Five years after I died, Delia—my wife, a doctor—tried to dump her first love's new mess on me again.

She stormed into my old place, waving some fake agreement with my name on it, but all she found was dust.

Panicking, she ran downstairs and cornered the shop owner.

"William?" he said. "He's been dead five years. Heard the family of that malpractice case found him. Stabbed him up bad."

Delia laughed it off, like the guy was making it up.

"So what if he got suspended? He's still sulking over that?" She rolled her eyes. "Tell him this—he's got three days. If he doesn't show, I'm cutting off his sister's cancer treatment."

She muttered something ugly, slammed the door, and left.

The shop owner just watched her go, shaking his head.

"There's no sister left," he said quietly. "She died years ago... couldn't pay for treatment."

The security door clicked. Key turned.

I drifted near the ceiling, watching Delia Foster storm into my old apartment, clutching some fake agreement.

She swatted at the dusty air, heels hitting hard. "William Wright, get your ass out here! Harlan's about to lose his license and you're still hiding?"

I laughed—dry and bitter.

Since that malpractice mess, we were done.

Now she's back, trying to pin Harlan's screw-up on me again.

Harlan Sloane. Her first love.

Guess some bonds really do stand the test of time.

Delia paced twice, eyes scanning the dust-covered couch and cobwebbed windowsill. Her lip curled. "What, you trying to vanish off the map? Where the hell does a disgraced ex-doctor even hide?

"Harlan just texted—police are opening an investigation. You want him in prison? I'm giving you ten seconds. Get out here!"

I watched her impatient face. Five years, and nothing had changed—still acting like the world owed her.

Yeah, count all you want, Delia.

I wasn't showing.

Because I was already dead.

"William! Do you hear me? Can't you just do me this one favor?"

She spun and kicked the bedroom door open. It hit the wall hard.

Still empty inside.

Clicking her tongue, she tore through the place like I was playing hide-and-seek in the dust.

Still nothing.

Then it hit her.

No one lived here.

She muttered something ugly, slammed the door, and stomped out.

Downstairs, the corner store door slammed open. Delia grabbed Mr. Parker, the owner, by the sleeve. "You seen William? Third-floor guy."

He blinked, wiped grease off his hands. "William? He's been dead five years."

Delia froze, then gave a sharp laugh. "Yeah, right. He's not the dying type."

"Wish I was joking." He nodded toward the alley. "Family of that malpractice case found him. Stabbed him up bad. Didn't make it to the ER. You his what?"

His calm tone threw her.

Her brows pulled tight, face twisting—half shock, half something that actually hurt.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from Harlan.

[Forget it, Delia. William probably still resents me. He'll dodge it. Don't stress over me. If prison's where I'm headed, so be it. You need to focus on yourself.]

And just like that, she decided I'd pulled a Houdini. Faked my death.

Her hands shook as she typed:

[How dare he refuse? After all the money I gave him, he owes us! Don't worry—I'll drag him back. I'm not letting anything happen to you!]

Message sent. She looked up, full-on glaring at Mr. Parker.

"Save it. He's hiding. Did he pay you off?"

Mr. Parker sighed. "You think I'd joke about something like this? It was on the news..."

"Like I believe the news?" Her voice climbed.

She stepped closer, eyes dark. "Tell him this—he's got three days. If he doesn't show, I'm cutting off his sister's cancer treatment."

Mr. Parker opened his mouth, probably to drop some truth, but she cut him off, swatting the air.

"Spare me. He either shows, or start planning her funeral."

She spun and left. Store door slammed like a gunshot.

Mr. Parker watched her go, shaking his head.

"What sister?" he muttered. "She died years ago... couldn't afford treatment."

I hovered nearby, staring at the bottle she'd kicked aside.

Even dead, disappointment still hits like a punch to the gut.

That money never reached me.

While Raine lay dying, Harlan burned it on shiny new gear.

And while I bled out in that alley, Delia?

She was at a medical seminar—with him.

Now she's tossing a dead girl's name like it's still leverage.

It felt like my soul got chained to Delia, dragged along behind her.

The second she stepped in, Harlan pounced.

"Well? Did you find William?"

She looked dazed. "No... they said he's dead."

"Dead?!" He flinched like she slapped him, then grabbed her arm. "That's—no. He's just hiding. Probably made it up to mess with you."

Delia frowned. Said nothing.

Harlan slapped on a fake smile.

"Yeah, that's it. Still mad from five years ago. Doesn't wanna help. Maybe we just... drop it? I'll turn myself in..."

She paused. Then nodded. "No. He's hiding. But we're not done. I'll find him—and he's taking the fall."

Harlan's eyes got misty, voice cracking. "Delia, you're so good to me—"

"But," she cut in, hesitation creeping in, "if he's pulling stunts like this, he's pissed. Harlan, this is it. Once he goes down for you, we're done."

I was so stunned, I almost forgot I was dead.

Delia wanted to dump Harlan?

Wild, considering how hard she fought me over him back then.

We were barely a year into marriage when Harlan came crawling back into the country—conveniently assigned to our hospital.

They got cozy fast. Right under my nose.

When I finally called it out, she called me paranoid. Jealous.

And now she's ready to end it?

She didn't see the way Harlan's face tightened.

She looked away, voice dropping. "I need to move on. I gave him money before, but I've only held him back. Honestly... I do feel guilty."

Harlan blinked, caught off guard.

"Delia... you're leaving me?"

"I don't know." Her eyes drifted. Brows pinched. "Ever since I left William's place, I've felt off. Like something's about to go wrong."

She paused. Then steadied.

"But I'll help you. I'm not letting you go to prison. I'm heading out to find him now. Wait here."

She turned and walked off, back straight, full of resolve.

Harlan didn't follow.

But the second she was out of sight, that pitiful look dropped.

His eyes turned sharp. Cold. Poisonous.

And what he muttered through clenched teeth?

My name.

Desperate to find me, Delia went straight for Raine.

I followed her car to Citadel Hospital.

Muscle memory. For years, it was just home and hospital—on loop.

Some routines outlive the person.

She had a lead foot and a permanent frown, probably still stewing over Harlan.

The car barely stopped before she bolted inside, straight to the inpatient wing.

"Check the room for Raine Wright."

"Uh... sure." The nurse blinked and started clicking through the system.

Then came a cold laugh from the side.

"Well, if it isn't Dr. Foster. What brings you to our humble little hole?"

Delia turned—and just like that, her face dropped.

Lena Wynn. Senior attending back in the day.

She and Delia? Never exactly besties.

Weirdly enough, Lena had quit right after the malpractice case too.

Now, standing face to face, the tension snapped back to life.

Delia gave her a once-over, scowl loaded. "That's none of your business."

Lena folded her arms, smirk sharp. "Sure. Just funny—you had no time when they were dying. But now that they're gone, you show up?"

"Dying?" Delia blinked. "What are you talking about?"

She looked... genuinely lost.

But I knew exactly what Lena meant.

When I got stabbed, I was barely hanging on by the time the ambulance showed.

They called Delia—just needed someone there before I flatlined.

She was with Harlan. Didn't even answer.

Next call? Number blocked.

Same story with Raine.

When her chart went critical—no more funds, no more treatment—Delia was off vacationing with Harlan.

Raine died alone.

Lena held her stare a second longer, then let out a dry laugh. "You really sell it. Whatever. I never got what he saw in you—why you were worth everything he gave up."

She walked off, leaving Delia frozen in place.

Her fingers tightened around her purse strap—a nervous tic.

But what was she scared of?

"Dr. Foster?" The nurse's voice snapped her back. "The patient you asked about..."

A beat. Then—

"Raine Wright passed away three years ago."

Delia's pupils shrank.

She didn't move. Like the words nailed her in place.