Chapter 3: The Night Everything Changed

Three years ago, it was our fourth anniversary.

I’d booked the restaurant a month in advance, bought a new dress, and even taken half a day off to get my hair done.

The dress was still hanging in my closet, the tag never cut off. The reservation confirmation email was probably buried somewhere in my inbox, unopened after all this time.

Derek had laughed over the phone: "So formal? If I’m late, I’ll be in the doghouse, huh?"

I’d snorted: "As long as you know."

But that night, I waited at the restaurant until nine.

When the waiter came over for the third time to ask if I wanted to order, I called Derek for the seventh time.

No answer.

Fuming, I paid the bill and left, grabbed an Uber to his place, and barged in.

The living room was pitch black. Only the study had a bit of light, and a woman’s low laughter drifted out.

My heart thudded in my chest. I nearly turned around and left, but anger propelled me forward.

I froze, mind buzzing.

The next second, I kicked open the study door.

Derek was at his computer, in a video conference.

His tie was askew, and there were five empty Red Bull cans on the desk. The glow from the screen made his face look almost unfamiliar.

When he saw me, he froze, then frowned. "Nat?"

I sneered, "Stood me up on our anniversary just to video chat with someone else?"

He switched to English for the call, telling them to wait, then closed the laptop.

His tone was helpless: "Last-minute international project. Time zones. Only chance to talk."

"And you had to laugh so happily for work?"

"Natalie." He stood up, voice dropping. "Don’t be unreasonable."

Unreasonable?

I went all out for our anniversary, and he stood me up without a word. Now he says I’m being unreasonable?

I’ll show you unreasonable!

I was shaking with rage. I shouted, "Break up!"

He didn’t take it seriously. "Don’t make a scene, Nat. I know it’s my fault, tomorrow I’ll—"

I grabbed the papers on the desk and threw them at him. "Scene my ass! I said break up!"

Only then did he realize I was serious.

He came over and grabbed my arm, eyes cold as ice. "Say it again?"

I pried his hand off, enunciating every word:

"I. Said. Break. Up!"

Then I stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

It was raining outside. I stood by the curb, trying to hail a ride.

The rain turned my makeup into streaks, but I didn't care. Every horn honk felt like a punch to the gut. My phone buzzed. A message from Derek:

"Where are you?"

I turned off my phone.

A rideshare stopped. I got in and gave my address.

The car drove into the rain. I leaned against the window, tears streaming down my face.

Four years together, and that was the first and last time I broke up with Derek.

At a red light, a runaway truck crashed head-on into the car.

I didn’t even have time to scream before everything went dark.

When I woke up again, I was floating in midair, watching the paramedics cover my body with a white sheet.

Derek was the first to arrive at the hospital.

Derek’s knuckles were white around the doctor’s collar, his voice breaking on every syllable. When the doctor shook his head, Derek just crumpled, sobs wracking his shoulders.

In the crowded hospital corridor, he cried like a child—heartbroken, inconsolable.

He kept saying sorry, kept begging me to come back.

On the third day after my death, the soul messengers brought my spirit to the afterlife.

St. Peter flipped through the Book of Life and Death, frowning. "Natalie, your time wasn’t up. You died an unnatural death."

I was stunned. "What do you mean?"

"It means you weren’t supposed to die."

"Then can I go back?"

"Your body’s already destroyed, you can’t go back," St. Peter sighed. "But..."

He glanced at my file, sympathy softening his eyes. "If your obsession is strong enough, maybe you can stay a few more years."

I didn’t get it then. Not until later—

Derek started digging up my grave.