang mga kapatid ko ay walang tigil siyang iniispoil. Sinasabi nila na siya ang suwerte nila dahil nagiging okay ang lahat para sa pamilya sa oras na iluwal siya. Pero hindi ba’t namatay si Ina noong iniluwal siya? Sa ika-18th kong kaarawan, nakikita ko ang death countdown kapag tinitignan ko ang sarili ko sa salamin. Bumili ako ng urn at naghanda ng pagkain. Gusto ko kumain ng huling beses kasama ang mga kapatid ko, pero walang nagpakita sa kanila noong nag zero na ang timer...

My family has always considered me a harbinger of misfortune. It's all because I can see a countdown to my relatives' deaths. I tell them when my grandfather, father, and mother will die. It all comes true due to various accidents. My three brothers hate me to the core because they think I cursed my parents and grandfather. My mother actually dies after giving birth to my younger sister, but my brothers dote on her to no end. They say she's their lucky star because everything goes well for the family after she's born. But didn't Mom die while giving birth to her? On my 18th birthday, I see my death countdown when I look at myself in the mirror. I buy an urn I like and prepare a meal. I want to have one last meal with my brothers, but none of them show up even when the timer hits zero…

My younger sister and I were born twins, yet from the very beginning, our parents had zero fondness for me. My sister was the family's good-luck charm, while I was hailed as the harbinger of misfortune. I was blamed for every calamity, while she got all the credit for every blessing. Even after my death, I heard them say, "If we had abandoned her at birth, or even ended her life then, none of this would have happened." I had once tried desperately to win their approval, only to be met with cold indifference. When I finally secured a coveted civil service post, they celebrated me for the first time in my life. I naively believed that I had been acknowledged at last. But then, they said, "Give your job to your sister. She needs it more." At that moment, something inside me completely died. I tried so hard to cling to the hard-won proof that I was not the family's misfortune, yet even that slipped through my grasp. In the end, I lost everything, even the life they had never once cherished.

My husband's childhood sweetheart is a fake heiress. She and I are abducted at the same time. But when my husband, a doctor, arrives at the scene of the abduction with a medical team, he chooses to save her first. My legs have been broken, and I struggle to stay afloat in the ocean. I'm on the brink of death, and I beg him to save me and the child in my belly. He merely looks at me. Before leaving, he almost generously helps me call 911. Then, he says, "It's disgusting that you're lying about being pregnant just to save yourself. I've repaid you for saving my life—come to the hospital later today to sign the divorce papers." After listening to his words, I remove the hearing aid from my right ear with a trembling hand.

My husband, an Army regimental commander, was killed in action. Before his body was even cold, I didn't hesitate. I filed for his death certificate and notified the Army, the Social Security Administration, and our bank. Then, three days later—on the very day his twin brother married his childhood sweetheart—I moved out, changed the locks, and remarried quietly at the courthouse, taking my son and the full line-of-duty death benefits with me. To everyone else, I was heartless. Cold. I let them curse me. I just looked into my “brother-in-law's” bloodshot eyes and felt a quiet, cruel satisfaction. Only I knew the truth. In my last life, I discovered the body sent home wasn't my husband's at all—it was his identical twin brother's. I ran to confront him, but by chance I overheard him and my mother-in-law whispering. "Mom, Sarah is strong. And we have our son. She'll be okay. The benefits will take care of her. But Amy has waited for my brother all these years. If she finds out he's dead, she might do something drastic." Their words struck me like lightning. I tried to expose them, but my husband knocked me out. He told everyone grief had driven me insane. He locked me in the garage apartment and, with cold detachment, married his sweetheart. And when that woman complained my son was too loud, my husband slipped sleeping pills into our boy's juice—right as my crying child was coming to look for me. My son never woke up. The day they buried him hastily, I ended my life in the garage, utterly broken. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day they delivered my brother-in-law's body to our home.