After I Died, My Wife Began to Love Me

Part 4

After receiving the divorce certificate, my final moments came to an end.

I passed away just before dawn.

As I closed my eyes, a wave of relief washed over me—finally free. But Lily didn't know yet—she still didn't know her father was gone.

Maybe it was because of all the regrets left behind, but my soul floated above it all, watching from an omniscient perspective.

My friends arranged the funeral. Emma wasn't invited, yet she came anyway, convinced it was just another ploy.

"Is this supposed to be another one of his tricks? Dying just to make me regret the divorce—again?"

My mom sobbed uncontrollably, leaning on my friends for support. They hadn't told Lily the truth, fearing it would crush her. But this secrecy only fueled suspicion.

Jack held Emma close, strutting through the somber, quiet funeral like it was some twisted victory lap.

"Wasn't his kid supposed to be his whole world? Now he's dead, and where's the kid? He probably took the money and ran, living it up somewhere."

Jack had known about my death all along. With me gone, his mask fell off completely.

One of my friends, furious, lunged at him. Each punch landed hard, fueled by pure anger.

"Stop it! You're just a bunch of lowlife scum, no better than Tom. All classless. What, he thinks he's so good at playing dead? I'd love to see how long he can keep this act up."

In a bizarre attempt to force me out, Emma and Jack held a wedding.

It was a grand affair. They even invited my mother, though she refused. Emma, not one to be denied, threatened her with Lily.

On stage, Emma and Jack looked the picture-perfect couple.

Jack, now beaming with energy, showed no trace of his former depression.

My mother was forced to sit through the entire ceremony, unable to leave.

At first, Emma smiled confidently, glancing into the crowd, hoping I'd show up. But her smile slowly faded. From beginning to end, I never appeared. Everyone else knew I was dead. Only she remained in denial.

During the tea ceremony, Emma and Jack knelt before his parents, grinning from ear to ear.

But I remembered how she treated my mom at our own wedding.

When it came time for her to serve tea to my mother, she pretended to slip, spilling the tea all over the new dress my mom had stayed up nights sewing for the occasion.

Her bridesmaids giggled, and my mom, embarrassed, accepted the cup with a forced smile.

Back then, I believed I could one day melt her heart of stone.

Still clinging to hope, Emma held my mother hostage after the wedding, refusing to release her unless I showed up.

To settle it once and for all, my friends took her to the hospital.

It was late, and the morgue felt cold, almost haunting.

"What a circus," she muttered, rolling her eyes in disbelief.

My face was hidden under a white sheet. My mom's hands shook as she tried, but failed, to pull it back.

"If you don't believe it, go on. Pull it back yourself. See for yourself."

Maybe it was the harsh tone of my friend's voice, but Emma hesitated for a long moment before finally grabbing the corner of the sheet. For once, she was silent.

But her trembling hands betrayed her.

When she didn't move fast enough, my friend pulled the sheet off entirely.

My pale, lifeless face was revealed.

Emma stared, motionless, before finally collapsing to the floor.

"Do you believe it now?"

She clutched her head.

"It's fake. All of it. How could he be dead? This isn't real."

Before my friends could drag her closer to me, she fainted.

When she woke up, she was a different person.

She refused to let them cremate me.

"Tom's already gone, and you're still tormenting him? He must've been cursed to have met you."

Those words sounded eerily familiar—only now, I was the subject.

Despite her heart-wrenching cries, the cremation went on.

As I watched my body turn into ashes, trapped in a small urn, my mind swirled with a thousand thoughts, only to end in a sigh.

My mom took the urn, clutching it tightly, her sobs echoing through the room.

Emma sat there, dazed, her expression unreadable, perhaps in shock.

Just as my friends were about to leave with my mom, Emma rushed over and dropped to her knees, grabbing at my mother's pants.

"Mom, please, Tom was my husband. Can I have his ashes?"

No one believed she had a sudden change of heart. They feared she had some cruel plan in mind for my remains.

Worried she might hurt my mom, one of my friends kicked her away.

"You wicked woman! Even after his death, you won't let Tom rest in peace."

Emma fell to the ground, her body shaking with sobs.

"Mom, I'm begging you. Let me keep my husband's ashes. Just let me have something to remember him by."

It wasn't the first time she'd called me her husband, but it had been so long since the last.

"If you don't stand up now, we'll call security."

Ignoring the threat, Emma knelt there, bowing her head repeatedly to my mom.

I couldn't figure out what she was thinking, but the irony wasn't lost on me. The humiliation I endured in life was now repaid in death.

"My son's ashes are not yours to keep. Let it go."

With my friend's help, my mom held the urn even tighter, her knuckles turning white from the strain.

After they left, Emma remained there, kneeling in a trance.

People passed by, but none seemed as heartbroken as she did. To an outsider, it might have looked like she loved me deeply.

After marrying Jack, Emma moved in with him, just as expected.

When she returned home, Jack's eyes lit up with greed.

Now that they were married, he assumed the money would start flowing in, enough to settle his debts.

"Emma, where's the money?"

Emma didn't reply. She moved like a puppet, searching the house, until finally, she found a bank card.

Seeing that, even in death, my heart ached.