My Husband Died In Front Of Me Novels & Stories

The kind of photo they used when important people died. The tires. I heard them again, screeching through the phone. The sound after his voice broke. The sound that came when I said you deserve to die and he had nothing left to say. The last thing I ever said to my husband was that he deserved to die. And then he died. People in the store started whispering. I felt their eyes on me. “That’s his wife… oh my God, she’s so young.” “Can’t believe she’s widowed at her age…”

If I had realized sooner that this marriage was a mistake and let him go, freeing both of us, maybe we could have gone back to the easy relationship we had as seatmates. But he had his convictions, and I had my stubbornness. In the end, he got what he fought for, while I had no choice but to let go. …… I waited, expecting Eve to send me photos of her and Zac’s wedding, but even as I took my last breath and my soul floated above my body, the message never came. I watched as the villagers and children gathered around my coffin, sobbing uncontrollably. I wanted so badly to tell them, "Don’t cry. I wasn’t going to live much longer anyway."

Be with them both. My husband is dead. And so is my son. ***

can't come home anymore. Your defiant wife died the day you chose to accompany Emma to her treatment. My body lies right before your eyes, carrying the child you refuse to believe existed.

" ……. My father publicly announced my death, and all the money Christopher spent to suppress the trending news went down the drain. Dressed in a formal suit and tie, Christopher strutted arrogantly to my funeral. Sally clung to him, her voice shaky. "The act is so convincing. Could she really be dead?" Christopher looked at the black-and-white photo of me in the center of the room, rubbing his temples. He had not slept in days. I used to soothe him to sleep every night, and he was clearly struggling with the absence of that comfort. "So what if she’s dead? She was just a bar hostess! She’s not worth mourning!"

Chapter 1: The News AURORA . “Popular tech mogul Bryan Liam was found dead in cold blood in his hotel room in Paris. Police say it might be the result of a botched robbery…” The voice from the television kept going, but those were the only words echoing in my head. That was my husband, Bryan Liam. The man I had been married to for four years. The same man I had escorted to the airport. He was dead. The glass I was holding slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Everything blurred. I saw flashes of my nanny rushing to grab my son, his piercing cries echoing in my ears, but it was all distant—like my world had paused.

In my past life, my husband rushed back in time to save me. But Wynne, devastated by his abrupt departure, drowned her sorrows in alcohol and passed out outside a bar. She fell into the hands of a group of vile men who assaulted her through the night. The next morning, she woke in a cheap motel and, overwhelmed with despair, leapt from its rooftop. When I learned the news, I dragged my fragile, traumatized body to pay my respects at her grave. However, Michael pressed my head down and forced me to kneel until my forehead was bloodied and raw.

Before they came and before we got to the hospital, the blanket on me was already soaked in Dan's blood. But it was too late. I watched my husband choke to death. That night, I lost him.

In that fleeting moment, a world of unspoken words passes between us, a lifetime of memories and shared dreams that hang in the balance. I am ready to let go of the fact that he just jumped in front of a bullet to save another woman. As much as that hurts my heart bleeds praying for him to be alive. Tears roll down my face and everything remains blurred as I watch my husband bleed to death.

“No, no, no—this can’t be happening. I’m too young to die. I have plans. I have a whole life ahead of me. I was just getting it together. Everything was already perfect. I had a man that loved me. I’m happy. I can’t die. I—” I slid to the floor and curled into myself, sobbing. Sobs tore from my chest, rough and ugly. “How long?” I asked through the tears. “About a month,” he said quietly. “But… it could be sooner.” A month. Thirty days. I would be gone. I stared at the floor, shaking. How did my life turn upside down overnight? He crouched beside me but didn’t touch me. “I think you should tell your husband. Let him support you.”