Chapter 2

Avery

The night was deep, and the only sound in the room was Felix tossing and turning.

"Avery, why didn't you tell me about any of this?" His voice trembled in the darkness.

I'm right here.

I've been here all along, watching you struggle in pain on our shared bed, watching you finally start to miss me. Six months, Felix. For six whole months, you never truly wondered where I was.

'If you had cared about me sooner, maybe I wouldn't have died...'

Yes, I'm dead. Dead on that rainy night, dead beneath the roof of St. Mark's Church, dead the moment Felix hung up on my cry for help.

That night's memories pierce through me like the very rebar that killed me—cold, merciless, pinning me back to that moment when everything ended.

I stood in front of St. Mark's Church, looking up at the roof tiles that had been torn off by the storm. The damaged area wasn't large, but if not repaired quickly, the next rainfall would seep through and damage the church's wooden interior structure.

"Five hundred dollars for repairs." I calculated in my head what this money meant to our family—Felix had been unemployed for three months, and our savings were nearly gone.

Yes, I was the breadwinner. I got up at six every morning to work at the cleaning company, came home in the afternoon to do housework, and had to volunteer for church maintenance work in the evenings. And Felix? He stayed home playing video games, occasionally going out to "look for work"—which really meant drinking with friends and complaining.

But I loved him. Even as he grew colder, even as he started taking frequent calls from Miranda, I still loved him.

Miranda. Our neighbor who'd moved in right around the time Felix lost his job. She'd been so helpful at first—bringing over casseroles, offering to connect Felix with "business opportunities," always appearing at our door with that perfect smile and those perfectly timed visits when I was at work.

"I can fix it." I spoke to the empty church. "Five hundred dollars, and Felix won't have to worry so much about money."

It was a stupid decision. I knew I was afraid of heights, knew the roof would be slippery and dangerous after rain, but I still dragged the ladder out from the church storage room.

Every step up the ladder made my legs shake.

"Just ten minutes," I told myself. "Fix these tiles, come down, go home and make dinner for Felix."

Rainwater mixed with moss and fallen leaves made every step a gamble. I carefully moved toward the damaged area, holding replacement tiles in my hand.

Just as I was about to reach my target, my foot suddenly slipped into nothing.

I'll never forget that feeling of weightlessness. I clearly remember every moment of sliding off the roof edge—first my knee hitting the gutter, then my chest slamming hard into the steel cross beam above the church's main entrance.

The steel rebar pierced through me.

I wouldn't die immediately, but would slowly bleed out, slowly suffocate.

The pain was indescribable. I felt my body being torn apart, blood bubbles foaming from my mouth with every breath. But more terrifying was the helplessness—I was pinned in mid-air by the rebar, unable to move, only able to wait for rescue or death.

I realized I might die.

Trembling, I reached for my phone that had fallen to the ground. The screen was cracked but still worked. I dialed Felix's number—my only hope, my husband, the most important person in my life.

"Felix..." My voice was as weak as a candle in the wind. "Help me... I'm at the church... rebar went through me..."

Same moment, at "Maple House" restaurant in town

And you, Felix, were sitting in the town's most expensive restaurant, enjoying a candlelit dinner face-to-face with Miranda.

I saw everything. Not because I had some magical superpower, but because the process of dying gave me a terrible clarity. I could sense your presence, feel what you were thinking at that moment.

You wore the best shirt I'd bought you, your hair carefully styled, even wearing cologne. Miranda sat across from you in a deep V-neck red dress, her hand gently stroking your arm.

"Felix, you're really charming," her voice was sweet as syrup. "With Avery away, we can finally talk properly."

You smiled—that relaxed smile I hadn't seen in so long. "Yeah, she's been so neurotic lately, worrying about money all day long."

"Maybe you should consider... a change of environment," Miranda suggested. "I mean, a man shouldn't be trapped in a hopeless marriage."

That's when your phone rang. My call.

You glanced at the caller ID, your expression instantly turning annoyed.

You answered the phone, but your tone was cold as ice: "Avery, I'm discussing important business. Stop being dramatic."

"I... I'm really dying..." I used the last of my strength to say these words.

But you just rolled your eyes, giving Miranda a wry smile and shaking your head: "Enough! Aren't you tired of this act? I'm not coming home tonight!"

Then you hung up.

You hung up on your wife's final cry for help.

"Sorry, she's always trying to get attention like this," you told Miranda. "Ever since I lost my job, she's been hysterical, always thinking the sky is falling."

Miranda nodded sympathetically: "Poor Felix, you've been under too much pressure. Maybe we should order champagne to celebrate? To celebrate your upcoming... freedom?"

You ordered champagne.

And I, your wife, was slowly dying on the rebar in front of the church.

It started raining again, cold droplets hitting my face. I looked at my phone screen showing "Call Ended" and felt life draining from my wound bit by bit.

I didn't blame you, Felix. Even in my final moments, I didn't blame you. Maybe that's the tragedy of love—even when hurt, you make excuses for the one who hurt you.

'He doesn't know I'm really injured,' I told myself. 'He thinks I'm being emotional again.'

But deep down, I knew the truth. You knew I never lied, knew I never caused trouble without reason. You just chose to ignore it, chose to believe I was "acting," because that way you could continue your dinner with Miranda with a clear conscience.

More and more blood flowed, consciousness fading. I wanted to call Cora, wanted to call anyone who would care about me, but my phone slipped from my hand and crashed on the wet ground.

I just hung there, like a broken doll, waiting for death to come.

And you, Felix, didn't come home until the next afternoon, still carrying Miranda's perfume scent. When you found our bedroom empty, you just assumed I was still angry about our latest fight—the same pattern we'd fallen into so many times before. You figured I'd gone to stay with Cora or taken some time to cool off.

You never thought to look for me.

Six months. For six whole months, you enjoyed life without me. Dating Miranda, spending the money I'd left you, telling yourself I was just being "typical Avery"—stubborn and dramatic. When friends asked where I was, you'd shrug and say we were "taking a break."

Not until today, not until that insurance company call, did you start "worrying" about my whereabouts.

Not because of love, not because you missed me, but because of money.

Because that five hundred thousand dollar payout required my signature in person.

Now you're lying in this bed, clutching the insurance contract in guilt, asking me why I didn't tell you these things. The answer is simple, Felix: because you never listened.