My Husband Came Back after his Death

After receiving a prenatal injection, I received an anonymous video on my phone.

In the video, a man sang nursery rhymes with a little boy wearing a birthday hat.

He dabbed a bit of cream on his finger and smiled as he smeared it on a woman's nose. Then he bent down to kiss it away.

My phone slipped from my hand to the floor, and I trembled all over uncontrollably.

The scar on the inside of the man's wrist was an old one, left from the time he saved me.

Around his neck hung the pendant I had fetched for him from a famous church to ensure his safety.

When I returned home, the expansive riverside apartment felt empty.

The housekeeper brought some herbal soup meant to stabilize my pregnancy. She sighed and placed it on the table. "Mr. Stewart has a social engagement this evening and won't be home for dinner."

It was the tenth night he had used this excuse not to come home.

I removed the diamond ring that symbolized our love and called the lawyer, Martin Higgins.

I didn't want to wait any longer. My husband, Bruce Stewart, had given his tenderness to another woman and was not worth my love.

...

When the call connected, I mustered all the strength I had to keep my voice from trembling. "Martin, I want a divorce. Please draft the divorce papers for me."

The voice on the other end was as calm as ever. "Miss Payne, it is not the time to act on emotion. You need to gather substantial evidence of Bruce's infidelity. Otherwise, you'll be at a disadvantage in the property division. Especially since you're currently unemployed and entirely dependent on him."

I hung up the phone and collapsed onto the sofa.

My eyes fell on the jade bracelet around my wrist.

It was the only keepsake my mother left me.

The smooth, warm touch of the bracelet made me remember that hellish rainy night six years ago.

A crazed assailant broke in and sought revenge against my father, a police officer.

My parents lost their lives to protect.

I held my two-year-old daughter tightly, but her body grew cold and lifeless.

Just as the blood-stained knife was about to pierce my heart, Bruce Stewart dashed in.

He used his body to shield me from the deadly blow.

The knife went through his wrist, and his warm blood sprayed across my face.

I stared at him and forgot to scream or breathe.

When the police burst in, I hear his weak yet resolute voice. "Vera, don't be afraid."

His words became my sole reason to survive.

That day, I lost everything but clung to Bruce as my lifeline.

As soon as he woke up in the hospital, wrapped in bandages, he held me tightly.

He vowed to spend his life protecting and caring for me.

After his discharge, I was terrified of losing him again and went to the most famous church, bowing repeatedly as an act of devotion to get him that pendant.

Because he had risked his life saving me, I kept all my grievances to myself.