My Death Exposed His Lies

I refused to help his childhood sweetheart use connections to land a promotion. She got so angry she went for a drive—and a semi-truck killed her on the highway.

After my husband found out, he froze me out every night. His depression deepened until it consumed him. Then came the cancer diagnosis.

Guilt crushed me. I quit my job to care for him full-time. I let him humiliate me. Beat me. Scream at me. I even endured the vicious retaliation from his dead sweetheart's friends.

To pay for his treatment, I sold our apartment. Then the car. Still not enough.

My dad took on three jobs to help us. Day shifts. Night shifts. No rest. He collapsed at our front door and never got up.

When they found him, he was still clutching cash in his fist. His last words: Use this for Elliot's treatment.

I shattered. I wanted to follow him. But the debts weren't paid. I couldn't die yet.

Not until tonight.

Not until I picked up a temp shift at this bar and saw her—the childhood sweetheart who was supposed to be dead—draped over him—the husband who was supposed to be dying—while they partied like they owned the world.

"Hahahaha, that idiot Daniela Simmons is probably still losing sleep over her guilt!"

"Elliot, you genius—faking my death, faking your cancer, making her quit her fancy job to become your servant."

"You, you—I've felt so bad tormenting my Dani to help you get revenge. But it's been long enough. Time to stop."

"I don't want to hurt my Dani anymore."

——

The plate slipped from my hands. Blood surged up my throat—I couldn't hold it back. It splattered across the floor.

The crash sent a wineglass flying onto the woman beside me.

Kayla Harding's friend.

"You again, you walking disaster—" Katherine Fox's face twisted with hatred. "Getting my friend killed wasn't enough? Now you're coming for the rest of us?"

She grabbed a liquor bottle and smashed it over my head without hesitation.

"Kayla wasn't as clever as you," she spat. "She just wanted you to help her get promoted. But you refused. Then you spread it around as a cautionary tale, humiliating her in front of everyone."

"She drove off in tears. Didn't see the truck coming." Katherine's voice rose to a scream. "Her body's rotting in some unmarked grave while you walk around breathing! When are you going to join her, murderer?!"

The music cut out. Laughter died. Every eye in the bar turned to us.

Blood poured down my face, soaking into my shirt. I must have looked pathetic. Broken.

But I couldn't focus on the wound. My legs gave out.

Three days ago—the day Dad died—I got my own diagnosis. Stomach cancer. Late-stage.

I'd been skipping meals. Skipping medicine. Saving every penny for Elliot Gilbert's treatment.

And now the truth was staring me in the face: He was never sick. Kayla Harding was never dead.

The only ones dying were Dad. And me.

If they hadn't lied, I never would have quit. Never would have abandoned my career to play nurse for a man who treated me like garbage.

"Get up and apologize." Katherine loomed over me, her heel grinding into my hand. "Did you hear me?"

She glanced back at Kayla and Elliot's table.

Kayla raised her glass with a serene smile. Elliot gave the faintest nod—permission granted. One last time.

They still didn't know I'd seen them.

And with that nod, Katherine went feral.

Her stiletto pinned my fingers to the floor. She twisted.

"You want to know why I hate this piece of trash?" she announced to the crowd. "Her spite killed my friend. Kayla's dead, and this bitch is still breathing. How could I not hate her?"