Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband
My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.
I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn’t a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover.
She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered.
"Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy."
She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief.
When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."
He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party.
But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void.
Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*.
Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get.
He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end.
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Chapter 2
Ava POV
The pain stopped.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The burning in my lungs, the bruising on my knees, the crushing weight in my chest—it all just vanished.
I was floating.
I looked down and saw a woman huddled in the corner of the emergency room, clutching a small, limp body. Her hair was matted with rain, her shoulders shaking violently. It took me a disorienting moment to realize that woman was me.
And the boy... Jeremy.
He looked so peaceful now. The terrifying purple hue was fading from his lips, replaced by a pale, waxen stillness. I felt a strange sensation wash over me, like a heavy, waterlogged coat slipping off my shoulders. It was over. The fear was gone. The desperation was gone.
I watched as the woman—my empty vessel—slumped over, unconscious or worse.
Then, the double doors swung open.
Benedict walked in.
He was wearing his pristine white coat, looking exhausted but undeniably handsome. He rubbed his temples, that familiar gesture he always used when he had a headache.
"Doctor Sinclair, we need you in Bay 4," a nurse called out urgently.
He nodded—professional, detached. He strode right past the corner where my body lay curled around our son. He walked right past us.
"Benedict!" I screamed, but no sound tore from my throat. I was smoke. I was air.
He paused, frowning slightly, looking around as if he had heard a whisper caught in the draft. But then he shook his head and kept walking.
He approached a gurney where a nurse was frantically checking vitals.
"What do we have?" he asked.
"Possible snake bite," the nurse reported, her voice tight. "Brought in D.O.A. No ID on the mother yet. She collapsed right after intake."
Benedict glanced at the small form on the gurney—my Jeremy. He looked at the small, pale hand hanging off the side.
"Benedict, look at him! Look at his face! It is your son!"
He did not look at the face. He looked at the chart.
"Time of death?" he asked.
"Ten minutes ago," the nurse said softly.
He sighed. A heavy, tired sigh.
"Process the paperwork. Call the coroner. I have a heart attack patient in Bay 2."
He turned away. Just like that, he reduced our son—the boy who had his eyes, the boy he had sworn to protect—to a statistic. A paperwork problem to be filed away.
As he turned, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.
I drifted closer, compelled by a force I could not control. It was the note I had written him. The one I had shoved into his mailbox earlier today when my phone died, begging him to meet us here.
Yvonne must have found it and given it to him.
He smoothed it out against his palm.
"Jeremy is sick. Please meet us at the hospital."
He scoffed. A short, dismissive sound that echoed in the silence of my soul.
"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."
He crumpled the note back into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash can next to the nurses' station.
I felt something snap inside me. Not a heart, because I did not have one anymore. But something deeper. The last thread that tied me to him. The last shred of hope that he was just misguided, that he was merely a victim of his mother's control.
He was not a victim. He was a monster.
I tried to fly away. I wanted to leave this wretched place, to follow Jeremy wherever he had gone.
But I could not move.
An invisible chain yanked me back. I was tethered to Benedict. I floated inches behind his shoulder as he walked down the sterile hallway.
"Hey, Ben," another doctor, Dr. Jensen, said, falling into step beside him. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea," Benedict said, his voice flat. "The patient load is insane. And Yvonne is stressing about the engagement party."
Jensen lowered his voice, glancing around conspiratorially. "Speaking of Yvonne... the nurses were saying she was acting weird at the entrance earlier. Screaming at some homeless woman?"
Benedict rolled his eyes.
"You know how sensitive she gets when she is tired. She is just protective of the hospital protocols."
He defended her. He defended the woman who had barred us from entry, leaving his son to die on the floor.
I watched him walk, and I felt nothing but a cold, hollow silence. I did not love him. I did not hate him. He was just a stranger who had killed us both.
I watched as orderlies came to take my body away. I watched them cover Jeremy's face with a white sheet.
I tried to scream one last time, but the sound died in my throat. I was stuck here. Stuck with him.