REVENGE ON MY UNFAITHFUL HUSBAND

She Knows I'm Already Dead

After Lyle left, Micah stood alone by the chilly, desolate riverbank, staring at his phone. The screen kept lighting up with notifications, but none were from me.

He was probably thinking about the past—back when I noticed his attitude towards Zoey changing. I'd get angry, but then feel like I was being petty. After all, Zoey was his stepsister; it made sense for him to be nice to her. I taught myself to ignore the signs, convincing myself it wasn't worth disrupting the peace between our families over something so trivial. I'd always make up with him soon after.

It's been twenty-four hours since I last texted him. And today, I'm missing.

Splash!

Micah threw a stone into the water, his voice edged with frustration: "Go ahead, keep this up. Let's see how long you last this time."

I stood beside him with a bitter smile. Even during our worst fights, I never stayed away for more than three days. He thought he had me all figured out, like I'd always come running back.

I watched him silently, anger shadowing his handsome face. When we were twelve at summer camp, I got stuck on a mountain during a rainstorm, and he risked his life, braving a landslide to come find me. I remember running into his arms, crying, and asking why he'd be so reckless—what if something happened to him because of me?

Covered in mud but smiling, he said he couldn't stand the thought of me being scared, sad, or alone. He wanted to fly to me. I was too young then to understand love, but I knew his embrace was warm, and I wished he'd protect me forever.

Now, he's the one who's messed up. No guilt—he just thinks I'm throwing a fit. When someone's heart changes, even breathing feels like a mistake.

It wasn't until the fourth day after my death that Micah started to panic. He opened our chat, where his last voice message still hung. My phone was still off.

"Sir, your coffee," his assistant offered, snapping him back to the present.

Micah realized he'd been staring at his phone for half an hour. Four days—it was past time for Ruby to be done with her tantrum. He grabbed his coat and stormed out.

"Sir, you have an important meeting soon," the assistant reminded.

"Reschedule," he snapped, not even turning back. He drove straight into the city to find Cole Cook.

"Ms. Cook, someone's here to see you," the receptionist called.

I rushed over. Cole was my best friend from high school. She'd given up her dream major under pressure from her parents to become a teacher. Now, she taught at a local school. She knew my struggles, so she didn't have much sympathy for Micah.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, clearly annoyed.

"Ruby's with you, isn't she? Tell her if she keeps this up, it's going to get ugly for everyone—"

"Are you kidding me?" Cole cut him off sharply. "Weren't you the one who left her at the wedding? And you think she's overreacting? She had to go around apologizing to all those guests. Who's really the shameless one here?"

Her words hit Micah like a punch to the gut, his expression darkening.

"I don't owe you an explanation. Just call her and tell her to come home!"

That's when Cole realized I hadn't been home these past few days. Her anger faded into worry. "Wait, Ruby isn't with you? What's going on? Did you upset her again?"

Micah saw the red veins in her eyes, the dark circles under them, her chapped lips—it was clear she hadn't been lying. Ruby wasn't with her. But if she wasn't here, then where had she gone during these past few days?

Micah turned and left quickly, and I heard Cole shout after him, "Micah, if anything's happened to Ruby, I swear I won't let you get away with it!"

I reached out to brush Cole's hair from her face, but my hand passed right through her. With a sigh, I whispered, "I'm sorry I let you down, Cole. Please, be happy."

My hand couldn't touch her anymore. My voice couldn't reach her. I was forcibly pulled away by Micah as he took a call and drove off again. When he finally stopped, his face was grim. He called his assistant. "Look into Ruby—"

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. The man I loved for so many years only started looking into my disappearance four days after I went missing. My body was probably rotting by now.

Just then, Zoey opened the car door and threw herself at him. "Micky, why have you been avoiding me these past few days?"

Zoey pouted, playing the victim. Micah, not wanting their relationship to be exposed, hung up the call with his assistant. He looked weary, too drained to deal with her.

"Zoey, I've got another appointment soon. If it's nothing urgent, I'm heading back to the office."

Zoey clung to his arm. "Micky, my art exhibition opened today, and you didn't even show up!"

Micah blinked, as if coming back to reality. He'd been so consumed with work lately that he'd overlooked not only Ruby's disappearance but also Zoey's art show that she'd spent a year preparing for.

"That's my fault. Let's go," he said.

As I watched my phone tossed aside, I laughed at myself. Years of my life, all for nothing.

Zoey's exhibition was set in Coconut Gallery, the place where I'd once dreamed of showcasing my art. We both loved painting since we were kids; our father had even arranged for an art professor to tutor us. The teacher always said I was the most talented student he'd ever seen.

But in a family like ours, art was only ever meant to be a hobby. Our parents wanted us to focus on finance—to help manage the family business or support our future husbands, not just be decorative "vases" who could paint.

I painted a lot in those days, hoping to one day open my own gallery. I never got the chance, not even in death. Yet Zoey made it happen.

Zoey and I were always different. After she was finally found by the family, they spoiled her endlessly. They'd have brought her the stars if she asked. No way they'd let her bear any responsibility.

I trailed behind them, feeling a twinge of bitterness. My death had come too soon; there was still so much I wanted to do.

I heard the crowd's praises: "Zoey's paintings are incredible, so talented."

"Truly gifted—this 'Water Lilies' piece is breathtaking."

Water Lilies? I looked up, only to see a painting that I had done myself. As I glanced around, I saw more pieces from my private collection, ones I'd stored in my basement studio.

Zoey had taken my works and displayed them in her gallery!

How could she be so bold? Unless she knew I was dead and wouldn't be coming back.

It was her—she was the one who had me killed.