Four years ago, I caught Ethan's childhood friend stealing artifacts.
I tried to stop her.
She killed me instead.
Cut me up. Dumped my body like trash. Then she got scared—scared she'd get caught—so she told everyone I was the thief. Said I ran off like a coward after trying to steal from the dig site.
My own aunt believed her.
She stood there and said I disgraced my parents' memory. Said I brought shame to the family name.
Ethan? He didn't even blink. Just canceled our wedding. Gave our baby away to strangers.
Just like that, I became the villain. The fugitive everyone loved to hate.
Four years I've been gone. Four years of them thinking I ran.
Then yesterday, they found what was left of me.
They put my bones on Ethan's lab table. His job? Piece my face back together.
Guess who's about to find out the truth.
Chapter 1
"Dr. Harrison, this is the skull we excavated yesterday at the rural dig site."
Detective Miller walked into the lab carrying a yellowed cardboard box. His face was grim. "It's in bad shape. Severe damage."
Ethan Harrison pulled on his latex gloves, the snap of the material echoing in the sterile room. He reached into the box with the reverence of a man handling a holy relic, though he didn't know it yet. He lifted the skull.
I floated beside him, watching.
Four years. It had been four years since I'd last seen his face. He looked older now. Thinner. Lines of worry etched permanently around his eyes.
"Preliminary assessment is female," Ethan said, his voice clinical, detached. "Time of death approximately four years ago."
"Can you reconstruct the face?" Miller asked.
Ethan nodded. "It'll take time."
He turned the skull in his hands, his fingers tracing the cracks and fissures with practiced precision. "The fractures here," he pointed, "were caused by multiple heavy blows. Based on the angle and force, the weapon was substantial—likely a metal bar or hammer. The initial attack focused on the posterior and right temporal regions."
Detective Miller leaned in, studying the damage.
"The wound at the base of the skull," Ethan continued, his voice dropping slightly, "was fatal. The victim would have died almost instantly. Massive hemorrhaging, brain damage... she wouldn't have suffered long."
She. He was holding my skull. Talking about my death.
"She wouldn't have had a chance to fight back," Miller observed. "This was up close. Personal. You thinking someone she knew? Someone she trusted who caught her off guard?"
Ethan frowned, turning the skull again. "Possible. The repeated strikes after she was already down suggest rage. Hatred. Or maybe just making sure she was dead."
Miller nodded slowly. "Premeditated murder. No doubt about it."
Across the room, Ethan's two assistants were quietly taking notes. I knew them. Jenny and Mark. They'd been fresh out of college when I'd still been alive.
Jenny leaned toward Mark, whispering. I drifted closer, curious.
"Hey," Jenny murmured, "wasn't Amy Miller the one who went missing at that dig site four years ago? The one near the old ruins?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Amy? Please. She didn't 'go missing.' Everyone knows she tried to steal artifacts and ran off when she got caught."
"For real? Any proof?"
"Proof? Chloe Watson said so herself. She tried to stop Amy and got hit in the head for her trouble. Knocked her right out."
The room went silent.
Jenny and Mark froze, suddenly aware that Ethan could hear them.
"Sorry, Dr. Harrison," Jenny stammered. "We didn't mean—"
Ethan straightened up. When he spoke, his voice was ice. "Don't mention that person again. Her actions are a disgrace to the archaeological community. I'm ashamed I was ever associated with her."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Ashamed.
He was ashamed of me.
I wanted to scream. To shake him. To grab his face and force him to see me, really see me. I wasn't a thief. I didn't run. I was murdered. By Chloe Watson. By your precious little childhood friend who you trusted more than me.
But my screams were silence. My hands passed through him like smoke.
Ethan suddenly went pale. He swayed, one hand going to his lower back, bracing himself against the table.
Mark rushed forward, guiding him to a chair. "Dr. Harrison, take it easy. Don't get worked up over her. She's not worth it. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't have had to give up the baby when you did. No wonder your health's been bad ever since."
The baby.
The words detonated in my chest like a bomb.
He gave away our child.
The room spun around me. The fluorescent lights flickered. If I'd still had a heart, it would have stopped.
If I hadn't died. If none of this had happened. Would we be a family now? Would I be holding our child while Ethan came home from work? Would we be happy?
Jenny added, "Good thing Chloe was there for you. Taking care of you. Don't know how you'd have managed alone."
Rage. Grief. Betrayal. They swirled inside me, a tornado of pain that burned through what was left of my soul.
Chloe. Always Chloe.
She'd killed me. And now she was living my life.
