After I Died, My Ex-Husband Wept at My Grave

The day Eve Jones came back to town, Zac Gibson did not come home all night.

The next day, I saw a post on her social media, showing a photo of two hands tightly intertwined, along with Zac’s peaceful, childlike sleeping face.

When he finally came home, he threw divorce papers at me and said, "You’ve been standing in Eve’s place this whole time. Now that she’s back, it’s time for you to move on."

It did not matter anymore. I was not going to live much longer anyway. Whoever wanted the title of "Mrs. Gibson" could have it.

Later, I died.

But Zac cried at my grave, kneeling, promising he would never hold anyone else’s hand again.

Sitting at the dining table, I stared at the food growing colder by the minute. I picked up my phone and typed a single word, "Okay," and hit send.

Half an hour earlier, Zac had texted me, saying he had just left the office and would be home soon.

I had eagerly set out his favorite dishes on the table when my phone lit up with another message. "Something urgent came up. I have to attend a meeting. You go ahead without me."

My heart sank. There was no last-minute business meeting. It was just my dear 'sister,' his so-called one true love, Eve, who had just returned from overseas with her biracial child. Zac and their friends were busy throwing her a welcome-back party.

How did I know? Of course, it was my lovely sister who posted something on her social media, visible only to me. In the photo, Zac was gazing at her with so much affection, smiling more like a goofy dog than an actual one.

If she had any less shame, I bet she would have invited me to witness the whole thing in person.

After all, when Zac and I got married, she had called me all the way from Frangelia to warn me. "Quinn, even though we look exactly alike, Zac’s heart will always belong to me."

By that time, she had already been married to her tall, muscular Frangelian husband for two years and had given birth to the biracial child she had always dreamed of. But she still needed to flaunt her place in Zac’s heart in front of me.

She was not wrong. For all these years, Zac’s mind had been stuck on her.

On our wedding night, while Zac moved on top of me, kissing my face again and again, the name he whispered was not mine. It was hers, "Eve."

And my name was Quinn Jones.

……

I picked up the now-cold food from the table and stuffed it into my mouth. Even though my throat felt tight and uncomfortable, I did not stop.

The doctor told me my illness was caused by years of poor eating habits. Skipping meals and irregular eating had only made things worse. From now on, I had to eat on time and take care of myself.

In the past, for Zac, I could go the entire day without eating and only have my first meal in the middle of the night.

Today, I waited over an hour just to eat with him.

From now on, I would not starve another minute for him!

After I finished eating and cleaned everything up, I lay down in bed.

Before falling asleep, I wondered how late Zac would stay out tonight.

But when I woke up the next morning, the cold and neatly made bed beside me told me he had not come home at all.

Almost instinctively, I grabbed my phone and checked Eve’s social media.

Sure enough, there it was again, another post just for me. This time, it was a photo of her and Zac holding hands, with the caption "Eight years later, and it’s still just as warm!"

My stomach clenched as if a giant hand had squeezed it. The pain was so intense that I could barely breathe and cold sweat started forming on my forehead.

With one hand gripping my phone and the other clutching my stomach, I told myself, "It’s okay. You’re going to die soon anyway. None of this matters anymore!"

Yes, I had stomach cancer. The doctor told me I had about three months left to live.

All those years of working non-stop for the Gibson Corporation, scrambling to clean up Zac’s messes, skipping meals, and drinking until I threw up, had ruined my stomach.

But now, even if I only had a day left, I was not going to torture it anymore. My poor stomach had already suffered enough having me as its owner.

So I got up and made myself breakfast.

Just as I set the bowl of oats porridge on the table, Zac came home with Eve and her child.

I did not cry when Zac lied to me about meeting his "one true love." I did not cry when he did not come home all night. I did not even cry when I saw Eve’s post.

But the moment he walked through that door with them, my tears flowed like a dam had broken.

In that instant, the last place I had called my own had been invaded and tainted by these two wretched people.