David_Eyram

“He died with my name on his lips... and her perfume on his chest.”

Arianne thought death would end the betrayal. She was wrong.

Her husband is gone — buried in silence, mourned in pain. But the scent of another woman lingers in his shirts. Her lipstick stains the cup Arianne drinks from. And her voice? It echoes in voicemails he never deleted.

Every drawer hides a memory that doesn't belong to her. Every reflection shows a woman who lost a war she never knew she was fighting.

As Arianne unravels the quiet infidelity that stole her marriage, grief twists into obsession. What begins as mourning becomes investigation. What begins as sorrow becomes vengeance.

But what happens when the dead aren't done speaking?

And what if she — the other woman — was more than just a mistake?

She wasn’t just loved.

She was chosen.

This is not a love story. This is a haunting told from the side of the widow who refused to die with him.

My husband's heartbeat in her vain

But the second I pulled the drawer,

something small and black slid to the floor.

The kind people use when they want a conversation

There were only two saved contacts.

Timestamped a week before the accident.

her voice came through the speaker like smoke.

> "You left your watch on my nightstand again."

Soft. Teasing. The kind of tone that turns guilt into a memory too pretty to feel wrong.

"I know you said this would end. But every time we breathe, I think... maybe you don't mean it."

She laughed. Not cruel. Not wicked. Just certain.

"You love her. I know. But you stay here longer each time. That means something, doesn't it?"

A pause. Then the words that shattered everything:

Out of instinct — like it burned.

It branded me with a truth so deep,

even denial couldn't reach it anymore.

Each time, I listened to her tone.

How she pitied me without ever saying my name.

Because it meant he didn't fall for lust.

Not the kind that means you're okay.

The kind that sounds like glass cracking in a warm room.

To whatever god was still listening.

let me be the storm that ends every fairytale before it begins."

Chapter21 I Played the Voicemail He Never Wanted Me to Find. Then I Played It Again.