Hearing these words, I felt that the whole world was collapsing in front of me. I had given up a higher career in other cities for Murphy, choosing instead to stay in the hospital as an ordinary doctor, thinking that my sincerity had moved him. But after saving his life with everything I had, he ended up treating me like this.

"I'm not getting a divorce, Murphy. You just can't remember our past now, but it doesn't mean that it never happened. There is rehabilitation treatment in the hospital. As long as you do it regularly, it will be effective."

I couldn't help crying and Murphy looked at me with disgust. Through his eyes, I saw myself—haggard and humble, like an insignificant speck.

"Rehabilitation treatment? I don't need it. Amnesia is good. At least I don't have to think about the disgusting time when I was with you."

Every word he uttered was so cold. Until he left my sight with Brianna, I stood there, lost and heartbroken. I couldn't understand where things had gone wrong. I had happiness, but it had slipped away quietly between my fingers.

When I got home, I had no appetite for the food on the table. There was a missed call on my phone from Murphy's mother, so I quickly called back.

Murphy's mother was a typical housewife—gentle, indecisive and not good at expressing herself. We didn't contact each other much. After the call connected, she tactfully expressed her thoughts. She and Murphy's father were very grateful to me for saving Murphy's life, but they also understood that a forced marriage was not good.

"Murphy had been in love with Brianna for many years before dating and marrying you. If Brianna had not left suddenly, they would have been married and had children. Now they don't want to stimulate Murphy, who has just recovered from a serious illness and hope that he and I can solve the marriage problem peacefully," she said.

I sniffed, my sobs breaking through. "Mom, I know that I am an orphan and I am not a good match for the Murphy family, but I have always been sincere to Murphy. We used to live happily. Don't you think this is cruel to me?"

On the phone, Murphy's mother couldn't help sobbing and kept apologizing to me. They all wanted me to help Murphy and Brianna.

Then what am I in Murphy's life? Was I just a key to saving him? Or merely a passerby in his long life?

I felt a deep sense of despair, questioning my place in Murphy's world. The love and dedication I had poured into our relationship seemed meaningless now. It was as if I was an outsider, a temporary fixture in a life that had moved on without me.

The next few days passed in a blur. I threw myself into my work, trying to distract myself from the pain. But every time I saw a happy couple, it reminded me of what I had lost. The hospital corridors, once a place of purpose and healing, now felt like a maze of sorrow and regret.

Murphy's words haunted me. The love we had shared, the life we had built—it was all slipping away, erased by a cruel twist of fate. And Brianna, the woman who had once been a distant memory, was now at the center of his world.

***

When the divorce agreement was sent to the hospital, I had just stepped off the operating table. Looking at the familiar words on the white paper, I tightly grasped the agreement, feeling a wave of despair wash over me.

I borrowed a cell phone from a colleague and called Murphy, wanting to talk to him face to face. There was a long silence on the other end before he reluctantly agreed after I assured him repeatedly that this would be the last time.

I changed out of my surgical gown, said hello to my colleagues and left the hospital early. The traffic on the road in the afternoon was terrible. We had agreed to meet at a nearby cafe and I rushed there, afraid of being late. Just as I was walking absent-mindedly, a large bus that ran a red light rushed straight towards me.

The screams of people around me echoed in my ears as I was knocked several meters away. My body fell heavily beside an electric pole on the side of the road. My consciousness began to slip away. My body felt very light, as if floating in the air or on water.

I watched as my body lay surrounded by a group of passers-by, face down, limbs twisted in a strange posture and blood pooling around me. Not long after, an ambulance arrived and took me away. I wanted to follow my body, but I felt a great force pulling me towards an unknown place.

In just a few seconds, I found myself at the coffee shop where I was supposed to meet Murphy. I stood next to him as he impatiently checked the time, sipping a glass of water. He couldn't see me; the person he was waiting for was standing right beside him.

"Murphy! Murphy!" I called out, my voice trembling, but he couldn't hear me. The pain of being hit by the car no longer lingered, but the memory of it was etched deeply in my mind.

I wondered if I could return to my body. Suddenly, Murphy's phone rang. His expression changed slightly after a moment and he hurriedly left the coffee shop. I followed him back to the hospital. The call must had been from one of my colleagues.

Back at the hospital, more than a month later, I saw myself lying on the operating table. Murphy was arguing with my colleague.

"I'm not her family member. We're getting divorced soon."

The words stung, but I was determined to see this through.

The scene was chaotic. Doctors and nurses were moving frantically, trying to save me. I floated above, watching the scene with a surreal detachment. The world seemed so different from this vantage point, but my love for Murphy tethered me to my past life.

Murphy's expression was conflicted. I could see the turmoil in his eyes, the struggle between his memories and his current feelings. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to remind him of our love, but I was powerless in this state.

"Murphy, please," I whispered, even though I knew he couldn't hear me. "Remember us. Remember what we had."

Murphy still coldly refused and even the young nurse couldn't bear it and slammed the pen down hard on the marble table.

The dean frowned and stood at the door, glancing at the unsigned surgery confirmation form. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward and signed his name. The red words on the operating room monitor lit up, confirming that the surgery could proceed.

I watched this farce with a cold detachment. My heart was remarkably calm despite the gravity of the situation. My life and death hung in the balance, yet Murphy, my legally recognized husband, refused to take responsibility for my surgery. The depth of his disdain for me was a revelation I had never anticipated. It was beyond anything I had imagined. Even a stranger would show more concern in the face of life and death.

The operation stretched on for more than three hours, ending with a straight line on the heart rate monitor—a sign that my life had ebbed away. The dean himself had performed the surgery, but despite his best efforts, he was unable to save me. At the age of thirty-three, my time in this world was abruptly cut short.

"Can I leave?" Murphy asked, his voice devoid of emotion as he looked at my lifeless body covered with a white sheet.

The nurse beside him offered no response, her face a mask of professional detachment that barely masked her own sorrow.

Murphy let out a disdainful snort and strode out of the hospital, his long legs carrying him away from the scene with a determined, almost impatient stride.

I had no family, no one to take care of my final arrangements. My husband, who had so callously abandoned me, was certainly not going to handle these responsibilities. It was a grim reality I had accepted, though I had hoped—perhaps vainly—that he might show some compassion.

Seeing Murphy walk away from the hospital felt like an invisible torment, an emotional torture that I wished I had never had to endure. I would have been better off not knowing him at all. But it was too late for such regrets now.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself transported from the sterile confines of the hospital to the opulent top floor of the most luxurious hotel in the capital. It was as if time had jumped forward and I was forced to witness the contrast between my demise and Murphy’s continuing life.

The scene before me was a stark reminder of what I had lost. Brianna was dressed in an eye-catching gown, a striking vision of elegance and allure. Men around her cast lingering glances, captivated by her presence. She seemed to bask in the attention, her demeanor that of a proud little peacock indifferent to the gazes that followed her.

"Murphy, why are you so late? I thought you had forgotten our date," Brianna said, her voice tinged with playful reproach.

"I had some things to take care of. I didn’t mean to be late," Murphy replied gently, his hand brushing through Brianna’s hair with a tenderness that I had never experienced from him. His touch was soft, intimate and full of affection—a stark contrast to the coldness he had shown me.

"I’ve also bought some supplements for your mom and dad. I hope they like it," Brianna continued, her eyes sparkling as she shared this small detail of her day.

Murphy looked at her with a warmth that made my heart ache. "I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. You’re always so thoughtful."

“Murphy, the matter between you and Marisca…”

With a sharp snap, Murphy slammed the menu shut, his irritation palpable. His eyes flashed with annoyance as he glared at Brianna, who had just brought up a topic he clearly wanted to avoid.

“Don’t mention her anymore. She’s dead!” Murphy's voice was curt, almost as if he was trying to erase the memory of me from his mind. He took a bite of his meal with a sullen expression, the joy of the evening’s date overshadowed by the responsibilities and complaints of his family.

I floated there, an invisible observer of their evening together, forced to confront the bitter truth of my situation. The contrast between Murphy’s current happiness and the stark reality of my own death was almost unbearable.

In my final moments, I was trapped between the past and the present, witnessing the life I once had and the new future that Murphy was building without me. The pain was not just in the loss of my life but in the knowledge that I had been so easily discarded.

As they dined, the evening was interrupted by a series of persistent phone calls. Murphy glanced at the screen with a scowl each time, the buzz of his phone a constant reminder of obligations he had no desire to fulfill. Calls from the hospital, from his parents—each one a painful echo of the life he had left behind.

He answered a few of the calls, his responses clipped and impatient. “What do you want now? Did I ask her to save me at that time?” he snapped at his father over the phone. The anger in his voice was barely contained, a sign of the internal struggle he was trying to suppress.

The voice on the other end continued to speak, but Murphy was having none of it. “A woman as vicious as her died well,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. With that final, cold remark, he ended the call and turned off his phone, his expression hardening into one of stubborn resolve.

It was a harsh reality I had to face: according to hospital regulations, if no one claimed the body of a deceased person, it was left in the hospital morgue for a prescribed period before being transferred to a funeral home as an ownerless corpse. My heart ached as I realized that no one would be there to handle my funeral arrangements. I had devoted my life to saving others, only to be abandoned in death.

Murphy’s callousness was a wound that would not heal. While he and Brianna continued to enjoy their evening together, my body lay cold and unclaimed. Their laughter and the intimacy they shared were a cruel contrast to the stillness of my final resting place. I was now an invisible observer, trapped between the world of the living and the dead, forced to witness the life that continued without me.

As the days passed, I followed Murphy around, a silent spectator to his life. Each day was a reminder of the anguish I felt. I was bound to this existence, unable to move on, doomed to watch as Murphy and Brianna lived out their plans for the future.

“Heat up my lunch box and send it to the office,” Murphy commanded, his tone dismissive as he shuffled through documents, oblivious to the memories that were being stirred.

His secretary looked momentarily confused and then hesitated, “Mr. Anderson, you didn’t bring your lunch today and Mrs. Anderson hasn’t sent you lunch these days.”

The mention of my name struck Murphy like a jolt. He looked up from his papers, his eyes narrowing into a glare as if the name itself was an affront.

“Why did you have to mention her?” His voice was harsh, the anger not directed at the secretary but at the memory of me that was suddenly resurrected.

The secretary was taken aback, her eyes wide with embarrassment. “I was just trying to understand what you wanted for lunch.”

Murphy rubbed his temples, trying to push away the unwelcome thoughts. “I don’t remember her bringing me lunch. I guess it’s not important.”

He waved dismissively at the secretary, who quickly left the office, leaving Murphy alone with his dark thoughts. Murphy walked to the window, staring out at the bustling city below, lost in contemplation.

As I watched him, I realized that he had moved on, leaving behind the life we had shared. His gaze was distant, focusing on the horizon as if searching for something beyond his current reality.

I floated beside him, watching the way he absentmindedly looked out at the world. There was a profound sense of emptiness, a void where once there had been hope and love. The sight of him here, removed from the chaos of my final moments, was a painful reminder of the life we had lost.