He Told Me To Let Her Die

His mother was dying, and the surgery papers were waiting for his signature.

But my husband was busy trying to win back the ghost of a girl he could never forget, the one who was about to leave the country again.

I made a show of frantic calling, and after he sent me to voicemail, I watched his mother slip away.

In my last life, I moved heaven and earth to get the message to him. Hed dropped everythingdropped herand raced to the hospital, only to arrive a second too late. He was met not by his mother, but by her cooling body.

And just like that, the ghost vanished from his life for good.

1

He told me he didnt blame me, but a week after her death, he knocked me unconscious and dragged me to her grave. He drove a knife into my heart, his hands twisting the hilt, turning my insides to shreds. I watched the life bleed out of me, the edges of the wound a mangled mess, and saw the crimson rage in his eyes.

Why did you have to call me? Why did you make me come to the hospital? hed snarled, his face a mask of madness. Im not a doctor. What could I have done? Because of you, Ill never hear from Isabelle again. Because of you, shes gone forever. So you can go keep my mother company in hell.

I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back on the day his mother died.

This time, if he wanted to chase his great what if, I wouldnt be the one to stand in his way.

The frantic beeping of the hospital monitors jolted me back to reality. I was alive again. Reborn.

His mother, Eleanor, was lying in the same bed as before, her lips a dark, bruised purplea cruel signature of her failing heart. The machines monitoring her vitals screamed in unison, a shrill, metallic chorus of doom.

On pure instinct, I slammed the call button.

Nurses rushed in. One look at Eleanor and they were paging her doctor.

Her doctor was Mark, Ethans best friend since childhood. Ethan had specifically asked him to keep a close eye on his mom.

Mark took one look at her charts and his face hardened. Shes critical. We have to operate now. Get the family to sign the consent forms.

My eyes darted to the phone on her bedside table. As the nurses and I wheeled her bed towards the operating room, I dialed Ethans number and put it on speaker.

The first call went straight to voicemail. The cold, robotic voice of the carrier service filled the tense silence. Marks brow furrowed.

Hes not picking up? Call him again. We cant proceed without a signature. Its hospital policy, and not even I can bend that rule for him.

I nodded, my hands performing a perfect imitation of a panicked tremor, and dialed again.

This time he answered, his voice crackling with irritation. What is it now? Havent I told you not to call me today? The hospital is full of staff, why do you need me?

The same cold indifference as last time. A chill ran down my spine, erasing any doubt. I remembered the feral look on his face as hed killed me.

Are you with Isabelle? I asked, my voice carefully measured. You need to come. Your mom its not looking good.

I heard him take a sharp breath. His voice rose into a full-blown shout. Its never looking good! How many times have I rushed over there for a false alarm? Does my mothers health only take a nosedive the second Im with Isabelle? What kind of game are you playing, Zoe? Is your life that empty? Cant you survive a single day without me?

He wasnt finished. If shes not well, call a doctor! What am I supposed to do, cure her myself? I told you I was busy today. Leave me the hell alone.

Before I could respond, another voice chimed in from his end, sweet and cloying. Isabelle. Ethan, is it your mother? You should go. Dont worry about me. I shouldnt be complicating your life anymore maybe its better if we just dont see each other again

He hung up before I could say another word.

My nails dug into my palm, the knuckles of my fist turning white. Of course. In this life, just like the last, Isabelle was the only thing that mattered.

His furious tirade had echoed from the phones speaker, and now every nurse and orderly in the hallway was staring at me with a mixture of pity and discomfort. They all knew. They knew Id quit my stable government job to care for his mother. Ethan had insisted he didnt trust hired nurses. So Id become one, living out of a bag in this sterile, hopeless place for an entire year.

And while I was here, changing bedpans and monitoring IV drips, my husband was out trying to recapture his past.

The few times he did show up were after Id frantically called him during a crisis. By the time hed finished placating Isabelle and finally arrived, Eleanor would be stable again, the immediate danger passed. Then hed accuse me of crying wolf, of using his mothers health to manipulate him. His attitude toward me had grown colder and more impatient with each passing month, until hed just started ignoring my calls altogether.

A few times, when things got really bad, Mark had been the one to call, unable to watch me struggle alone. In the beginning, Ethan would drop Isabelle in a heartbeat and race over. But after a few more "false alarms," where his mother pulled through, he started to see it as a conspiracy. He decided Mark had taken my side, that we were both playing him, scheming to tear him away from his true love.

The story of the boy who cried wolf. It was our story.

Except this time, I was praying the wolf would come. I wanted him nowhere near this hospital.

Let his precious Isabelle bear the weight of this.

Mark saw the disconnected call, his expression grim. Ill go in and do what I can to buy us some time, he said, his voice tight. You keep calling him. We cant delay this surgery any longer. He spun on his heel and disappeared into the O.R.

A nurse placed a clipboard in front of me, the consent forms clipped neatly to the top. Im so sorry, she said, her eyes full of genuine sympathy. Its the rules. We have to have a signature from immediate family.

I nodded, understanding. For the benefit of my audience, I dialed again.

This time, the call didnt even ring. Hed blocked my number.

On the outside, I was the picture of desperation. On the inside, a profound wave of relief washed over me. I let my body slump into one of the hard plastic waiting-room chairs, finally allowing myself a moment of rest.

Ten minutes later, Mark emerged from the O.R., his face heavy. He looked at a nurse. Notify the chaplain. Its not looking good. His gaze found me, scanning the hallway, and his brow tightened when he saw I was still alone.

Still no word? he asked, his voice low and sharp.

I nodded, forcing two fat tears from my eyes. Its my fault, I whispered, my voice breaking. I shouldnt have called him all those other times. Now he doesnt believe me hell never believe me again

Mark and Ethan were close, so he knew all about Isabelle. He knew the whole pathetic, sordid story. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

Its not your fault, Zoe. The only one to blame here is Ethan for losing his damn mind.

He stripped off his surgical gloves and marched to the nurses station, picking up the landline to dial Ethans number himself. I rushed over, my face a carefully constructed mask of earnest anxiety.

The second the call connected, Marks voice was like steel. Your mother needs emergency surgery, right now. Youre the only one who can sign. Where are you? Get to the hospital. Now.

The background on Ethans end was noisy; it sounded like he was driving, probably on his way to the airport to stop Isabelle. He was even dismissive of his best friend.

Youre there, Mark. Youll handle it. What could possibly happen?

Zoe playing games is one thing, but youre in on it too? Dont you know Isabelle is leaving today? If I dont catch her, Ill never see her again.

I missed my chance five years ago, Mark. Im not missing it again. I know youve always had a soft spot for Zoe, but I cant spend the rest of my life with a woman I dont love. Thats it. Im driving. Gotta go.

Mark stood there, phone in hand, his face a canvas of disbelief and fury. His eyes turned red, his chest heaving. He slammed his thumb on the redial button, again and again, but each time was met with the same robotic rejection.

The anger in his eyes slowly curdled into a deep, profound disappointment, and then, finally, into weary resignation.

He let his fist fall onto the counter with a soft thud.

My voice now a desperate, cracking sob, I begged a nearby nurse to let me use her cell phone, one last attempt to reach my husband.

The call went through. The moment Ethan heard my voice, his tone dropped into a dangerous growl.

Are you fucking kidding me? Have you not had enough? You knew Isabelle was leaving today. You picked this exact day to pull this shit, didn't you?

Fine. Im not coming. Lets see what you do then. Maybe we should just get a divorce! I am sick to death of your paranoia! But I swear to God, Zoe, if you so much as touch my mother, I will make you pay with your life.

He didn't give me a chance to reply. The line went dead.

A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. Five years. Five years of my life, wasted. Five years of playing the dutiful wife, of caring for his sick mother, of cleaning up her filth and holding her hand through the night, only to be told I was not the one he loved, not the one he wanted to spend his life with.

I could still feel a phantom ache in my chest where the knife had gone in during my last life. A tear escaped, and I angrily wiped it away.

From inside the O.R., a nurse shouted for Mark. He was needed. He finally gave up, all hope draining from his face. With a final, resolute look, he turned and walked back into the operating room.

The words on the form left on the counter were stark and piercing: Do Not Resuscitate.

I took a deep breath and sat back down. I made two calls. The first was to a lawyer, to draw up divorce papers. The second was to a funeral home.

Soon, the light above the O.R. door switched off. Mark emerged, pulling his mask down with a slow, heavy hand. He looked at me and simply shook his head.

The same scene as last time, but this time, my heart was filled with a completely different emotion.

Ethan hadnt seen his mothers last moments. Ethan hadnt been able to stop Isabelle from leaving. And this time, the person to blame for it all wasnt me.

I finally let out a breath I didnt realize Id been holding. But my eyes burned with tears.

Last time, Ethans reaction on the phone had been just as cold. But I hadnt given up. I had jumped through hoops to reach him, sending him photos of his dying mother, a snapshot of the doctors grim prognosis, anything to make him believe. He had been on his way to the airport then, too. The proof I sent made him turn his car around and speed toward the hospital.

But all that time spent arguing, begging, and convincing him had been too much. Hed arrived just as his mother took her last breath.

He had collapsed right there in the hallway, his hands clutching his head as he sobbed like a broken child.

He went through the motions of the funeral arrangements with me, a hollowed-out shell of a man. When the dust settled, he discovered Isabelle had blocked him on every platform. The ghost was gone, and this time, there was no way to reach her across the ocean.

For seven days, he was silent. When I tried to talk to him, he would just shake his head and say he was fine. I even booked him a flight overseas, telling him to go, to explain things to her. He refused, saying coldly that it was over between them, that this tragedy had made him realize he should cherish the person in front of him.

After five years of waiting, those were the words I had longed to hear. I believed him without a seconds hesitation. I was giddy with the hope that his heart was finally coming home.

Then, a week after his mothers death, he hit me from behind and I woke up at her graveside.

The indifference in his eyes was gone, replaced by a pure, chilling hatred. The moment I came to, he plunged a dagger hed spent seven days sharpening straight into my heart.

The pain was so blinding I couldnt even scream.

He twisted the handle, his face contorted into the mask of a zealot who had lost his one true god. He watched, transfixed, as the blood soaked through my shirt, turning the fabric a dark, wet crimson.

Only then, as my vision began to fade, did he speak.

Why did you have to call me? What difference could I have made?

Because of a few pictures, I lost Isabelle forever. Forever.

Do you have any idea how long I waited for her to come back? In the five years we were married, I never stopped dreaming she would look back at me. I begged for it in my sleep. And she finally came back, Zoe. She was finally here. And because of you, shes gone.

Since you couldnt take care of my mother, hed hissed, you can go join her.

He ripped the knife out and plunged it into me again. And again. The blood sprayed across the tombstone, staining the photograph of his mothers smiling face.

The ultrasound picture in my purse, the one showing I was two months pregnant, never saw the light of day.

After I died, my soul lingered. I watched him flee the country. I watched him find Isabelle and fall to his knees before her. Before he could even get the words of apology out, the police who had tracked him down fired a single shot, and he fell dead at her feet.

Only then did I understand how laughable it was. A five-year marriage sustained only by my sacrifice. He had changed his own last name for her years ago, a bizarre act of devotion she never even asked for. He didnt care about family. Why would he ever care about me?

Thank God, I was given another chance.

I took the official death certificate from the nurse and left the hospital. But I didnt go home. My first stop was a clinic.

Mark, worried about my state, stayed with me the whole time. The more he showed me a simple, human kindness, the more hollow I felt. A friend of my husbands could see that I was fragile, that I needed someone. But the man I had loved for five years, the man whose mother I had cared for, saw me only as an obstacle on his path to true love.

Mark watched me schedule the procedure. He sat in the waiting room while it was done. He never said a word to stop me, and he had no more words to defend his friend. When I came out, he gently reminded me of the aftercare instructions. I listened, nodding weakly.

The funeral is in three days, I told him, my voice thin. Since Ethan wont be there, and you were her doctor could you come? Just to see her off.

Eleanor had been good to me. I didnt want her to be alone. Her sons sins weren't hers. She deserved a proper goodbye.

With that, I walked out of the clinic and hailed a cab home.

For three days, there was nothing from Ethan. Not a single call. Not one question about his mother. The only updates I got were screenshots from Mark, showing Isabelles constantly updated social media feed. He couldnt stand the thought of me being kept in the dark. It seemed Ethan had succeeded in winning her back. His mothers body wasnt even cold, and they were already on a whirlwind tour of every local tourist trap.

I saved every picture, every post. Evidence for the divorce lawyer.

On the day of the funeral, the chapel was nearly empty. Ethan and I never had a wedding, so I didn't know his side of the family. The only people there were a few of Eleanors old friends Id managed to contact.

Mark stood beside me, his eyes dark and cold, fixed on the chapel doors. I knew he was waiting for Ethan. He couldnt help himself; hed sent him the details for the service.

But the funeral progressed, and as we reached the final moments, there was still no sign of him. Marks expression was frozen solid.

I clutched the urn containing Eleanors ashes, my thin black dress doing little to ward off the chill in the air. I couldnt tell if the feeling in my chest was hatred or heartbreak. The stark white flowers surrounding us felt like a mockery. This was a funeral for two people: for Eleanor, and for the woman I used to be.

Just as I stepped forward to place the urn in its niche, a mans roar echoed from the entrance.

What the hell are you all doing? Who gave you permission to hold a funeral for my mother? Shes alive and well in the hospital! Are you insane?

My steps faltered. My grip on the urn tightened until my knuckles ached. The familiar venom in his voice made my whole body tremble.

Ethan stormed in, his face contorted with rage. And on his arm was Isabelle, a vision in a blood-red dress, a color so violently out of place it felt like a wound in the heart of the solemn room.

Before I could speak, Mark stepped forward. Shes gone, Ethan! She died three days ago! You wouldnt listen to Zoe, and you wouldnt listen to me. Whats it going to take, for her to rise from the grave and tell you herself?

His voice rose, thick with disgust. This is your mothers funeral. Are you out of your mind, bringing her here, dressed like that?

Ethan, I am so disappointed in you, I dont even have the words. If youre here to cause a scene, you can take her and get the hell out. Now.

Ethan looked stunned that his best friend would turn on him. The shock quickly morphed into fury. So youre in on this little drama too? First, she pretends my mom is sick, and now shes throwing a fake funeral? You love the theatrics, dont you, Zoe? Fine. You want a funeral? Ill give you one.

He strode toward me, snatched the urn from my hands, and hurled it to the ground.

Crack.

The world dissolved into a cloud of grey ash.

A scream tore from my throat. I dropped to my knees, trying to shield what was left, to gather the dust with my bare hands. Ethan kicked me, sending me sprawling into the middle of the desecrated remains.

The ash coated my face, my hair, my black dress.

Mark reacted in a flash. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Ethans jaw in a sickening crunch.

Youre an animal! How could she have a son like you? he roared, grabbing Ethan by the collar. Get out. Get out now, and dont you ever say you know me again! Ill handle her funeral myself.

Eleanor had been fond of Mark, treating him like a second son. It was pathetic. Even a near-stranger knew she deserved to rest in peace, while her own flesh and blood, the boy she raised, had just smashed her earthly remains for another woman.

Isabelle rushed forward to intervene, but Mark shoved her away. She stumbled, her hand landing on a sharp shard of the broken urn. A deep gash opened up on her palm.

Ethans eyes went crimson. He moved to help her, ready to fight, but Mark pulled Eleanors death certificate from his pocket and threw it in his face.

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