The Haunting Death of My Husband

The police called me to the scene. When I arrived, his secretary was still on her knees beside the body, wailing my husband's name. She was a wreck.
But I wasn't looking at her. I was looking at the shimmering ghost of Chris, hovering in the air just above them.
Perhaps some betrayals are so vile, not even hell will claim the soul.

1
The officer beside me cleared his throat, a touch of awkwardness in his voice as he broke the silence. "Mrs. Quinn."
That single sound was enough to halt the secretary, Molly, in the middle of a desperate sob.
Maybe Chris really had loved this woman down to his very bones. He'd lost his life in the crash, yet she had walked away with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises.
But Chris's love…
I glanced at the translucent figure of the man watching the scene unfold and couldn't help but let out a soft, contemptuous sound. Chris’s love changed colors more easily than a chameleon.
When Molly turned to look at me, her face was a mask of shock, which quickly morphed into rage. She scrambled to her feet, her face flushed a deep crimson, and launched herself at me.
The ghostly version of Chris reacted just as the living one would have. He tried to step between us, to shield her, terrified that I might lay a hand on his precious Molly.
But he was nothing but air. He could only watch in frustration as she passed right through his incorporeal form and lunged for me.
"Molly, be careful," he muttered, his brow furrowed in concern. Then his gaze snapped to me, a silent, furious warning. "Vivian, I'm warning you. Don't you dare touch her."
It was a scene that had played out a dozen times before.
Except this time, it seemed I was the only one who could hear him.
Molly’s hands clawed for my shoulders, her expression twisted with malice. She was clearly not here to offer condolences.
I instinctively recoiled, my brows knitting together.
An officer caught her just before she could tackle me, preventing her from tumbling to the floor.
"Ma'am, you need to calm down," the officer said firmly, his voice layered with professional patience. "Mr. Quinn's final arrangements are the responsibility of his wife, Mrs. Quinn."
He emphasized the word "wife," and it was clear he'd already pieced together the sordid little triangle.
Molly froze, her expression turning monstrous, like something out of our son Leo’s nightmares—ugly and repulsive.
"Officer, I want to file a report!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. "His crash—it was her! It had to be! It was no accident!"
The officer let out a weary sigh.
Seeing she was completely unhinged, I took another step back, seeking refuge behind him. The last thing I needed was to get scratched up by a madwoman.
Chris had already drifted to Molly's side, his cold, spectral eyes fixed on me. I couldn't read his expression, but I didn't have to. I was certain he suspected me, too.

2
The lead officer looked helpless. Just as he was about to speak, I cut him off, my gaze fixed on Molly.
"Without any evidence, that's slander. I can sue you for it."
Molly ground her teeth, her fury barely contained.
Finding the whole display tedious, I offered her a piece of advice. "I suggest you go home and start packing up all the little gifts Chris gave you."
I paused for effect.
"After all, everything he bought you was marital property. My son Leo and I are his sole legal heirs. What do you think the odds are that I'll be coming to collect every single penny he spent on you?"
Molly’s theatrical sobbing stopped dead. Her face went pale.
Seeing she'd finally quieted down, the officer gestured for a policewoman to escort her out.
As Molly was led from the room, Chris tried to follow. But the frustrating part? He reached the doorway only to be snapped back by some invisible force, pulled back into the room with me.
I shot him a vicious little smile. Serves you right.
"Mrs. Quinn, we'll leave you to handle Mr. Quinn's affairs," the officer who brought me here said gently.
I assumed they'd done their due diligence before contacting me. The crash was a genuine accident. On the drive over, they’d asked a few routine questions about Chris's life and left it at that.
I had no desire to look at Chris's face, especially not after a car wreck. I didn't need the image of his mangled features haunting my dreams.
I made a quick call to my assistant and my lawyer to handle the arrangements and prepared to leave. I'd rushed here, and while I'd asked our nanny, Mrs. Gable, to pick up Leo from preschool, I was still worried.
Leo had never been close to his father, which made him incredibly attached to me. I was afraid he wouldn't go to sleep without me there.
After signing the necessary paperwork and confirming with the police that my assistant was on his way, I headed straight for the airport and booked the next flight home.

3
And just like that, it was confirmed.
Chris, or what was left of him, was tethered to me.
I watched his translucent form drift near the ceiling of the airplane cabin and narrowed my eyes.
Well now, this could be fun.
The moment I landed, a video message from Mrs. Gable popped up on my phone. In it, Leo was dressed in his adorable dinosaur pajamas, his big, innocent eyes blinking slowly. He refused to sleep, calling for me over and over.
It was only when Mrs. Gable told him I was watching through the camera that he sat up, managed a wobbly smile, and spoke to the lens.
"Mommy, I wanna sleep with you. Can you come home, please?"
He was five, almost old enough for elementary school, but his voice was still thick with that sweet, babyish lisp that could melt any heart.
I hurried my steps.
My assistant had a car waiting, and in less than an hour, I was home.
Mrs. Gable was reading a picture book with Leo in the living room. The moment he heard the door, he scampered over to greet me.
I scooped him into my arms, murmuring comforting words as I carried him to his room. I tucked him in, read him his favorite story, and finally, his breathing evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep.
While I was tending to Leo, I noticed Chris sitting on the cushioned window seat in the corner of the room.
He'd never shown much interest in Leo, probably because the boy was a product of a marriage he'd grown to resent. The few times he was home, he rarely spent time with our son.
It was no surprise, then, that Leo hadn't mentioned his father once.
I heard Chris’s faint, ghostly whisper.
He was muttering to himself, asking why Leo never asked for his dad.
I found it laughable.
After placing a soft kiss on Leo's cheek, I quietly left his room and went to the master bedroom.

4
I wasn't about to play games with him. I sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke into the empty air.
"Leo is five years old. In those five years, how many times have you actually been there for him?"
"Did you ever take him to the park? Ever read him a bedtime story? Hell, our driver knows him better than you do. What exactly do you expect him to remember?"
I stared at the space where I knew he was standing.
We had been married for ten years.
He had been sleeping with his secretary for three.
The translucent figure suddenly met my gaze, his form wavering slightly. The usual composure of the great CEO Chris Quinn was gone, replaced by sheer astonishment.
"You can see me."
I didn't answer, just gave him a look one might reserve for a complete idiot.
Chris sighed, a sound like rustling leaves, and drifted over to my vanity. He sat down, staring at the mirror, and seemed to freeze for a few seconds when he saw no reflection.
I let out a cold laugh, crossing my arms.
"So, Mr. Quinn. It seems even in death, you can't get away from me."
The moment I discovered his affair with Molly, I had filed for divorce.
He refused, citing all the classic excuses: he couldn't live without me, Leo needed a father. He fought every petition, every motion. At one point, I took him to court, but I lacked concrete proof of the affair. Since Molly was his secretary, their constant proximity could always be explained away as work.
After countless failed attempts, I had temporarily given up.
But I'd found a silver lining.
An invisible ATM who never came home, never caused trouble, and always paid the bills. It was a pretty sweet deal, actually.
So, I began quietly purchasing real estate in Leo’s name and focused on rebuilding my own career. I had to be prepared for the day he would inevitably blindside me with his own divorce papers.
I never expected to be planning his funeral instead.
Chris had no siblings, and his parents had passed away years ago.
This meant that every asset, every stock, every last penny to his name now belonged to me and Leo.
His legally protected wife and his biological son.
What a generous man he turned out to be.

5
We didn't speak for the rest of the night.
I fell asleep surprisingly quickly.
The next morning, my assistant sent me the cremation certificate, along with a short video of Chris’s body being moved into the incinerator.
Chris, who had been brooding in a corner, drifted over, curious about what I was watching. His eyes widened as he saw his own mortal shell sliding into the flames.
"You're not even a little sad, are you?" His voice was muffled, heavy with disbelief.
He watched as I calmly took a sip of my coffee, his ghostly brow knitting into a tight knot.
I ignored his question, finished my coffee, and went to wake Leo for preschool.
Receiving no answer from me, Chris began to lose his composure. He floated closer, his voice rising in anger.
"Vivian!"
Leo, still drowsy and blissfully unaware of the spectral tantrum, giggled in my arms.
"Mommy, I'm gonna bring lots of snacks to share with my friends today!" he announced, his sleepiness replaced by excitement.
He chattered happily all through breakfast and while brushing his teeth, his little hands gesturing wildly.
A real smile touched my lips. I helped him pack his favorite treats into his little backpack.

6
After dropping Leo off, I had a quick online meeting with my lawyer, then headed to Chris’s company headquarters.
Chris seemed to be in the middle of a silent, sulking protest. He floated along beside me, arms crossed, saying nothing. Or perhaps he was just eagerly anticipating his reunion with Molly.
He was in for a disappointment.
Men are often so much slower to see the truth about certain things.
Especially about certain women.
When we arrived at the office, Molly was nowhere to be found.
Chris’s other secretary, a professional and discreet woman named Ms. Hayes, was already aware of the situation. My lawyer had called ahead, so she knew why I was there. She had efficiently scheduled a board meeting for two o'clock.
Ms. Hayes led me into Chris’s expansive office.
"You can wait in here, Mrs. Quinn. I'll bring you the relevant files." She paused, hesitating for a moment before walking over to a large filing cabinet. She slid it aside, revealing a hidden door. "There's a small suite in here if you need to rest."
Behind the door was a bedroom, complete with a large bed, a wardrobe, and an en-suite bathroom.
My stomach clenched.
The thought of what Chris and Molly might have done in here was enough to make me want to leave immediately.
In fact, the entire office felt contaminated. The more I thought about it, the more nauseous I became.
"This place is filthy," I said, taking a half-step back and subtly wiping my nose, avoiding Chris's gaze. "I think I'll wait in your office, Ms. Hayes."
The silent ghost of Chris finally stirred, his gaze burning into me.
I ignored his fury and gestured for Ms. Hayes to lead the way. Left with no choice, she quickly showed me to her own, much smaller, office.

7
I spent the morning reviewing documents and consulting remotely with a specialist my assistant had found.
By now, Chris understood exactly what I was planning.
As Ms. Hayes and I headed to the corporate cafeteria for lunch, Chris trailed behind me, his ghostly voice a venomous stream in my ear.
It was almost funny. We met at seventeen, started dating at eighteen, married at twenty-three. In all that time, I had never once seen the great Chris Quinn lose his cool like this.
"Vivian, how could you sell my shares?!"
"You bitch!"
"This is all mine! What right do you have?!"
Chris had come from a modest, middle-class family. He'd built this company from the ground up, a true prodigy among his peers. He had proposed to me when we were twenty but insisted on waiting until he was twenty-three to marry, all because he wanted to give me a better life.
And then, in our seventh year of marriage, he cheated.
While Ms. Hayes went to get our food, I finally responded to him.
"It's mine now."
I offered no further explanation.
He froze, his translucent eyes turning a furious, blood-red.
"Vivian! I hope you rot in hell!"
After lunch and a short break, it was time for the meeting. I hadn't even reached the conference room when I heard a familiar voice from inside.
It was Molly.
I leaned against the doorframe, glancing back at Chris. The flicker of hope in his eyes was so pathetic it was almost comical.
What a foolish, foolish man.
"To all the board members," Molly's voice drifted out, trembling slightly.
Chris desperately wanted to go inside, his gaze darting back and forth to me. But I remained right where I was, forcing him to listen from the hallway.
"With Mr. Quinn's passing…"

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