My wife, Caroline Bailey, was a forensic pathologist. For her first love, Ian Lawson, she was willing to break every rule she held sacred and allowed him into the autopsy room to observe. She even let him throw acid onto a corpse's face.

That was, until Caroline took on a new case. As she stood over the disfigured body on her operating table, she began to fall apart.

The acid-burned face was starting to look more and more like mine.

When I died, Caroline thought I was just away on another business trip. While I was "away", she brought her first love, Ian Lawson, back to our house. In front of him, the usually touch-averse Caroline actually reached out and hooked her arm through his.

She cooked a candlelit dinner for two and then thoughtfully prepared the guest room for him.

With Ian, Caroline was tender and attentive in ways she was never with me.

The guest room still held traces of me. Ever since we got married, I spent most nights in that room instead of our bedroom.

Maybe seeing my things finally reminded Caroline that I existed. She pulled out her phone and opened our text thread. As she scrolled up, all that could be seen were messages from me, with her occasional one-word replies scattered throughout.

But now, I was silent for five days straight.

Caroline thought for a moment, then started typing with her usual bluntness.

[When did you leave? Couldn't bother to tell me first?]

She sent the message and stared at her phone for a long time. However, I never replied. She had no idea that the message would never be answered.

I was dead, and my body was lying in the morgue at her workplace.

For the rest of the evening, Caroline kept up small talk with Ian, but she checked her phone constantly.

I could not help but wonder if she was actually waiting to hear from me.

Ian noticed her strange behaviour. He rested his head on her shoulder and glanced at her screen. When he saw it was our conversation, he actually scoffed.

Then, he shifted into a soft, pitying voice. "Silly Carol, Luther Powell isn't worth your attention at all. You don't know, do you? I saw him fooling around with another woman last time, so he's probably-"

He stopped there, looking at her with a knowing, suggestive look.

I clenched my fists. If I could, I would have slammed him into the floor.

Did he not know that I was already dead?

How could he move into my house with a straight face and feed Caroline these lies about me?

What shocked me even more was Caroline's reaction. She just frowned slightly, then tossed her phone aside without a care. "Whatever. Let him do what he wants."

A sharp pain pierced through my chest. Of course. I never meant anything to her anyway. She did not care enough to feel even a hint of jealousy or anger.

Ian kept talking, and somehow the conversation turned to Caroline's work. He said he wanted to see her workplace.

Caroline was a forensic pathologist, which meant she worked in autopsy rooms and morgues.

I could not understand why Ian would suddenly want to visit those places, but I knew Caroline would never agree. She had principles and kept her professional and personal lives completely separate. She would never bring her private business to work, especially something as against regulations as bringing an outsider into the autopsy room.

I was her husband, and in all these years, she never once let me through the front doors of the medical examiner's office.

Caroline pressed her lips together and did not respond for a long time.

Just when I thought she was finally going to refuse him, I heard her ask, "Ian, do you really want to go that badly?"

Ian saw his chance and grabbed her hand eagerly. "Carol, I want to know everything about you, and that includes your job."

After thinking it over, Caroline actually nodded and agreed to take him.

Of course, she did. I forgot that Ian was always an exception to every rule she had.

Once he had permission, Ian excitedly rushed Caroline to the morgue. He walked straight to where my body was stored, like he knew exactly where to find it.

That was when I realized he had been coming for me all along.

The morgue had various reagents stored for further testing, which worked perfectly in Ian's favor. He casually picked up a bottle of concentrated sulfuric acid. Then, acting as if it were accidental, he poured all of it over my face.

Even through the sheet covering me, I could tell from the hatred in his eyes that he knew exactly whose body it was. The moment the acid hit, the white cloth melted instantly, and thick white smoke rose as the acid ate into my skin.

I was just a wandering soul without nerves or pain, yet I still gasped in shock at the sight.

I was already dead, yet Ian denied me the dignity of keeping my body whole.

Caroline heard the commotion and rushed over. Meanwhile, Ian covered his mouth and immediately put on a panicked, helpless expression.

"Carol, I'm so sorry. I was just looking around. I didn't think this would happen," he mumbled as he reached out to pull the sheet off my body.

"Don't touch it!" Caroline grabbed his hand quickly. "That's concentrated sulfuric acid. It's highly corrosive. Don't use your bare hands."

Ian wisely stepped back.

Then, Caroline put on two layers of rubber gloves and used forceps to lift the sheet from my face.

Since the acid was so corrosive, parts of the sheet had already fused with my face and could not be easily removed. My face was not destroyed, though. At least the upper part of my forehead was still intact.

On my forehead was a very faint but long scar. I got it while protecting Caroline from a violent psychiatric patient at the hospital.

Back when we first got married, Caroline was not yet a full forensic pathologist and had to work various shifts at the hospital for training. Unfortunately, her stubborn personality clashed with a psychiatric patient, and he grabbed a fruit knife and tried to stab her.

Luckily, I left work early that day to pick her up. I managed to shield her just before the knife came down, taking the blow for her. It was one of the rare moments she let her guard down with me, crying in my arms and begging me not to die.

Honestly, she was just panicking. If she had looked closer, she would have noticed that I was bleeding heavily, but the wound was not deep.

Still, I threw myself at the attack fully prepared to risk my life, and the scar always meant something special to me.

As I floated above the scene, I found myself foolishly hoping she would recognize me by it. I was her husband after all. Ian deliberately destroyed my body, and Caroline would not forgive him easily.

Yet, I was wrong.

Caroline only had eyes for Ian right now. Her gaze swept quickly over my body, and her expression grew serious. "Ian, this is going to be tricky. The body is too damaged."

Suddenly, a flashlight beam swept past the window. Caroline quickly covered Ian's mouth and pulled him down into a crouch.

The security guard did not see anyone in the morgue, but the lights were on. He looked confused and scanned the room once more. Then, he turned off the lights and left, scratching his head.

Ian finally sighed in relief. "Caroline, what are we going to do? Will they find out I was here? Am I going to get arrested?"

Caroline stayed silent. Under the cold moonlight, I could clearly see the worry in her eyes.

"Don't be scared. I know you didn't mean to. Besides, this isn't entirely your fault. I should've been more careful, too. Ian, don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

As if she had finally made up her mind, she grabbed another bottle of sulfuric acid and poured it over my face in a deliberate circle.

The sheet fragments still stuck to my skin dissolved under the acid.

"No!" I screamed, trying to knock the bottle from her hands, demanding to know if she understood what she was doing.

Yet, no matter how hard I struggled, it was useless. As a wandering soul, I could only watch helplessly as she destroyed my body to protect Ian Lawson.

When Caroline was done, my corpse truly looked like the damage had happened before death, not after. Actually, if she had examined my body carefully, she would have discovered that the torture I endured before dying was just as bad as this.

Being splashed with acid was practically the simplest part.

After handling that, Caroline still did not feel it was enough. She checked the ID tag on my wrist. Then, she told Ian to write down the number and find the file that matched it.

As Caroline placed my hand back under the sheet, she caught a glimpse of it, and her eyes widened in shock. The wrist bone showed a deep rope burn, carved so harshly that bone was visible.

My fingers hung limp, all the nails were ripped out, and the fingertips were chewed short by countless maggots.

The ring finger was different, though. It had a band of paler skin, clearly from wearing a ring for years.

Caroline and I never had a wedding ceremony. After we got our marriage license, her attitude toward me had already turned cold. The only ring I wore all these years was my engagement ring.

Every time Caroline saw it on my finger, she lost her temper and called me pretentious, fake, and shameless. She never knew I only wore it to hold on to the one bond we still had. Sadly, the ring I treasured for a decade did not survive in the end.

The people who beat me unconscious took everything valuable from me—including that ring. Maybe the mark triggered something in Caroline, because she instinctively touched her own finger. But her hand was empty, since the only one who cared about preserving this marriage was me.

Caroline stared blankly as she rubbed her bare ring finger. Then out of nowhere, she lifted her head and asked Ian a question that had nothing to do with the moment.

"That time you said you saw Luther with another woman; When was that exactly?"

The moment she mentioned me, Ian thought she had found something wrong with the body, and sweat instantly beaded on his forehead.

He said, "I think it was two weeks ago. Why, Carol? Why bring him up now?"

Caroline frowned like she was piecing something together. "I just feel like he wouldn't disappear for so long without a word, I-"

Then, she suddenly cut herself off. "Wait. Two weeks ago, my mom was sick, and Luther stayed by her side the entire time. How would he have time to meet anyone else? I need to ask him what really happened."

She pulled out her phone, ready to call me.

Ian nearly burst into tears from panic. "Carol, forget that right now! The important thing is we need to deal with this body first!"

He was still terrified that even melting my face would not be enough. He pushed Caroline, convinced her to help hide my body, and wanted her to make sure the truth stayed buried forever.

The dead could not speak, but in the hands of a forensic pathologist, a body absolutely could. So, he wanted to erase every last trace.