When Death Do Us PartChapter 1
Five years after my death, Fletcher Reynolds fully recovered from his illness and finally clawed his way up to become a billionaire.
He showed up at a press conference with his new flame, answering questions from reporters.
“Mr. Reynolds, word is that when you were diagnosed with leukemia, it was your fiancée who donated the bone marrow to save you?”
“That’s right.”
Fletcher took the microphone. “But at the lowest point of my life, that cold-hearted woman aborted our child and left me. It was June who stayed by my side day and night, never leaving me for a moment. That was when I decided I would spend the rest of my life with her.”
The moment those words left his mouth, the entire city of Bayshore swooned over the perfect love story between Fletcher Reynolds and his childhood sweetheart, June Balfe.
And they all cursed me as the villain—saying I deserved to be struck by lightning.
They said I was inhuman, that I abandoned my sick fiancée, got rid of our baby, drained him of money and fled overseas.
After the press conference, June noticed he wasn’t looking well. Putting on her most understanding expression, she asked,
“Fletcher, are you thinking about Ashley again? She left so suddenly back then… maybe she had her reasons.”
“Don’t mention her!” Fletcher gritted his teeth. “If I ever find her, I’ll skin her alive.”
Floating above them, I let out a bitter laugh.
Fletcher, I’m afraid you’ll never get your wish.
Because I died five years ago—right there on the operating table, donating bone marrow to you.
***
Whenever Fletcher came home in a foul mood, he’d lock himself in his study.
He’d take it out on the wedding photo in front of him, stabbing it over and over until it was full of holes.
“Where the hell are you hiding, Ashley? Why won’t you come out and face me?!”
His voice was hoarse as he spoke to the smiling face in the photo.
“I stood in front of the press. I have wealth you couldn’t even imagine now… why won’t you come back to me? Well…you probably know that if you did come back, I’d never let you go.”
He’d already raided his liquor cabinet, drinking himself into oblivion.
The small knife in his hand slashed the photo again and again.
From afar, the wedding photo was nothing but a sheet of holes—except for one thing: my bright, smiling face, left untouched.