He Plays Dead, and I Make It Real

I ignored the first few questions and only replied to the last.

"If Josiah's dead, how can he get mad?"

With that, I tossed my phone aside and started packing up the items Josiah had left in the house.

For the past three months, I'd mostly been searching for him in the city where he supposedly disappeared while skiing, making me rarely come home. The bedroom looked much the same, except for the bed.

When I opened the closet, I froze.

More than half of Josiah's clothes were gone. What remained were mostly items unfit to be worn this season.

Tears immediately streamed down my face as I let out a bitter, mocking laugh.

While combing through the snow mountains searching for Josiah, I'd come home only when I truly reached my breaking point. And during those days when I'd been on the edge of collapse, he'd returned home multiple times to retrieve his belongings.

I accessed the home security footage and fast-forwarded through the recordings from the past month.

Early in the month, Josiah had walked through the door with his arm around Monica. Two hours later, he left carrying an armful of clothes.

Mid-month, he carried her home. They didn't leave until the next morning.

Just two nights ago, they slipped in under the corner of darkness and left yesterday morning.

These were all the days when I was in the neighboring city, desperately hunting clues leading to his whereabouts.

I cried as I watched, not for Josiah, but for myself. I'd given up everyone for such a disgusting man, and it was simply not worth it!

While I lay awake, terrified for his safety, he was here in our home with his so-called "best friend", possibly even in our bed.

I gripped the edge of the desk hard, fighting to control my breathing so I wouldn't hyperventilate from the sobs.

The phone I'd left in the living room started ringing. I wasn't in the mood to pick up, but the caller relentlessly dialed.

After taking a deep, shaky breath, I walked out to the living room.

When I saw the caller ID, I was briefly stunned before quickly answering the call. "What's up, Claud?"

"Josiah isn't dead."

Immediately afterward, Claud Erikson sent a video.

I tapped on it. In the clip, Josiah and Monica were drinking a cross-cupped toast, their eyes so glued together it was almost obscene.

My breath hitched. My fingers started trembling, and even my voice sounded unsteady when I spoke. "I know he's alive."

On the other end, Claud seemed surprised before he let out a low laugh. "So why are you hosting his funeral?"

"Everyone keeps telling me he's dead. Since I trust them, it only makes sense that I host a funeral for him."

Claud was briefly silent. "Does that mean you're officially widowed now?"

"Yes."

Claud was Josiah's much younger, non-biologically related uncle. We'd barely crossed paths.

He was the first person to tell me the truth that Josiah wasn't dead, so I owed him for that.

"If you have time, Claud, you're welcome to pay your respects in seven days."

"I'll be there," he replied before sending another video. It showed someone holding up a phone to Josiah, who immediately slammed his glass onto the floor.

Next to him, Monica flinched before drawing soothing circles on his chest and murmuring words of reassurance.

The bar was too loud for me to make out what she said, but I saw Josiah's expression soften slightly. He even buried his face against her shoulder.

He must have been furious over my announcement, but I hadn't expected a few words from Monica to calm him down so well.