My wife wants to have artificial insemination for her white moonlight who has cancer.

Three years into our arranged marriage, Olivia wanted to have a baby with her dying ex-boyfriend, Luke. Through artificial insemination.

I said no. I told her if she went through with it, I’d die.

She threw divorce papers at me, her face twisted with disgust. "He’s dying, Daniel! Can you just stop being so selfish and dramatic for once?"

I failed the mission. The system’s punishment: jump from the 18th floor.

…

“Daniel, it’s just artificial insemination! I’m not sleeping with him! Can’t you be a little less selfish? Luke’s an only child. Do you want his family line to end?”

"Luke has cancer! He’s dying! I want to give him a child, give his parents something to live for! What’s so wrong with that?! If you can't handle it, we’ll get a divorce!"

Olivia’s face was flushed, her voice trembling with anger. I stared at her, stunned she would even say the word “divorce.”

"Olivia," I said, desperation creeping into my voice, "if you leave, I'll die."

"Then die," she hissed, then stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. What was I to her? Eight years of marriage, and she wouldn’t have a child with me. But for her dying ex? She’d do anything. How pathetic. How cliché. And I was stuck playing the cuckolded husband.

"Host, if you cannot dissuade the target from artificial insemination, you will fail the mission." The system’s voice was cold, emotionless.

Right. If I failed, I’d be taking a swan dive off the balcony. That was the system’s idea of a punishment, not mine. I hadn’t been serious about dying.

I racked my brain. Had I done something to deserve this? Why did she hate me so much?

Oh, right. She’d married me on a rebound, to spite Luke. Then, when it became clear they weren’t getting back together, she'd blamed me for ruining her chances.

I clung to a sliver of hope and called her. Three rings, then voicemail. Probably driving. I’d told her a million times not to answer the phone while driving. I'd call back later.

Thirty minutes later, I tried again. Same result. The hospital was close. It shouldn’t have taken her that long.

Unless…

I pushed the thought away and frantically redialed. After a dozen unanswered calls, it hit me: she’d blocked me.

The system propelled me towards the balcony. I looked down. Eighteen stories. Surprisingly, my legs didn’t shake. I’d always been afraid of heights, but this…this was exhilarating. This would definitely kill me. No chance of ending up a vegetable, or worse, crippled and even more repulsive to Olivia.

“Ready, host?” The system’s voice was a monotone. “Shall I commence the countdown?”

I smiled. I'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times. "No need," I said, and jumped.

The sickening thud. The screams. My soul detached from the mangled mess that had been my body. I watched as paramedics loaded me onto a stretcher.

…

The paramedics barely flinched at the sight of my remains. They’d seen it all before. Suddenly, my phone rang. A young female paramedic answer...