After I died, my cheating husband regretted

Carl’s tires screeched against the wet asphalt of the driveway. He didn't bother cutting the engine. He shoved the heavy mahogany front doors open, his dress shoes slapping hard against the marble foyer.

I drifted right behind him, completely untethered by gravity or grief.

Jenkins, the head butler, hurried out of the parlor. His usually pristine uniform looked slightly rumpled, his hands wringing together.

"Where is she?" Carl snapped, tossing his keys onto the console table.

"The missus hasn't come out yet, sir," Jenkins answered, his voice tight. "Maria panicked on the phone, but the door remains locked."

Carl didn't wait for a further explanation. He took the grand staircase two steps at a time. I floated upward, passing through the crystal chandelier, watching my husband sprint toward the master suite.

He grabbed the brass doorknob. He twisted it violently.

"Penny!" Carl yelled, pounding his fist against the wood. "Open the door!"

Silence answered him.

"I'm coming in," he warned.

Carl stepped back, raised his leg, and kicked the door right next to the lock. The wood splintered with a loud crack. He kicked it a second time, forcing the heavy door to swing inward, slamming against the drywall.

The bedroom was perfectly still. The massive king-sized bed was impeccably made, the silk sheets untouched.

"Penny?" Carl called out, his tone dropping its aggressive edge.

He walked toward the en-suite bathroom. Empty. He checked the walk-in closet. Nothing.

I hovered near the ceiling, watching him pivot back to the center of the room. His eyes darted around the space, finally landing on the corner by the bay window.

The motorized wheelchair sat parked in the shadows.

It was empty.

Carl frowned. A deep, rigid line formed between his eyebrows. He spun around and marched back into the hallway. The household staff had gathered at the top of the stairs, their faces pale.

"Where did she go?" Carl demanded, glaring at Jenkins.

"We don't know, Mr. Fort," the butler stammered, taking a step backward. "No one saw her leave the room."

"Her wheelchair is right in there!" Carl pointed a sharp finger toward the bedroom. "She can't walk three steps without collapsing! How does a dying woman vanish from a bolted room?"

Maria shrank against the banister. "I swear, sir. I knocked three times this afternoon. I thought she was just resting."

"You thought?" Carl closed the distance between them, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over the nanny. "Find her. Search the gardens. Search the pool house. Now!"

The staff scattered like frightened mice.

Carl pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

Detective Miller arrived at the estate twenty minutes later. He set his laptop on the dining room table, connecting a flash drive. I floated above the long table, peering down at the screen.

"Your security system covers the front gates, but we pulled the city traffic feeds from the alley behind your property line," Miller explained, tapping the keyboard. "Look at the timestamp."

Carl leaned over the table. His knuckles turned stark white against the polished wood.

On the grainy video, a black SUV idled near the tall hedges. Two men wearing dark hoodies dragged a figure out of the brush.

It was me.

My frail, sickly body hung limp between the two large men. A thick strip of silver duct tape covered my mouth. My wrists were bound tight with plastic zip ties.

"Penny," Carl whispered.

The anger completely drained from his face, leaving behind a pale, hollow mask.

"They threw her in the backseat," Miller noted, pausing the footage. "We ran the plates. The car was reported stolen two days ago. But the traffic cameras caught the vehicle heading south, toward the old industrial district."

"Where exactly?" Carl asked, his voice flat and dangerous.

"An abandoned textile factory on Miller Road."

"Let's go," Carl said, already turning toward the door.

The drive took less than fifteen minutes. The abandoned factory smelled of rust, rotting wood, and damp concrete. Rain began to drizzle from the night sky, pattering against the tin roof in a chaotic rhythm.

Police cruisers surrounded the perimeter. Red and blue lights flashed across the broken, jagged windows.

Carl ignored the uniformed officers telling him to wait outside. He ducked under the yellow police tape and marched straight into the cavernous warehouse.

I drifted right beside his shoulder.

The massive space was terrifyingly empty. Shadows clung to the corners. There was no black SUV. No kidnappers. No ransom note.

"Spread out!" Miller shouted to his squad. "Check the loading docks and the back offices!"

Carl walked toward the center of the concrete floor. His dress shoes crunched over shattered glass and rusted nails. He kept his eyes locked on the ground, searching for any sign of life.

Then, he stopped.

His entire body went rigid.

A massive puddle of dark crimson stained the gray floor. The edges of the pool were still wet, reflecting the harsh beams of the police flashlights.

"Over here!" Carl yelled. His voice cracked, stripping away his usual composed demeanor.

Miller rushed over, shining his light directly onto the blood. "Don't step in it, Mr. Fort."

Carl stared at the red pool. His chest heaved up and down. He looked around the empty warehouse, his eyes wild, frantically searching the dark shadows.

"Where is she?" Carl asked the empty room. "Penny!"

His shout echoed off the tin walls, returning to him as a hollow mock.

I floated directly in front of him. Close enough to trace the terrified lines of his face.

*I'm already dead,* I thought, staring into his panicked eyes. *Of course you can't find me.*

A bitter irony twisted in my nonexistent stomach. He didn't care when I was trapped in that house, coughing up blood into my hands. He didn't care when he was driving his hips into his secretary on his mahogany desk. Now, staring at my blood on a filthy factory floor, he looked like a man whose entire world had just shattered.

Why panic now, Carl? Because someone took your property without asking?

A sharp ringing cut through the heavy silence.

Carl flinched. He yanked his phone from his suit pocket.

The screen glowed brightly in the dim warehouse. *Bella.*

He swiped the screen and pressed the phone tight to his ear. "Did they contact you? Do they want money?"

"Carl?" Bella's voice drifted through the speaker, soft and perfectly sweet. "What are you talking about?"

Carl blinked. The frantic energy in his shoulders faltered. "Bella. Why are you calling me?"

"The power went out at my place," she murmured, a practiced pout evident in her tone. "It's completely dark in my apartment. I'm a little scared, Carl. Can you come keep me company?"

Carl stared down at the massive pool of my blood. The police radios crackled in the background. Flashlight beams swept across the rusted pillars around him.

"Please?" Bella pressed, her tone heavy with artificial innocence. "I'm all alone."

Carl didn't answer right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the crimson stain, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Carl?" Bella asked again. "Are you coming over?"