The day my remains were sent to the lab, my husband, the medical examiner, was getting busy with his intern next to the autopsy table.

My soul tried to pull away, to shrink into a corner and cover my ears.

At first, it was just despair.

But then, a wicked little thrill sparked inside me.

He would recognize me.

Sooner or later, he'd realize that today, he was fooling around with another woman right next to the dismembered body of his own murdered wife.

……

When I first came to, my soul was floating in mid-air, and I realized there was another woman in my house.

She was wearing a white cashmere cardigan.

The quiet afternoon sun of early autumn streamed through the kitchen window, landing softly on her shoulders.

The whistle of the kettle started up on the stove, followed by the sizzle of butter in a hot pan, and a rich, savory smell instantly filled my senses.

The woman expertly carried two bowls of creamy tomato soup to the table.

The moment she turned, I saw her fluffy hair, pinned up casually, with a few loose strands framing her face.

It was a face I knew.

Sophie, the new intern in my husband's forensics lab.

Why was she here, in my home?

While I was still trying to process it, Sophie had already set the table.

She looked up with a smile, a happy blush coloring her pale cheeks, and waved in my direction.

"Come on, it's ready."

The second she spoke, my body flickered and went transparent.

A tall, lean figure walked right through me, stepping forward to wrap the woman in a gentle embrace.

The man rested his chin on the crown of Sophie’s dark, thick hair.

His large hand cradled the back of her head, stroking it with a soft, tender touch.

The woman in his arms, blushing like a schoolgirl, stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper red, her eyes filled with pure joy.

I stared at the man's familiar back, my own feet feeling heavy as I slowly moved to face them.

A horrifying guess was forming in my mind, making my fingertips tremble, my whole ghostly form shake.

The moment I saw his face clearly, I froze.

Every drop of blood in my veins felt like it had been plunged into the arctic ocean, a cold so deep it burned.

The man standing there, looking down at Sophie with such adoration before leaning in to kiss her, was my husband, Liam.

The shock was so immense I thought I would shatter.

A sharp, piercing scream I couldn't control ripped from my throat as I lunged forward to tear them apart.

But the instant my hand touched Liam, it was like swiping through empty air.

I passed right through his body.

I forgot.

I'm already dead.

All I could do now was watch them.

Watch them talk, and laugh, and touch.

And I was completely helpless.

The last memory I had was the phone call from Liam.

He’d said our third anniversary was coming up and asked what I wanted as a gift.

I had imagined a million possibilities.

But I never, ever, could have predicted that his gift would be the betrayal of our marriage.

And with his own intern, no less.

The sweet girl who used to follow me around, respectfully calling me Mrs. Carter.

When did this even start?