After I Die, My Husband Goes Mad

Chapter 3

Dylan, this was the first time you'd anxiously awaited a message, right?

You must not know what it was like for me during those days when you didn't reply.

The anxiety, the disappointment, the fleeting joy, and then the crushing disappointment again.

Did it make you uncomfortable to think about how that felt?

"Ding," my phone chimed again, but even though he was on my chat screen, no new messages appeared.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and switched to the source of the notification.

It was Kamila again, asking, "You don't want to come?"

He seemed even more agitated and tossed his phone aside. After a while, Kamila's call came in, asking about his schedule.

Despite the irritation on his face, his voice remained gentle as he responded to her. Afterward, he left the hospital and drove off.

It was laughable, really. 

A third wheel in life, and even in death, I was still relegated to the same role.

I sat in the car, watching the familiar scenery pass by, but confusion gnawed at my heart.

Wasn't he supposed to meet Kamila? 

This road clearly led back to our home.

As soon as he stepped inside, he immediately called the housekeeper. "Why isn't she back yet?" He tapped the divorce papers in his hand against the table, his voice tight.

On the other end of the line, the housekeeper stammered nervously, "I haven't been able to reach Amy. Her phone has been switched off."

"I don't care what you have to do! Tell her if she doesn't come home tonight, she doesn't need to come back ever again!"

His anger was palpable, the glass dining table trembling under the force of his tapping.

After a long silence, he hung up in frustration and stormed upstairs to the bedroom. He paused briefly as he passed our wedding photo but ultimately continued into the bathroom.

The next morning, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, Kamila appeared at our doorstep.

With a look of utter distress, she threw herself into Dylan's arms, clinging to him as if afraid he might disappear. 

I touched the spot where my heart used to be. It was empty, yet a dull ache throbbed there still. It didn't matter anymore.

Some things, I simply grew accustomed to after witnessing them enough times.

What I couldn't have alive, I couldn't possess in death either.

Dylan let Kamila drag him along as they went shopping, his expression distant and preoccupied.

*****

Passing by a boutique window, he stopped, his gaze lingering on a simple black dress. I drifted closer, my spectral hand reaching out to brush against the fabric. He must have remembered.

On the day of Lilly's funeral, I was escorted by a lawyer, standing before a room full of mourners. In my hand, I held the DNA test results.

Shortly after Lilly gave birth to me, she discovered her husband, Griffin's infidelity. Kamila was born almost at the same time as me.

In her fury, Lilly was unaware of the scheme hatched by Kamila's mother, a scheme that led to the two baby girls being switched.

Years later, Kamila was in a car accident and urgently needed a blood transfusion. 

It was then they discovered that neither Griffin nor Lilly's blood type was a match. 

Suspicions arose, and a DNA test confirmed their fears. Kamila was not their biological daughter. Lilly immediately set plans in motion to find her real daughter.

As a medical student, I donated blood regularly, so the hospital had my information on file.

When the lawyer found me, Lilly was already terminally ill.

I, on the other hand, was busy taking care of my adoptive grandmother, who was battling Alzheimer's.

Initially, I had no desire to acknowledge them. But the lawyer informed me of the Perez family's wealth. 

If I agreed to return, I would have the means to provide my grandmother with the best care.

For my grandmother, I attended the funeral. 

Never could I have imagined that the person I would see weeping in Dylan's arms would be Kamila. 

It was at that moment I realized the truth. The love of Dylan's life had always been Kamila. 

What he felt for me was nothing more than gratitude for saving his life.

What I didn't anticipate was inheriting not only the Perez family fortune but also the arranged marriage to Dylan.

"Amy, so that day... it was all your doing." Dylan spat at me, his face contorted in disgust, on our wedding day.

I didn't know what to say. To ensure my smooth transition back into the family, Lilly had orchestrated everything.

After I inherited the estate, Kamila was promptly sent abroad.

As she left, Kamila looked at Dylan, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Dylan, you must take good care of my sister. I've already wronged her for twenty-four years." 

Dylan, upon hearing those words, had turned his head away, his face etched with revulsion.

Then, as she brushed past me, she whispered, her voice barely audible, "Amy, by the time I return, everything will be back where it belongs."

*****

I watched the blissful couple before me, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

Kamila, with her exquisite makeup and refined demeanor, had been raised in the lap of luxury, despite being the illegitimate daughter.

In contrast, I, the biological daughter, had never experienced even a shred of motherly love.

They had located me early on, those people hired to track me down. Their reports painted a grim picture of my life, an adoptive mother prone to violent outbursts, subjecting me to both physical and emotional abuse.

What they hadn't detailed was the iron cage that woman had fashioned, keeping me confined like an animal until I was ten years old.

By the time my grandmother, a stranger with no blood ties to me, bought me from that wretched woman for a measly 100 dollars, I hadn't uttered a single word.

It was my grandmother, with her meager earnings from collecting scraps, who had painstakingly taught me to speak, who had begged from door to door to keep me fed.

Later, she even managed to enroll me in school.

While Lilly fretted over whether bringing me back would disrupt Kamila's college entrance exams, my grandmother, with her calloused hands and pockets full of colorful, crumpled bills, quietly paid my school fees.

She often skipped meals, not even allowing herself the luxury of a single steamed bun, so that I could eat.

When Kamila was spending tens of thousands of dollars on art tutoring, I had already set my sights on medical school.

It wasn't because of a burning passion for medicine but the simple fact that medical scholarships offered a higher stipend than other majors.

Fate, it seemed, had a penchant for handing me the short end of the stick.

Just as I entered university, my grandmother started exhibiting signs of Alzheimer's. 

I juggled part-time jobs with caring for her deteriorating health.

Her condition fluctuated. In her moments of confusion, she would mistake me for my adoptive mother, grabbing a mop and striking me while yelling, "Even if Amy isn't your biological daughter, you can't treat her like this! She's a human being!"

I often went to class with bruises, but I never felt ashamed.

Then came the day I saved Dylan.

During his time recovering at our home, my grandmother had many lucid moments. The way he looked at me then... there must have been love in his eyes.

Why else would my grandmother's dying words be, "Amy, when will you and Dylan get married?"

Grandma, Dylan and I did get married.

But you, who always had such good judgment, couldn't see that he never loved me.