I DIED AS HIS WIFE AND RETURNED AS AN HEIRESS

Kamilah *** The silver spoon clattered against the edge of the saucer, the sound echoing in the VIP dining room. I bent down quietly to pick it up. At the next table, a man was feeding his wife a bite of dessert, and she laughed with her whole face. I kept my eyes on the floor a little longer than I needed to. When I sat up, I glanced at the empty chair across from me. My husband's place at the table had been empty for three hours. Beside it, my plate sat untouched, the prime wagyu steak covered in a thin, greasy film. I smoothed the crumpled piece of paper hidden in my lap. It was a lab printout from this morning: Positive. 4 weeks. This morning, when the doctor said the word 'pregnant,' I let myself hope. Maybe this baby would change things. Maybe Theodore would look at me and finally see a family instead of a burden. In my bag, wrapped in tissue, was a pair of white baby socks no bigger than my thumb. I had planned to set them on his plate. BZZZ. My phone buzzed against the table. A notification slid across the screen: You were tagged in Liora's live stream. My thumb trembled as I tapped it. The blue light stung my eyes after so long in the dim room, and then the sound hit me, loud music and laughter that didn't belong in my quiet night. Right in the center of the frame was Liora, the supermodel Theodore's company had signed last year. Her cheeks were flushed red. Her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around the expensive champagne as she tilted her camera toward the roaring crowd. And there, standing right behind her in the hazy VIP lounge, was Theodore. His black suit jacket was draped casually over one arm, his tie slightly loosened. He was leaning down, his dark head pressed intimately close to her ear to speak over the music, a relaxed, soft smile resting on his lips. He had never smiled at me like that. Not once in five years. Below the video, the live comment section was scrolling with merciless speed: Unknown_User: Wait, isn't that Theodore Stanford? BetaReader99: What is he doing at Liora's birthday bash? GossipQueen: Isn't today his fifth wedding anniversary with his ghost wife, Kamilah? A cold numbness started at my fingertips and crawled slowly up my arms. I stared at Theodore's face on the screen, waiting for the pain to come. It did. Just not where I expected. It settled somewhere deep beneath my ribs, right where the baby socks sat in my bag, crushing the fragile hope I had carried from the doctor that morning. Last year, he remembered our anniversary at midnight. I told him it was fine, and I kept the cake in the fridge for three days in case he came home hungry. My thumb stopped trembling. I typed eleven words into the comment box: Glad to see my husband could make it. Happy birthday, Liora. I set the device face-up. In less than thirty seconds, the screen lit up with a direct message from Theodore. Theodore: Liora's manager unexpectedly presented me with a significant sponsor crisis. If I don't settle this contract right now, the company loses everything. Take the comment down. Another message popped up immediately after. Theodore: I'll take a water taxi to the restaurant dock as soon as I'm done. Just delete it, Kamilah. Don't make a scene. He had not written the word "anniversary." Not once. "Don't make a scene." That was always his ultimate rule. "Protect the Stanford name at all costs." Five years. That was how long I had been Theodore's wife and how long I had spent being easy to forget. I had told myself that if I stayed quiet, kept the house running, and stood behind him where no one would look, he would eventually turn around and see more than an obligation. I stood up, my legs feeling like brittle glass. I pulled a bundle of hundred-dollar bills from my purse, stacked them under the untouched water glass to pay for the table, and walked out onto the private wooden dock of the seaside restaurant. The night air was freezing, biting through my thin silk dress. Dark, violent waves crashed heavily against the concrete pillars below, spraying salt water onto my bare ankles. Suddenly, the roar of a motor cut through the howling wind. A sleek, black water taxi sliced through the waves, pulling up aggressively right against the floating pontoon. The door slid open, and Theodore stepped out. His tie was still loose. He smelled of champagne and a perfume that wasn't mine. As his cold gray eyes locked onto me, his expression hardened into a glare. It had taken him only twelve minutes. The crisis had ended the moment I commented. "You're being childish, Kamilah," he spoke with annoyance as he stepped onto the dock. "Liora is a crucial asset to the firm. I told you it was a business emergency." I looked at him, and for the first time in five years, the veil fell from my eyes. "Does a business emergency involve whispering in her ear, Theodore? Holding her waist affectionately?" He frowned, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to grab my wrist with an authoritative grip. "Don't start. Let's go home and—" "No." I stepped back, flinching away from his touch. My heel caught on the slick, wet timber of the edge. "No we aren't going home." There was a short moment of silence. "You had promised me you wouldn't miss tonight's anniversary,Theodore. This isn’t the first fake promise. I have tried. I can’t do this anymore. No matter...h...how h...hard...d I try, you'll always choose her over me." I sniffed back my tears, refusing to let them fall. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the gold-rimmed anniversary card I had written for him. It had taken me three nights. I dropped it into the black ocean water below. It sank instantly. My other hand rested against my stomach. The words were right there, but I kept them behind my teeth. "Let's get divorced, Theodore." His eyes widened in genuine shock, his hand freezing mid-air. He had never heard me use that tone before. "What did you just say?" Before he could step forward to grab me, the floating pontoon jolted violently under a rogue wave. My foot slipped on the wet algae coating the wood. My hands threw out blindly, but my fingers missed the cold rope rail entirely. Theodore lunged forward, his face turning deathly pale as he screamed my name, "Kamilah!" But his fingers just barely scraped against the floating fabric of my dress. My vision turned completely sideways. The water didn't just feel cold; it felt like a solid block of ice slamming directly into my chest, instantly knocking the air from my lungs. Somewhere above me, Theodore was shouting, but it sounded so far away. My hands instinctively covered my stomach. "Please. Not you. Take anything else." "My baby. I couldn't lose my baby. Not now. Not when I had only just begun to imagine a future with my child."