Chapter 3One Like to Pull the Plug

Colin was speechless.

Because I hadn't lied.

Everything shattered the day Melody—the fragile, golden-haired ghost of his childhood—returned from Paris and declared she had nowhere to go. She moved into our guest house, and my marriage fractured overnight.

Colin swallowed every manipulative lie she fed him. He grew cold. Distant. To prove his loyalty to her, he froze my bank accounts. He used his connections in the industry to blacklist me so I couldn't find a job. He reduced me to a beggar in my own home, forcing me to hold up a whiteboard detailing exactly why I needed money, while Melody snapped pictures for his Instagram.

One like, one hundred dollars.

Those little digital hearts had stripped me of my dignity, my family, and my future.

Looking at my dead eyes, Colin finally understood that the woman who used to love him was gone. He knew I was going to stand there and watch him die.

So, he bowed his head and pressed his ghostly forehead against the linoleum floor.

[I don't want to die,] he sobbed.

I stood up, looking down at him from a great, insurmountable height.

"You don't want to die? Do you think my grandmother wanted to die? Do you think my baby wanted to turn into blood?"

He wept harder, his spectral form shivering as he poured out his apologies.

[I know I was wrong. I know it. But please, for the sake of the love we used to have, give me a chance to fix this.]

[When I wake up, I'll treat you like a queen. I'll send my mother and Melody away. I'll never let them hurt you again.]

[And if you really can't stand the sight of me, I'll give you the divorce. We’ll split everything fifty-fifty. We can walk away clean. Please?]

A slow, dark smile crept onto my lips.

"You know, I really did want a divorce," I murmured. "But right now, I think being a widow sounds infinitely better."

"You never got around to signing a will, did you? Under state law, I'll inherit at least three-quarters of your estate. That’s a hell of a lot better than fifty-fifty."

Colin began to frantically kowtow against the floor. It was a bizarre sight—he couldn't touch the physical world, yet the violent impact of his head against the ground seemed real to his soul. The ghostly skin of his forehead began to bruise, turning a sickly purple before ethereal blood started to seep into his eyes.

I felt absolutely nothing. I just turned my gaze back to the monitor, watching the jagged line smooth out into a flat, decisive finality.

But at that exact, critical second—the heavy door flew open.

A hand snatched the oxygen tube from my grip and jammed it forcefully back into the wall.