died my
died my 9

9

The truth awaited.

I followed Terry’s silhouette down to the basement, my ethereal form drawn to his reluctant steps as we approached the morgue. Despite his resistance, my body lay there, an undeniable reality. With visible hesitation, Terry lifted the sheet covering my corpse.

It was my first glimpse of my own lifeless form.

The sight was far from peaceful–a body ravaged by illness, sparse hair, and sunken eyes.

Terry recoiled, his body shaking slightly.

Oddly, I felt an urge to laugh.

For all his contempt, he still feared my dead body.

His gaze locked onto the scar on my right shoulder, a memento from the kidnapping.

There was no mistaking it now; this was undeniably me.

“Impossible,” Terry muttered, panic seeping into his voice. “Wendy, you liar, you can’t be dead.”

But the truth was inescapable.

He stood transfixed, staring at my body while I hovered above, a detached observer to this macabre scene.

Katherine entered moments later, a barely concealed smile playing on her lips.

In this grim setting, she was paradoxically the only one pleased. My death paved the way for her to marry Terry without complications.

She lingered at a distance, not daring to approach.

Hearing her, Terry whirled around, his eyes meeting hers.

12:25

1/15

Katherine’s elation was too raw to hide, and Terry caught every nuance of her expression.

The stark contrast between her joy and the morgue’s somber atmosphere visibly darkened Terry’s face.

“Katherine,” he said, his voice ice–cold, “are you really this hanny to see someone dead?”