After My Daughter and I Died, My Husband Regretted It

On the third day after my death, my five-year-old daughter finally realized something was wrong.

She was afraid of the dark at night, but I didn't hold her to sleep.

She was hungry, and I didn’t cook for her.

She lifted the quilt trying to pull me up, but felt my hand was very cold.

"Mom, why are your hands cold, are you sick?"

"Mom, don't sleep, if you're sick you need to get up and take medicine."

Helpless, she found my phone and called her doctor dad.

"Dad, mom is sick and won't get up to take medicine. Please come and treat her."

My husband, however, was very impatient.

“A grown woman who can't take care of herself, is she disabled, is she dead! Don't use such cheap tricks to threaten me!”

“And also, tell your mom, I'll come home when she admits her mistake!”

He didn't know, I was indeed dead, dead on the night he forced me for the 18th time to donate blood to his 'white moonlight.'