Ten years ago, on the day Owen and I got married, Vanessa ended her life by slitting her wrist in a hotel. However, he married me anyway.
“Vanessa was my first love, but I saw her only as a friend after she started dating someone else. She was
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Chapter 7
too reckless. Don’t let it bother you,” he said.
I took his words to heart and quickly put it out of my mind. But now, everything became painfully clear as I stared into the hatred in his eyes.
His face twisted with madness as he sliced my wrist open.
Fear surged through me, and I pleaded with him. “Murder is a crime, Owen. My parents will come looking for me and our child-
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Owen burst into maniacal laughter. “You’re already dead! You died on the operating table during childbirth complications! And the Millars? They’re bankrupt. Susan and Gerard can barely look after themselves!”
His face contorted into something unsettling. “And the baby you had? She’s mine and Vanessa’s. We just used your womb. The whole low sperm count story? I made it up to remain loyal to Vanessa and push you into IVF!”
I could no longer make out his words clearly as blood poured from my wound, an overwhelming chill creeping over me.
After I died, a faint thread of consciousness lingered.
I watched Dad spiral into a stupor after my death. He drove his car straight into a raging river during one of his outings.
When the police recovered his body, it was already decaying, but his hand was still tightly clutching a photo of the three of us–him, Mom, and me.
Mom, in her grief, took her own life by jumping from a high building.
As for Owen, he raised the daughter I carried for ten months, naming her Vanessa Shepherd. They went on to live a peaceful, happy life.
I was about to fade into nothingness when a voice reached me.
“Do you want to start over?”
