She Faked Her Death, So I Made It Real
By the time I woke up in the hospital, she’d already been cremated. Guilt ate me alive; I felt it was all my fault.
I took care of her parents faithfully until they both passed away.
But at their funeral, I saw someone who looked exactly like her.
After some digging, I discovered the truth: the car crash was faked. She staged her death to ditch me and run off with her college dreamboat.
When she found out I was investigating, she lured me to a mountain lookout and, when I wasn't looking, shoved me off the edge.
I blinked, and suddenly I was back in the car, back on that day, right before the argument.
This time? If she wanted to play dead, I’d make sure she stayed that way. For good.
1
"Honey, I was thinking maybe we could go on a trip tomorrow? Like camping?" Olivia, my wife, suddenly draped herself over my arm, a complete flip from her usual icy demeanor.
I stared at her, thrown by this unexpected warmth.
In the four years we’d been married, Olivia had always kept me at arm's length.
If I suggested a vacation, she'd claim she was a homebody, only to turn around and hit the beach with her old college buddy, Mark.
If I tried staying home to keep her company, she’d complain about needing "personal space" and tell me to leave her alone.
Even intimacy was rare; she always seemed resistant. That's why we still didn't have kids.
I’d always chalked it up to her personality, figuring enough care and affection would eventually thaw her out.
So, when Olivia excitedly suggested this trip, I agreed without a second thought.
I even called my best friend, Chris, practically bragging that I’d finally melted her frozen heart.
But seeing me lost in thought, she instantly pulled her arm away, her face hardening.
"What? You don't want to go?"
The flash of disgust in her eyes hit me like a ton of bricks. I finally got it. She was completely fed up with me.
"I'd love to go," I said carefully, "but your parents just got here. We can't just leave them."
Her parents had arrived a few days earlier, supposedly to see how their daughter was doing.
"Oh, don't worry about us!" my mother-in-law chimed in, bustling in from the other room. "If Liv wants to go, you two should go. We'll still be here when you get back."
Her eagerness felt… suspicious. Like she knew about the fake death plan all along.
I nodded slowly. "Alright then. I'll run to the grocery store, grab some things for you guys. Sorry to leave you hanging for a couple of days, but we’ll treat you to a nice dinner when we get back."
Relief washed over both their faces as I agreed.
Downstairs, I didn't head straight for the grocery store. First, I swung by an electronics shop and bought a tiny body camera, clipping it discreetly onto my hiking backpack.
Then, I called Chris. He's a big-shot investigative reporter. "Be near Eagle Crest Pass tomorrow morning," I told him. "Trust me, there's a huge story breaking."
He sounded skeptical but agreed to be there.
Next stop: the pharmacy. I picked up some prescribed stomach medicine and some strong sleeping pills.
When I got back from the grocery run, I found them all laughing and chatting cozily. The moment they saw me, the smiles vanished.
I ignored it. "Mom, Dad, got all the groceries. I'll prep some meals for you now, so you'll have food ready for tomorrow and the day after."
My father-in-law, who'd made a bit of money in some small business years ago, always spoke with an air of superiority.
"Now, Leo," he started, "remember, no MSG when you cook. Plenty of vinegar, though. And make sure those greens are cooked until they're mush..."
His wife elbowed him lightly. "I don't really care for your cooking, Leo," she added, trying to sound polite. "Always seems a bit… off. But I suppose we'll manage while you're gone."
I swallowed my irritation and cooked anyway, making sure to label everything carefully.
"Mom," I said, pointing, "this is for tomorrow, this is for the day after. Don't mix them up."
"Some of this stuff spoils quickly," I added pointedly. "Could give you an upset stomach if you eat it on the wrong day."
At the mention of stomach trouble, my father-in-law grumbled some more, but thankfully, he seemed to register which food was for which day.
2
We hit the road early the next morning. I'd deliberately oversalted the breakfast I made. Olivia, driving, started complaining almost immediately.
"Can't you do anything right, Leo? Even making breakfast… way too much salt. No wonder Dad says your cooking sucks."
I calmly handed her an open bottle of water.
"Sorry about that, honey. Here, drink some water."
She gulped down half the bottle and handed it back.
"Hey, the mountain road up ahead gets tricky," I offered. "Want me to take over driving?"
She stiffened instantly, suddenly defensive.
"No, I'm fine. I feel like driving today."
I just nodded. Any lingering shred of hope I had for her, for us, finally dissolved.
We pulled into a rest stop halfway up. She told me to go dump the trash while she stayed in the car, making a call.
I walked a good distance away, then switched on the listening device I'd planted earlier.
"Okay, listen," her voice came through, sharp and businesslike. "Be ready at Eagle Crest Pass. Splash plenty of fake blood around – make it look convincing. Got it?" Pause. "And put that fake rock prop right in the middle of the road. I'll drive straight into it. Make sure you get good photos." Another pause. "Don't worry, you'll get paid well once this is done."
Silence, then another call.
"Mark? Hey! It's happening soon. We'll finally be together. Did you remind your uncle to get that death certificate ready? Just hand it directly to the guy who comes with me… Leo." Pause. "Yeah, the cremation place is all set. Someone's waiting to handle things on that end." Another pause, her voice turning syrupy sweet. "Mark, baby, we're almost there. God, if it wasn't for that settlement money that idiot got, I would never have wasted my time on him."
In the previous timeline, right after her "death," Mark had shown up with a bogus IOU for ten million dollars he claimed she owed him. Drowning in guilt and egged on by her parents, I'd sold my house and handed over every penny I had. God, I was such a fool back then.
I waited until she hung up, then walked back to the car.
She held out an already opened carton of milk.
"Here," she said, trying to sound considerate. "Drink this. You barely touched your breakfast; don't want you getting hungry on the road."
I took the milk and, under her watchful, expectant gaze, drank the whole thing.
Joke's on her. I was the one who packed the car. I'd swapped her doctored milk with a perfectly normal one hours ago.
3
I sent a quick text to Chris: Eagle Crest Pass. Get ready. If you see anyone suspicious setting something up, film them discreetly, then call the cops.
With everything in motion, a strange calm settled over me.
Still, looking at the woman I'd loved, or thought I loved, for so many years, knowing how this would end… a flicker of regret, maybe pity, sparked inside me.
I just watched her quietly for a moment.
She noticed my gaze and recoiled. "God, stop looking at me like that," she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. "It's disgusting. Like you've never seen a woman before."
"Honestly, Leo, you're just… pathetic. No ambition. I genuinely can't stand you."
After I got that settlement money, all I wanted was to relax, enjoy life, spend time with family. But in her eyes, that translated to pathetic.
My gaze turned cold. "Then why did you marry me, Olivia? If you didn't love me, why stay with me?"
"Because you wouldn't leave me alone!" she spat back. "Clinging like some pathetic lost puppy! I only stuck around because I felt sorry for you!"
Felt sorry for me. Right.
Sure, I pursued her. Hard. Dropped a fortune doing it – expensive bags, designer clothes, fancy dinners at places I couldn't really afford. She never said no, never even hinted she wasn't interested.
Now I was the pathetic one?
I let out a long sigh, picking up the water bottle I'd given her earlier. It was nearly empty.
"Okay, okay, my bad," I said, handing it to her. "Here, finish this. Calm down."
She shot me a sideways glare but took the bottle and drained the rest.
I watched her closely. Her eyelids started to droop. She looked like she was fighting sleep. Time was running out.
"Honey," I said gently, "maybe I should drive now? You look tired. Eagle Crest Pass is just up ahead."
We were heading to a campsite high in the mountains. All the turns and passes looked similar up here; it was easy to get confused if you weren't paying close attention.
The mention of "Eagle Crest Pass" jolted her awake.
"I'm perfectly fine driving!" she snapped, suddenly alert. "Why are you so insistent on taking over? Don't you trust my driving?"
She was picking a fight, trying to replicate the scenario from the last time, trying to get me out of the car so she could stage the accident.
"That's not it," I said, feigning helplessness. "I'm just worried you're tired."
"Oh, I think you don't trust me! God, you're such a worrier, always nagging. I'm not made of glass, Leo!"
"And remember that hospital project investment I told you about? Mark's project? You hesitated! So useless!"
Mark's hospital venture. I knew it was shady, probably skirting the law, but Olivia had pushed, so I'd sunk over a million into it. Lost every cent.
Afterward, Olivia blamed me, claiming I didn't invest enough.
I glanced at the clock. Past noon. Her parents would have likely eaten their lunch by now. The lunch I'd prepared.
"Just get out! I don't want to look at you!" she yelled. We were on a winding mountain road, miles from anywhere. No chance of catching a cab. But she didn't care.
I looked at her one last time. Her eyes were slits, struggling to stay open.
"I... alright," I stammered, playing my part. "Just... be careful driving, okay? Eagle Crest Pass is right around the bend."
"Get out!" she screamed.
The car screeched to a halt. I opened the door and stepped out.
The mountain road was deserted. Just me, the wind, and the tiny red light blinking almost imperceptibly on my backpack strap.
She didn't know. Eagle Crest Pass wasn't this turnoff. It was the next one.
4
I tossed the empty water bottle she'd drunk from into a roadside trash bin, then quickly called Chris.
The second I hung up, a deafening BOOM echoed from up ahead.
Thick black smoke billowed into the clear mountain air.
I sprinted forward. The car… or what was left of it… was completely engulfed in flames, already burning down to a skeletal frame.
I dropped to my knees on the asphalt, forcing out gut-wrenching sobs.
Soon, sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must have called 911. An ambulance arrived, police cars right behind them, quickly sealing off the mountain road.
They loaded Olivia's… remains… and me into the same ambulance.
At the hospital, the official verdict came quickly: severe burns, deceased upon arrival. An autopsy would be required.
Tears streaming (or so it seemed), I nodded my consent. Then, I immediately sought out her dear friend, Mark.
"Mark," I choked out, playing the distraught husband. "I don't know anyone here… the doctors… they said they need to do an autopsy on Olivia… I…"
Mark looked genuinely startled to see me conscious and walking around. According to their plan, I should have been passed out cold somewhere.
He fumbled for his phone, dialed a number. It rang and rang, unanswered.
He looked flustered. "Call her parents," he instructed me curtly.
I made a show of dialing their number several times. No answer.
Mark looked increasingly uneasy, but he stuck to the script. He produced a folded document. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "Death certificate. Signed."
This meant no autopsy. He couldn't risk them finding the sleeping pills still in her system.
If they found that, I'd be implicated too.
5
After arranging things with the crematorium staff – specifically, the contact he mentioned – Mark turned back to me.
"Okay, the funeral home is expecting you. Just take her straight there."
He seemed hesitant, reaching as if to pull back the white sheet covering Olivia.
I quickly stepped in.
"Just… straight to cremation?" I asked, feigning confusion and grief. "Don't they need to examine the body or anything? Maybe I should check back with that coroner…"
Mark’s hand froze. He clearly didn't want anyone looking too closely. "Just go!" he snapped, impatient. "Do what I told you. Take her to Henderson at the crematorium. Give him this."
He thrust the death certificate into my hand.
Heart pounding, but keeping my hand trembling, I took the certificate and headed for the crematorium.
Just as instructed, I found the guy named Henderson and handed him the paperwork.
He scanned the death certificate, then glanced grimly at the body bag on the gurney.
His brow furrowed deeply. He reached for the phone on his desk.
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