Don't linger next to my wreckage

The day my remains arrived at the morgue, my husband, the medical examiner, was entangled with his intern right next to the dissecting table. My spirit recoiled, crouching down and desperately covering my ears. At first, despair washed over me. Later, a venomous satisfaction began to bloom. He would recognize me. Sooner or later, he would discover that he’d been cavorting with another woman beside the brutally murdered body of his wife.

1.

My consciousness flickered back on as I floated above the scene, noticing a woman in my house. She wore a white cashmere cardigan, and the tranquil afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, draping a warm autumnal glow over her shoulders. The kettle whistled on the stove, accompanied by the sizzle of something frying in oil. A rich aroma filled my spectral nostrils. The woman expertly carried two bowls of simple noodle soup to the table. As she turned, her loosely pinned-up hair tumbled around her face, revealing familiar features. Sarah Hayes, my husband’s new intern at the ME’s office. What was she doing in my house?

While I was still reeling, Sarah set the bowls on the dining table. She looked up with a smile, a rosy blush warming her fair cheeks. She beckoned in my direction. "Come on," she said.

Almost as her voice faded, my form turned translucent. A tall, well-built figure passed through me and embraced the woman tenderly. The man rested his chin on Sarah's dark hair, his broad hand gently caressing the back of her head. Nestled in his arms, she blushed deeper, rising on tiptoe to quickly kiss his lips. Joy radiated from her.

I watched the familiar figure, my steps heavy as I moved towards them. A terrifying suspicion gripped me, my fingers trembling, my whole body shaking. As the man's face came into view, my steps faltered, my blood turning to ice. The man showering Sarah with affection, the man kissing her, was my husband, David Miller.

The shock nearly shattered me. A silent scream ripped from my throat as I lunged forward to separate them. But my hand passed through David like a wisp of smoke. I’d forgotten. I was dead. Now, all I could do was watch their intimate exchanges, their playful banter.

My last memory was David's phone call. He said our third anniversary was coming up and asked what I wanted. I’d imagined a thousand possibilities, but never this – the betrayal of our marriage, and with his intern, the girl who used to trail after me calling me “Mrs. Miller.” When had it started?

2.

I’d met Sarah early on, the day she was assigned to David's department. David hadn’t liked her then. The department insisted all senior MEs mentor newcomers, and they’d saddled him with her. For a long time after, he complained about her constantly. She was squeamish, couldn’t handle lifting bodies, couldn’t stomach the sight of decomposing flesh, and her autopsy reports were a mess, lacking detail, even needing instruction on basic formatting. "I'm not here to be a teacher," he’d grumbled. "My...