When My Husband Saved His Mistress Over Our Child

Pain tore through me as I felt my soul ripping away from my body. It wasn't the gentle release I'd imagined death would be—it was violent, jagged, like being shredded from the inside out. Beside me, Mateo's small spirit struggled too, his face contorted in confusion as his soul wrenched free from his broken body.

"Mommy?" His hands signed frantically, his eyes wide with terror as he reached for me.

"I'm here, baby," I whispered, my voice no longer audible to human ears. I reached for him, relieved when my spectral hands could still touch his.

Around us, the warehouse was bathed in an eerie blue light that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy. Haisley's laughter echoed in the distance as she surveyed our bodies—our bodies—with cold satisfaction.

"We need to go," I told Mateo, though I wasn't sure where. "We can't stay here."

Mateo nodded, his small face solemn. He signed: *Where?*

I didn't know. The afterlife should have been waiting—a warm light, a sense of peace. Instead, I felt only rage and betrayal so powerful it anchored me to this world.

"We're not done yet," I said, my spectral voice trembling with fury. "We were murdered. Betrayed. We deserve justice."

Mateo's eyes widened as he signed: *Daddy?*

"Yes," I whispered. "We need to find him."

A strange wind swept through the warehouse, lifting our spirits off the ground. It felt like being carried in an invisible current, flowing through walls and over rooftops. Below us, New York City glittered with a thousand lights, but they seemed distant and cold from this vantage point.

---

The hospital room was bathed in soft, golden light when we arrived. I felt drawn there—pulled by some magnetic force I couldn't explain. Mateo's hand clutched mine as we materialized in the corner of the VIP suite.

"Cole," Haisley's voice was soft, vulnerable—a performance I'd seen countless times. She reclined on pristine white sheets, her blonde hair artfully arranged around her shoulders.

My husband burst through the door, his face a mask of concern. "Haisley! Thank God you're okay."

He rushed to her bedside, taking her hand in his. The tenderness in his touch was like a knife to my heart.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Tell me what happened."

"Just a sprained wrist," Haisley whispered, extending her arm. "And this bruise on my cheek. The kidnappers were so rough."

Cole gently examined her wrist, his fingers lingering on her skin. "I'll get the doctor," he said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm just glad you came for me," Haisley murmured, her eyes gleaming with triumph as she glanced toward the door—where Emma and Mateo's spirits stood watching.

Cole brushed a strand of hair from her face, then leaned down to kiss her bruised cheek. "Of course I came for you," he said fiercely. "I would do anything for you."

Anything for her. But not for us.

Mateo's small hand tightened around mine as we watched Cole's display of devotion. His silent tears fell through my fingers as he signed: *Why?*

I had no answer for him.

---

The phone on the bedside table rang for the third time in ten minutes. Cole glanced at it, frowning as he checked the caller ID.

"Unknown number," he muttered, hitting the decline button without hesitation.

"Who keeps calling?" Haisley asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"No one important," Cole replied, setting the phone aside. "Probably just spam."

He picked up a spoon and dipped it into a bowl of steaming soup. "This will help you feel better," he said, holding it to her lips.

As Haisley sipped the soup, her eyes flicked to the phone as it began ringing again. This time, Cole silenced it completely.

"Are you sure it's not something important?" Haisley asked, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

"Nothing that can't wait," Cole said firmly. "Right now, taking care of you is all that matters."

The phone lit up again—a text message this time. Detective Sarah Mitchell's name flashed on the screen, followed by a preview of her message:

"Mr. Carter, this is urgent. Two bodies have been discovered at the warehouse..."

Cole's thumb hovered over the notification before he swiped it away dismissively.

"Let me feed you some more soup," he said to Haisley, completely ignoring the message about our deaths.

Mateo's spirit trembled beside mine, his small hands signing furiously: *Daddy doesn't care. He doesn't care about us.*

I pulled him closer, feeling a cold rage building inside me. We were here, watching, waiting—and Cole couldn't even be bothered to answer his phone.

The truth was coming. It had to be. And when it did, I would be there to see the look on his face.