Michelle POV

Pain is an anchor to the living, and I had been cut loose.

I didn't feel pain anymore. I felt weightless.

I was floating. The ceiling of the warehouse had vanished, blown open to the indifferent night sky. Thick, gray columns of smoke billowed upward, carrying the acrid stench of sulfur and burnt meat.

I looked down.

The chair was a mangle of twisted metal. The concrete was scorched black. And in the center of the blast radius, there was... something. It didn't look like a person. It looked like ruin.

*That's me,* I thought. The realization was stark, unclouded by panic.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Blue and red lights cut through the smoke, painting the debris in a strobing kaleidoscope of disaster. Firefighters rushed in, hoses blasting water onto the smoldering wreckage.

Then, a black van pulled up. The words *County Medical Examiner* were stenciled on the side.

If I still had a heart, it would have skipped a beat.

Kevin stepped out.

He looked irritated. He was wearing his blue scrubs, a windbreaker thrown hastily over them. He ran a hand through his hair, checking his watch. He probably wanted to get back to Violet. Back to her cat.

"What have we got?" he asked a police officer, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"Explosion. One victim. Female, judging by the size, but it's hard to tell," the cop said, grimacing. "Call it so we can clear the scene."

Kevin walked into the ruins. He stepped over the rubble with practiced ease. He walked straight through me.

I felt a shiver, a phantom draft slicing through my consciousness. I turned and followed him. I wanted to scream. *It's me! Look at me!*

He crouched beside my body. He didn't flinch. He was a professional, cold and detached. He shined a flashlight on the charred remains of my arm.

"Severe fourth-degree burns," he muttered to his assistant, William, who was taking notes. "Tissue carbonization. Instant death, likely."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a gloved hand, careful not to contaminate the scene.

He looked at the screen. It was my text.

*I regret every second I wasted loving you. I hope you're happy with her. Goodbye, Kevin.*

He scoffed. A short, sharp sound of disbelief.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

"What is it, boss?" William asked, looking up from his clipboard.

"Michelle," Kevin said, shaking his head. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. "She's playing the victim card again. Sent me a dramatic goodbye text. She probably checked into a hotel, turned off her phone, and sent this to scare me."

"Are you sure?" William looked at the body, then back at Kevin. "Maybe you should call her parents?"

"And give her the satisfaction?" Kevin stood up, looming over my corpse. "No. She wants attention. I'm not giving it to her. She'll come crawling back tomorrow when her credit card gets declined."

I drifted right in front of his face. I screamed until my non-existent throat burned.

*I am right here! Look down! That's my hand you just touched! That's the heart you broke!*

But he just looked through me, his eyes scanning the warehouse perimeter.

"Bag her," Kevin ordered, gesturing to my body. "Let's get this back to the morgue. I promised Violet I'd bring her coffee."

"Boss, this is a Jane Doe," William said softly. "We should treat her with respect."

"It's a body, William. It's biological waste. Let's go."

They zipped the black bag over my face. The darkness didn't bother me. What bothered me was the man walking away, whistling a low tune, completely unaware that he was walking away from the only person who had ever truly loved him.

I tried to stay. I wanted to stay in the warehouse, to wait for the sun.

But as the ambulance started to move, I felt a sharp tug behind my navel. A hook. A spectral chain.

I was pulled forward, dragged through the air.

I couldn't leave him. Even in death, I was chained to Kevin Reed.

Michelle POV

The morgue was a sterile box of steel and silence, reeking of formaldehyde and the metallic tang of dried blood. It was Kevin’s kingdom.

My body lay exposed on the stainless steel table. They had cleaned off the debris, leaving only the devastating truth of the damage.

I hovered near the ceiling, a silent spectator tethered to the room. I couldn't look away. I was forced to witness my own autopsy, performed by the man who thought I was currently sleeping soundly in a hotel room.

Kevin switched on the voice recorder, the red light blinking like a singular, unblinking eye. "Autopsy of Jane Doe. Case number 4928. External examination reveals extensive blast injuries."

His scalpel moved with terrifying precision. He was a brilliant pathologist. As a man, he was morally bankrupt, but with a blade in his hand, he was an artist.

He worked in silence for a while, peeling back the layers of the woman I used to be.

Then, he paused.

His hand froze mid-air. He leaned in closer, his brow furrowing above his mask.

"William," he called out. His voice was different. Tighter.

William hurried over, snapping to attention. "Yeah?"

"Look at the uterus," Kevin said. He used the forceps to point. "Enlarged. Thickened lining."

William squinted under the harsh exam lights. "Is that...?"

"A gestational sac," Kevin confirmed. He stood up straight, stripping off his bloody gloves with a sharp snap. "She was pregnant. About eight weeks, I'd guess."

The room spun around me.

Pregnant.

I didn't know.

I looked down at my ruined stomach. A baby. We had a baby. Sudden flashes of memory bombarded me—the overwhelming fatigue, the missed period I had dismissed as the byproduct of a stressful month. I had been carrying a life inside me while he was busy chasing Violet's cat.

A wave of grief hit me, heavier than the bomb that had killed me. I curled into a ball in the air, sobbing silent, dry tears. *I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, little one.*

"That's tragic," William whispered. "Two lives."

Kevin sighed, a sound of clinical exhaustion rather than sorrow. He ran a hand over his face. "Yeah. It's sad."

"Just sad?" William asked, a hint of judgment seeping into his tone.

"It happens, William. Wrong place, wrong time. Some poor bastard is going to wake up tomorrow and realize he lost his girlfriend and his kid. But that's not our problem. Our problem is identifying her so we can tell him."

*You are the guy, Kevin!* I screamed, my voice soundless against the tiled walls. *It's your kid!*

He walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He looked at his reflection in the metal dispenser. He didn't look sad. He looked tired.

"Get the DNA samples to the lab ASAP," Kevin ordered. "I want this closed."

His phone rang on the counter. The screen lit up with a picture of a golden retriever. *Violet.*

His face softened instantly. The professional mask dropped, replaced by a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

"Hey, Vi," he answered, drying his hands. "Yeah, I'm almost done. Are you okay? Did you drink the tea I told you to?"

I floated closer, listening to her voice, tinny and small through the speaker.

"I'm scared, Kevin," she whined. "I had a nightmare about Daniel. Can you come over?"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he promised, his voice dripping with reassurance. "Don't cry. I've got you."

He hung up.

Immediately, the phone rang again. This time, the screen said *Joyce*. My mother.

Kevin groaned, the sound vibrating with irritation. He rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful.

"Ignore," he muttered, silencing the call with a dismissive swipe.

"Boss, isn't that Michelle's mom?" William asked. "She's called the station three times asking for you."

"She's hysterical because Michelle isn't answering her phone," Kevin said, grabbing his car keys. "They feed off each other's drama. If I answer, I'll be on the phone for an hour listening to them cry about how mistreated Michelle is. I have real problems to deal with."

"But the news report..." William hesitated, shifting his weight. "They released the description of the victim's height and weight. It matches Michelle."

Kevin paused at the door. He looked back at my body on the table.

For a second, just a split second, doubt flickered in his eyes.

Then he shook his head. "Michelle is 5'6. This body is... well, it's hard to measure exactly with the trauma. Besides, Michelle is terrified of fire. She wouldn't go near an old warehouse. She's fine, William. Stop trying to make this a soap opera."

He walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

The invisible chain yanked me hard. I was dragged through the wall, leaving my body and my unborn child alone in the cold dark.

Michelle POV

I was trapped in the passenger seat of Kevin's Audi.

He drove fast, weaving through traffic with an aggression that matched his dark mood. The radio was off. The silence was deafening.

His phone started ringing again. *Joyce.*

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "God dammit!"

He snatched the phone up and swiped to answer.

"What, Joyce?" he barked. "I am driving."

"Kevin!" My mother’s voice was broken, a jagged sound of pure terror crackling through the speakers. "Kevin, have you seen the news? The explosion? They found a body. They said... they said she was wearing a silver bracelet."

I looked down at my wrist. The silver charm bracelet he gave me for our first anniversary was still there. It was melted into my skin now, fused by the heat, but my mother knew. A mother always knows.

"Joyce, stop," Kevin said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Michelle has a silver bracelet. So do half the women in this city. It's a Pandora bracelet. It's not unique."

"But she's not answering! She never turns her phone off!"

"She sent me a text two hours ago," Kevin lied. Or rather, he twisted the truth to fit his narrative. "She said she's leaving me. She's doing this to punish me, and you're helping her."

"She wouldn't," my mom sobbed. "Kevin, please. You're a coroner. You can check. Please just check."

"I did the autopsy, Joyce!" he shouted. The car swerved slightly into the next lane before he jerked it back. "I just left the morgue. The body is a Jane Doe. It's not Michelle. Michelle is probably at your house right now, hiding in the closet, waiting for me to come beg for forgiveness. Well, it’s not happening."

"Kevin, if you're wrong..." my father's voice came on the line now, deep and trembling. "If you're wrong, God help you."

"I'm not wrong. Tell your daughter to grow up and come home. I'm done with this conversation."

He hung up and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. It passed right through my leg as if I were made of smoke.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself. "The whole family is crazy."

I stared at his profile. The strong jawline I used to kiss. The furrowed brow I used to smooth with my thumbs.

He wasn't evil. He was just... convinced.

He had built a fortress of resentment around himself, brick by brick, over the last three years. Every time I asked for affection, he added a brick. Every time I complained about Violet, he added a brick.

Now, that fortress was so high he couldn't see the truth even when he had literally dissected it.

He pulled up to a red light and slammed on the brakes. He rubbed his temples.

"She's fine," he whispered. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself now. "She's just acting. She's always acting."

He looked at the empty seat next to him. He looked right at me.

"Stop hiding, Michelle," he said to the empty air. "It's not funny anymore."

I reached out and placed my hand on his cheek. My fingers were nothing but mist. He didn't feel a thing.

"I'm not hiding, Kevin," I whispered. "I'm dead."

The light turned green. He floored the gas.