Chapter 2

The day my body was sent home, it was pouring rain.

My mother held my urn, looking as if she had aged ten years overnight.

The place was a tiny two-bedroom apartment we rented after I sold my house.

The paint was peeling, and the windows let in drafts.

My mother placed my framed photo on the table.

"Ethan, stay home for a couple of days."

"Mom will arrange your funeral."

"Don't worry, I won't let your death be in vain."

Floating beside her, a sudden wave of anxiety washed over me.

I knew her too well.

She had been honest, conflict-avoidant, and terrified of owing anyone anything her whole life.

But for me, she would do anything.

In the afternoon, Chloe showed up.

She wore a stylish cream-colored coat, flawless makeup, and carried a designer handbag.

Marcus followed behind her, holding an umbrella.

Seeing the white funeral flowers at the door, Marcus scoffed.

"He really died?"

Chloe didn't say a word.

She stepped into the apartment, and when she saw the black-and-white photo on the table, her steps halted abruptly.

In the photo, I was wearing an old white shirt, smiling like an idiot.

We had taken that photo on the day we got our marriage license.

Her throat tightened.

"Who put this photo up?"

My mother blocked the table.

"What are you doing here?"

Chloe stared at the photo, her voice strained.

"Where is he?"

My mother's eyes were red-rimmed.

"Cremated."

"You're too late."

Chloe’s face turned instantly pale.

"Who gave you the right to cremate him?"

"I am his wife!"

My mother slapped her across the face.

The sharp crack shocked even Marcus.

"Now you remember you're his wife?"

"Where were you when he died?"

"What did you say when the nurse called you?"

Chloe held her cheek, anger flashing in her eyes.

"I thought he was faking!"

"It’s not like he hasn't used self-harm to get my attention before!"

My mother let out a bitter laugh.

"Attention?"

"When he was hospitalized for stomach bleeding, he was still thinking about transferring money to you from the ER!"

"When he had a hundred-and-four-degree fever, he still went to do those clinical trials because you told him debt collectors were blocking your company doors!"

"His arms were covered in needle scars!"

"His liver failed, his kidneys failed, and he was spitting up blood at dinner!"

"And all of that was just 'attention-seeking' to you?"

Chloe’s lips trembled.

But Marcus quickly stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

"Mary, I understand you're emotional right now."

"But whatever Ethan did over the years, he did of his own free will."

"Chloe hasn't had it easy either."

My mother looked up at him.

"And who the hell are you?"

Marcus’s expression hardened.

Chloe said coldly, "Marcus is my friend."

My mother pointed at the door.

"Take your friend and get the hell out."

But Chloe suddenly stared at the box on the table.

"Where are his documents?"

My mother grew guarded.

"What do you want them for?"

Chloe said, "To close his accounts."

"His bank cards, his insurance... as his spouse, I have the legal right to handle his estate."

My mother rushed to block the drawer.

"In your dreams!"

"You killed my son, and now you want his money?"

Chloe frowned.

"Mary, stop being unreasonable."

"I paid off a lot of his debts too."

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

I had been paying off her debts for four years.

Yet she had the audacity to claim she paid off mine.

My mother laughed too, tears streaming down her face.

"Chloe."

"Look at yourself in the mirror."

"Who was the one paying off the debts for the past four years?"

Chloe averted her gaze.

"Why do we have to draw such a sharp line between husband and wife?"

Marcus chimed in, "Respect the dead. Let's not make this ugly."

My mother grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it straight at him.

"Get out!"

The glass grazed Marcus's shoulder and shattered on the floor.

Marcus's face darkened.

But Chloe was still staring at my photo.

She suddenly whispered, "Ethan, you're so cruel."

"Even in death, you won't let me have peace."

I stood in front of her, looking at the late panic in her eyes, feeling nothing but disgust.

I was already dead.

And she still thought I was doing this to spite her.