My Husband Faked His Death Chapter 02

My Husband Faked His Death Chapter 02

Right after that, Jake’s buddies bombarded me with questions.
“How can you hold a memorial service when he hasn’t even been found?”
“Mia, are you crazy? Jake isn’t dead!”
“If Jake comes back and sees his own memorial, he’ll be furious! Think carefully, Mia. Do you dare to make Jake angry?”
I ignored the first few messages and only replied to the last one.
“He’s dead. What’s there to be angry about?”
With that, I tossed my phone aside and started clearing out Jake’s things.
For the past three months, I had mostly stayed in the city where he supposedly disappeared, searching for him. I rarely came home.
The bedroom hadn’t changed much except for the bed. When I opened the closet, I froze.
More than half of Jake’s clothes were already gone. The ones left were mostly out of season.
Tears fell. I laughed bitterly. For three months, I had lived near the mountain, only coming home when I was too exhausted to go on.
Yet during those days when I was falling apart, Jake had come back several times to take his things.
I opened the home security footage and fast‑forwarded through the past month.
At the beginning of the month, Jake walked in with his arm around Lily’s shoulders. They left two hours later, carrying a pile of clothes.
In the middle of the month, Jake carried Lily in princess style. They didn’t leave until dawn.
The night before last, they sneaked in after dark and left yesterday morning.
All those days, I had been searching for Jake in another city.
I cried as I watched—not for Jake, but for myself. Giving everything for someone so disgusting was not worth it.
While I lay awake all night for him, he was bringing his so‑called “good buddy” into my home—maybe even into my bed.
I gripped the edge of the table, trying not to sob until I couldn’t breathe.
My phone rang from the living room. I didn’t want to answer. But the caller kept trying.
I took a deep breath and walked over. I saw the caller ID and froze for a moment, then quickly answered. “Ryan? What’s up?”
“Jake isn’t dead.”
He sent me a video. I opened it. Jake and Lily were drinking a cross‑arm toast, their eyes tangled together like they could pull strings.
I stopped breathing. My fingers trembled. My voice shook. “I know he’s not dead.”
The man on the other end seemed surprised, then laughed. “And you’re still holding a memorial for him?”
“Everyone told me he was dead. I believed them. So I should hold a memorial.”
Ryan paused. “So you’re a widow?”
“Yes.”
Ryan was Jake’s uncle by marriage, no blood relation. I barely knew him. He was the first person to tell me Jake wasn’t dead. I owed him one.
“Ryan, if you have time, you can come next week.”
“I will.”
Then he sent another video. In it, someone showed Jake a phone. Jake smashed his glass in anger.
Lily flinched, then put her hand on his chest and seemed to say something soothing. The bar was too noisy for me to hear clearly, but I saw Jake’s expression soften. He even buried his face in Lily’s shoulder.
Jake was furious because of my group message. But I hadn’t expected Lily to calm him down with just a few words.
Before this, whenever he was angry with me, he would make me reflect all night and then go apologize before he would reluctantly forgive me.
I closed my aching, stinging eyes and saved both videos.
Just as I was about to turn off my phone, Lily called.
I answered. Blaring music exploded in my ear.
“Mia, are you crazy? You’re holding a memorial for Jake? Cancel it right now, or you’ll regret it when he comes back!”
Without waiting for her to finish, I turned off my phone.
I grabbed a blanket, curled up on the sofa, and slept.
It was the soundest sleep I’d had in three months.