It was the eighth year of being cuckolded by Warren Henson and his so-called best friend, Tristan Delgado.
I died under the knife of Tristan's wife.
She stabbed me eighteen times.
The little dog we'd raised together for ten years—Warren and I—was picked up and slammed to death right in front of me.
After all of that, she lifted my lifeless hand and used my fingerprint to unlock my phone.
Then she typed a message to Warren, in my voice.
"Hey babe, whenever you and Tristan are done, come home early tonight."
"I've got a big surprise for you two!"
……
When Warren Henson received that text, he was in the middle of the happiest moment of his day—with Tristan Delgado.
My soul hovered above them both. I watched, helpless, as they tangled together in each other's arms.
Warren saw my message and broke into a sweet smile, quickly pressing the voice-reply button.
"Okay, sweetheart."
"I literally can't wait to see what surprise you've got for me."
Tristan Delgado leaned back against the hotel pillows, grinning lazily, one arm draped around Warren's waist.
"You two have been married for years. Is all that really necessary?"
"Just wait till we're finished and reply later. What's he gonna do about it?"
Warren shot him a look, then reached for a cigarette with practiced ease, lighting up a post-sex smoke.
"You don't get it."
"Julian is my daughter's father. He's my husband. We took vows."
"If I can't even show him that basic decency, what kind of spouse would I be?"
Tristan lit his own cigarette, leaning in to catch the flame from the ember of Warren's. Smoke curled between them. Tristan threw his head back and laughed.
"I have to say, Mr. Henson, after all these years, you're still that devoted to him?"
"But if you really love Julian Swanson so much, why do you keep ending up in bed with me?"
Warren kissed the underside of Tristan's jaw, his tone playful and teasing. "You and I are best friends. We're just giving each other what we need."
"Don't you dare compare yourself to my husband. I only come to you because I can't bear to wear Julian out. So don't go catching feelings."
Warren loved me. That much was true.
Even Tristan's wife, Rosalind James, believed it without question.
Forty minutes earlier, Rosalind had burst through my front door.
The first stab went straight into the softest part of my chest—my heart.
She kept stabbing, and she kept talking.
"You're the man Warren Henson loves most in this world. And your husband seduced mine."
"The only way I can hurt him—really, truly hurt him—is to kill you."
Back at the hotel, Warren and Tristan had stepped into the shower. Steam billowed around them as they started another round, bodies intertwined like lovebirds.
Shortly after sending the messages, Rosalind positioned herself in the entryway of my home, the knife gripped tight in her fist.
She waited like a mantis poised to strike.
Warren and Tristan checked out of the hotel. In the car on the way home, they kissed like they couldn't bear to pull apart.
Minutes crawled by. Finally, the smart lock on the front door beeped to life.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The door swung open.
Rosalind raised the knife high.
But the person who walked in wasn't Warren or Tristan.
It was my daughter. Lily Abbott. Home from kindergarten.
The instant she stepped through that door, my soul convulsed.
My sluggish, dead brain finally caught up. Before I died—before everything—I had been getting ready to leave the house.
To pick her up from school.
I threw my translucent body in front of her.
"Lily, run! Don't look inside! RUN!"
But my daughter couldn't see me. She couldn't hear me.
All she could see was my body on the floor, slashed beyond recognition.
And Rosalind James standing over it, knife in hand, her face twisted into something monstrous.
