Dead Wife Walking Chapter 04

Dead Wife Walking Chapter 04

The letter was three pages long, written in my handwriting – the handwriting he once mocked as “too round, like a child’s.”

He sat at his desk, still in his funeral suit, and unfolded the first page.

I stood behind him, reading over his shoulder. I remembered writing every word. It had taken me four nights, because my hands kept cramping and the

pen would slip from my fingers.

*”Dear Ethan,”* the letter began.

*”By the time you read this, I will have finally stopped bothering you. I know that’s what you always wanted – silence from me. So here it is. Permanent

silence. You’re welcome.”*

His fingers tightened on the paper.

*”I need to confess something. I lied to you. Not about the big things – I was

never clever enough for that. But I lied by omission, which you once told me

was the worst kind of dishonesty. So here is the truth:*

*”I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia eighteen months ago. Dr.

Patel at St. Catherine’s can confirm this. I didn’t tell you because – and please don’t laugh – I was afraid you’d think I was being dramatic. You said that word to me so often that I started to believe it. Every headache was dramatic. Every tear was dramatic. So I figured dying of cancer would probably be dramatic

too.*

*”I tried to tell you. Eleven times. I kept count. You interrupted me eight times, ignored me twice, and once, you told me to handle it like an adult.’ So I

did. I handled it alone.”*

He set the letter down and pressed both hands flat on the desk. His breathing had changed – shallow, ragged.

I felt nothing.

No, that’s a lie. I felt satisfaction. The bitter, poisonous kind that tasted like

copper on my tongue.

He picked the letter up again.

*”The USB drive contains three things. First: a video diary I kept during

treatment. You don’t have to watch it. I look terrible in most of them, and I

know how much appearances matter to you.*

–

*”Second: documents from your company’s legal department. Serena Lane

has been embezzling from the Blackwell Foundation for the past two years. I

discovered this accidentally when I was organizing your home office – a task

you never asked me to do, but I did anyway, because I kept hoping that if I

made myself useful enough, you might eventually see me.*

*”Third: a recording. I’ll let you discover that one on your own.”*

His hand moved to the USB drive. I could see the slight tremor in his fingers.

*”I don’t hate you, Ethan. I wish I did. Hatred would’ve been easier than this

– this pathetic, one-sided love that ate me alive long before the cancer did.*

*”My only regret is that I didn’t leave sooner. Not the marriage – I mean this world. I stayed eighteen months longer than I needed to, enduring treatment I couldn’t afford, because some stupid part of me kept thinking: what if

tomorrow is the day he finally looks at me?*

*”Tomorrow never came.*

–

*”Don’t feel guilty. I know you won’t, but just in case – don’t. You gave me exactly what you promised on our wedding night: nothing. And I accepted it.

That’s on me.*

–

–

*”One last thing. Your grandmother’s heart medication – the one she takes every morning the pharmacy changed the formula six months ago. The new version interacts badly with her blood thinner. I’ve been manually sorting her pills and adjusting the dosage with Dr. Huang’s guidance. The schedule is in the top drawer of my nightstand. Please make sure someone continues this. She’s the only person in your family who deserves to live forever.*

*”Goodbye, Ethan. In the next life, I hope I have better taste in men.*

*”- Vivian”*

He read the last line and didn’t move for a very long time.

Then, slowly, he plugged the USB drive into his laptop.

–

The screen filled with my face – gaunt, pale, wearing the oversized sweater

I always hid behind. I was sitting on the bathroom floor. The timestamp read

11:47 p.m., fourteen months ago.

*”Day 127,”* the video version of me said, attempting a weak smile. *”Threw

up six times today. The new medication is brutal. I almost passed out in the

kitchen while making Ethan’s dinner. Had to sit on the floor for twenty minutes before I could stand again.”*

I paused in the video, pressing a towel to my mouth. When I pulled it away, it

was spotted with blood.

*”He came home late again. Didn’t eat the dinner. Serena called while he

was in the shower, and I saw her name on his phone. I know I shouldn’t look,

but-“* My voice cracked. *”She sent him a photo. She was wearing lingerie. In

what I think is a hotel room.”*

On-screen, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

*”I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. I’ll be dead soon anyway, and he’ll be free to be with her without the guilt. Not that he feels any guilt now.”*

The video cut to another entry. Day 203. I was thinner. My hair had started falling out, and I’d taken to wearing a beanie indoors.

*”Good news: the tumor markers went down slightly. Bad news: I can’t afford the next round of treatment. I sold my mother’s ring – the only thing I had left of her. Got enough to cover two more sessions.”*

I watched Ethan’s reflection in the laptop screen. His face was ashen.

*”Ethan’s birthday is next week. I know he won’t celebrate with me, but I

ordered a cake from his favorite bakery. The one that costs a fortune. I used next month’s grocery budget. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll skip a few meals. It’s not like I can keep food down anyway.”*

He slammed the laptop shut.

The room fell into silence.

Then he opened it again. And watched every single entry. All two hundred

and twelve of them.

By the end, it was 4 a.m. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes bloodshot. The man who never cried – who prided himself on emotional

control – was shattered on his study floor, clutching my letter like a lifeline.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered to the empty room.

I crouched in front of him, tilting my head. ‘I tried, Ethan. Eleven times. You

weren’t listening!’

His phone buzzed. A text from Serena: *”Babe, are you okay? You seemed

off today. Want me to come over??”*

He stared at the message.

–

Then he opened the third file on the USB drive – the recording.

Serena’s voice filled the room, crystal clear.

*”Honestly, I feel kind of bad for her. But not that bad. She’s so pathetic it’s

almost funny. Did you see her at the charity gala? Hovering around Ethan like a lost puppy? I wanted to laugh in her face.”*

Another voice – one of Serena’s friends. *”Doesn’t she know he’s only with her because of the old lady?”*

*”Of course she knows. That’s what makes it so delicious. She knows and

she still stays. Like, girl, have some dignity.”*

Laughter.

*”The best part? Ethan gave me his black card last week. I bought that

Cartier set – you know, the one? Sixty thousand. And his little wifey is out there clipping grocery coupons.”*

More laughter.

*”Once the grandmother dies, he’ll divorce her in a heartbeat. And I’ll be Mrs.

Blackwell. I’ve already picked out the ring.”*

The recording ended.

Ethan sat motionless, his phone still displaying Serena’s text.

Then he hurled the phone across the room so hard it shattered against the

wall.