I was murdered in my previous life—by none other than my husband. He had been cheating on me behind my back, and the man for whom I sacrificed everything betrayed me in the cruelest way.
I never wanted to get married in the first place, but my parents forced me into an arranged marriage. Still, I tried to make my married life happy. I gave up my career and became a housewife for him, but he never saw me as a wife—only as a servant. He would return home late, sometimes even at midnight, and I never questioned him.
The one time I did, he snapped, "It's none of your business. I have work at the office. I'm not like you, doing nothing at home."
I reminded him, "You forced me to give up my job. I never wanted to leave it."
That angered him. "Now you're arguing with me? You're a woman. Behave like one." He turned away and slept without another word.
One day, my mother-in-law said, "It's been two years since your marriage. Why haven't you gotten pregnant yet? We can't wait anymore."
How could I tell her the truth? That my husband and I had no feelings for each other. When I brought it up to him, he spat venom at me: "You ugly woman. Don't try to cross your limits. I don't even like to look at your face. Have you seen yourself? How hideous you are."
Tears welled up in my eyes. I whispered, "Then why did you marry me?"
He clenched my jaw tightly and hissed, "Do you think I wanted to marry you? If it weren't for my parents forcing me, I never would have."
Days later, I decided to find out the truth behind his late nights. I went to his office under the pretense of delivering food. The guard, who recognized me from before, looked surprised.
"Madam, what are you doing here? Sir already left for home."
I froze. My husband never returned before midnight. Curious, I asked, "What time does he usually leave?"
The guard replied, "Around 9:30."
Shock flooded me. That night, I hid my old phone in his car with GPS activated. The next evening, I followed him, disguised in a man's clothes with a cap and carrying a Zomato delivery bag.
At 9:15, he left his office. I trailed him from a distance, driving a friend's car. After fifteen minutes, he parked at an apartment building. I followed and saw him ride the elevator to the 8th floor. He stopped at room 804.
I pretended to deliver food to room 802. From the corner of my eye, I saw the door open. A woman in night clothes hugged him, saying, "Why are you so late, babe?"
He replied tenderly, "Sorry, darling. Some work was left." Then he carried her inside.
My blood ran cold—it was his secretary. I had always suspected them, but now I had proof. I wasn't even sad. I never loved this man. But betrayal, even from someone you never wanted, still burned.
I knocked furiously on room 804. Eventually, my husband opened the door, shirtless. Shock flickered across his face. "What are you doing here?"
I glared. "It's me who should be asking you that. I always knew you were hiding something. Now I'll tell everyone. I'll divorce you and expose what you've done."
He grabbed my wrist. "Don't you dare."
I yanked free. "Why not? It's my right!"
He snatched my phone from my hand. I struggled, but suddenly someone came from behind and pressed a cloth over my nose and mouth. A sharp chemical smell filled me, and my body weakened. Half-conscious, I felt them drag me to the terrace. His secretary cut the building's power so no one would notice.
She asked nervously, "What are we going to do with her?"
My husband replied coldly, "Kill her. Make it look like suicide so no one suspects."
He typed a message on my phone, muttering, "She's depressed, bored with life. She killed herself. Nobody will doubt."
He sneered down at me. "Finally, I'll be free of this ugly wench."
My body was paralyzed, but I could still see them lifting me. I was hurled off the building's roof.
As I fell, my only thought was Why? Why is my life so miserable?
Before marriage, my parents hated me, treating me like a burden. After marriage, my husband was even more cruel. The only person who ever truly cared for me was my grandmother who passed away from many years and my best friend—my soulmate. She always supported me, always understood me.
My only regret was not being able to say goodbye to her.
My vision blurred. I faintly heard people screaming below, "Someone fell from the building! Call an ambulance!"
As everything turned dark, my lips whispered one final farewell—
"Goodbye… my soulmate.