I died on the night my husband smiled the brightest.
The hospital room was cold, painted white like a lie meant to look clean. Machines hummed beside my bed, their rhythm slow… fading… impatient.
My body was weak.
But my mind was cruelly awake.
Outside the half-closed door, footsteps stopped.
Then voices.
Familiar voices.
"…Is it done?" my twin sister asked softly.
Her voice was sweet. Gentle. The same voice she used when she held my hand and told me everything would be okay.
My husband chuckled.
"Almost," he replied. "The doctor said she won't last the night."
Silence followed.
Then laughter.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Satisfied.
My fingers twitched beneath the thin hospital blanket. I wanted to scream. I wanted to call their names, to ask why.
Why did my sister, the one who shared my face, share my husband too?
Why did the man I loved more than my own life look relieved as I lay dying?
"She trusted us too much," my husband said calmly. "That was her mistake."
My sister sighed dramatically. "Poor thing. She really believed she was irreplaceable."
My heart clenched.
I had given them everything.
My inheritance.
My reputation.
My loyalty.
Even my silence.
And this… this was my reward.
The door creaked open just a little more. I saw their shadows stretch across the floor.
My sister leaned into my husband's arms.
"When she's gone," she whispered, "everything she owns becomes ours."
My husband kissed her hair.
"Yes," he said. "At last."
Something broke inside my chest.
The machine beside me let out a long, flat sound.
My vision blurred.
So this was death.
Alone.
Betrayed.
Erased.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
—
I gasped.
Air rushed violently into my lungs as I bolted upright.
Sunlight flooded my eyes.
Warm.
Soft.
Impossible.
I stared around the room, my breath uneven. Pink curtains. Wooden furniture. A familiar scent of lavender.
My bedroom.
My old bedroom.
My hands trembled as I raised them in front of my face. Smooth skin. No IV lines. No bruises.
Alive.
My phone buzzed on the bed.
I grabbed it, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it would burst.
A message glowed on the screen.
Husband:
I'll handle everything. Just trust me.
The date at the top made my blood run cold.
Five years ago.
The day before I signed everything away.
The day before my downfall began.
A slow smile curved my lips.
So fate had given me another chance.
This time, I wouldn't cry.
I wouldn't confront them.
I wouldn't try to save anyone.
I whispered softly, my voice calm and deadly.
"Of course."
Then, staring at my reflection in the dark screen, I added:
"This time… I'll trust you to destroy yourselves."