When I came to, I was floating near the ceiling, and there was a woman in my house. She looked so innocent. Wearing a perfectly fitted white cashmere cardigan, she stood by the window. On the stove, water bubbled noisily in a pot. The woman skillfully dropped in some pasta, drained it when it was perfectly al dente, and poured a simple sauce over it. Just like that, dinner was ready. Her name was Emily, my husband’s star student. What was she doing in my house? Emily had a gentle smile, a picture of quiet grace. As I tried to process, she moved without pause, setting the table with a familiarity that suggested she’d done this a thousand times. Then, she looked up, a blush rising on her cheeks, and called out shyly in my general direction, “Come and get it.” Before the words fully left her mouth, a tall figure walked towards her. The man strode quickly, almost eagerly. He pulled Emily into a tight hug, holding her with a carefulness that made it seem like he was embracing the most precious thing in the world. Held like that, Emily looked like… well, like she belonged there. She tilted her head back shyly, stood on her tiptoes, and brushed a soft kiss against the man’s cheek. He bent down, capturing her lips with his own. A moment later, they pulled apart, both slightly breathless. “Okay, stop fooling around, the pasta’s getting cold,” Emily scolded playfully, though her voice brimmed with happiness. The man stroked Emily’s hair, his touch full of affection. I couldn’t move my feet. The man’s back looked so familiar. As he turned, my heart hammered against my ribs. A horrifying suspicion took root, making my fingertips tremble. The instant I saw his face, my eyes flew wide open. My whole body shook. The man looking down at Emily with such tenderness in his eyes was my husband, Ethan. I almost collapsed, a sharp, choked sob escaping me. I doubled over, the veins on my forehead throbbing. My trembling hand reached out towards my husband. But it passed right through his face. Oh god. I was dead. All I could do was watch them, loving and intimate, right in front of me. Before… before this, my husband had called me, asking what I wanted for our third anniversary. I’d thought of so many possibilities. Never this. Ethan, is this your third-anniversary gift to me? How fucking special. But… when did this even start? When did they get together? 2 Emily. I’d met her before, quite a while ago. I was there the day she was assigned to Ethan’s team. Back then, Ethan didn't like her. He even found her annoying. But the department insisted he take on a trainee, and Emily was pushed onto him. She was, well, a bit timid for the job. Couldn't handle decomposed bodies, wasn't strong enough to move corpses easily. She created a lot of extra headaches for him. For a long time after that, whenever I visited the medical examiner’s office, I’d hear him complain. "I'm not here to be a teacher. Dealing with the dead is busy enough without them forcing someone on me who just makes more work! She’s not strong enough, what good is she?" I found it almost funny at the time, how much this young intern got under his skin. "Hey, I'm a woman and I became a cop, remember? Got a problem with me too?" I’d retorted. "How can she compare to you? My wife is the star of the precinct!" he'd said proudly. But gradually, I heard Emily's name less and less. I eventually almost forgot she existed. Until a few major cases hit the city. Ethan started working late constantly, sometimes staying out all night. One day, I made some beef stew and brought it to his office. Emily was there that day, too. They were eating lunch together. "The liver from the cafeteria is actually really good!" Emily was saying cheerfully as she ate. "Know why medical examiners don't eat organ meat?" Ethan asked, his eyes lowered, his voice deep. "Wh-why?" Emily asked, curious and a little nervous. "Because it tastes a lot like human flesh." "Whoa!" Emily looked like she was about to cry from fright and turned to me to complain. Ethan just sat there, leaning back casually, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched. At the time, I naively thought it was a sweet moment. But thinking back now, Ethan was never one to joke around much. Especially not with people he didn't like. A loud "Crash!" pulled me from my memories. Emily stood amidst a pile of shattered glass, looking helpless and pitiful. Ethan rushed out of the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to his hair, dripping down his jawline. "I just wanted to look at it, I didn't mean to," Emily stammered. Ethan glanced briefly at the shards on the floor, then turned his concerned gaze entirely on Emily. "It's okay," he soothed her. "Are you hurt?" I didn't have the energy to watch them. I just stared numbly at the broken pieces on the floor. What Emily had shattered was the only thing my dad left me. 3 Before I met Ethan, my dad was the only person in the world who was truly good to me. My mom didn't like me. She'd dropped out of school early herself to work for my uncle, suffering all kinds of hardships. She couldn’t stand seeing me have it easier; she wanted me to taste the bitterness she had. When I was in middle school, she wanted me to quit and save the money for my brother's after-school activities. My dad wouldn't allow it. He thought it was about money, so he worked extra jobs tirelessly. Later, exhausted, he died in the line of duty during a mission. After Dad passed away, Mom finally had her excuse. She blamed his death on me. My life got even harder. One day, I came home and saw her rummaging through Dad's belongings. Anything valuable had long been sold off, except for a few certificates and his service award trophy. "Marrying you was the worst luck ever! Dead and still broke! And I gave you kids… you just couldn't wait to check out, leaving me with this mess!" After venting, she spotted the yellow metal base of the trophy and her face lit up with a sudden grin. She thought it was gold. She wanted to sell it. I immediately snatched it away. "No! You can't touch this!" Seeing me grab it, she flew into a rage and kicked at me. "You brat! Your brother's starving, and you're hoarding this piece of junk? You ungrateful little bitch, worthless girl!" Her fists rained down on me like hail. She clawed and scratched, her nails leaving bloody trails on my skin. I hadn't eaten properly in ages. I couldn't fight back. All I could do was cry out, hoping someone outside would help. Soon, my cries attracted a crowd. Ethan was among them. Ethan was different from me. He came from a well-educated, respected family of doctors and academics. His parents were loving; he grew up surrounded by affection. He never lacked money. I, on the other hand, was always covered in bruises, constantly hungry. Besides my school uniform, all I owned were ill-fitting, worn-out clothes. But him? Always clean sneakers, always neat, well-fitting clothes. The crowd criticized my mother, but no one paid attention to me. Except Ethan. He gently took my hand. "I have medicine at my place. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." I still remember how carefully he avoided my wounds. His touch was so light, it felt like the cuts didn't even hurt anymore. Yet, it also felt incredibly strong, heavy enough to effortlessly pull me up from the ground. Seeing me about to leave, Mom started screaming curses. "You worthless thing, put that trophy down! I must have done something terrible in a past life to birth such a heartless creature!" With that, she lunged at me, claws out, trying to grab the trophy. I stumbled back. Ethan stepped in front of me. He spoke coldly, "You want to mess with a hero's award? What, you want to go to jail? Don't you know you can't touch national honors medals?" Just a teenager, but radiating confidence. My mother, hearing him, got scared. She hadn't had much schooling and didn't know if he was telling the truth, but she instinctively believed him. Still, her mouth didn't stop spewing insults at me. "Jenna! Already learned how to hook up with boys and turn against your own mother, huh?! You cheap trash, worse than a streetwalker!" It wasn't the first time she'd cursed me, but it was the first time it had been that vile. But I didn't care. I had saved Dad's medal. Ethan frowned. I felt ashamed, unable to look at him. The next second, he covered my ears with his hands. The world went silent. Only my own heartbeat echoed, loud as a drum. This was my most humiliating memory. Ethan knew it better than anyone. He knew I valued that trophy more than my own life! I watched him step over the shards, carefully lifting Emily's hand like it was a treasure, inspecting the cut on her finger. In the dim light, I saw him frown, saw the pain in his expression – for her. Even knowing he'd changed, that he didn't love me anymore, my heart ached fiercely at that moment. Emily sniffled quietly. "What do we do? I didn't mean it, I just wanted to see..." "It's okay," Ethan comforted her. "Is this thing important?" "No, it's not important." Emily’s tears turned to smiles, and she nestled happily into Ethan’s arms. To console this woman he'd known for only a few months, he ruthlessly discarded our ten years together. Ultimately, I was just a poor judge of character. This was the only memento my dad left me, and he said it wasn't important? Not important! I told him once, this was more important than my life. 4 After sweeping the scattered fragments into a dustpan and then into a trash bag, Ethan paused, staring at the bag thoughtfully. Finally, he placed the trash bag containing the pieces in a corner, separate from the rest of the garbage. He sat down on the sofa, his gaze fixed on that corner, lost in thought. When Emily came out after her shower, she noticed the bag by the wall. "Should we take that out when we leave?" she asked Ethan, who was still on the couch. "No need. Leave it; I'll handle it." For some reason, Ethan didn't throw the pieces away immediately. He kept them. But soon enough, the two of them were wrapped tightly in each other's arms again. I stood beside the trash bag, wanting desperately to tear open the black plastic, to touch the fragments of the trophy, the pieces that held my father's name. But my hand passed through the bag, through the shards, over and over. Utterly futile. At that moment, a wave of helplessness and despair washed over me. And those two cheating dogs were right there, whispering and cuddling. I wanted to kill them. Any way possible. I lunged towards them in fury, wanting to claw their faces. They remained completely undisturbed. I hated it. I felt sick to my stomach. Looking at their ugly faces, I couldn't stand being near them for another second. I desperately tried to flee the room. But when I reached the doorway, I hit an invisible barrier and bounced back. Frustrated, I tried again and again, only to end up like a dead fish, sprawled on the floor. I understood then. I couldn't get too far away from Ethan. I was trapped near him. How ironic. Watching the couple on the sofa behind me, utterly powerless. The man who once swore eternal love to me was now holding another woman. It was laughable. Jenna, oh Jenna, you were so blind. I watched Ethan's hand on Emily’s waist, watched him kiss the small cut on her fingertip, his eyes full of devotion. "Does it still hurt?" His voice was low, magnetic – the voice I knew so well. Whenever I got hurt, he would comfort me softly just like that. Except my injuries were knife wounds, sprains, torn muscles... Emily’s was just a tiny scratch. The scene unfolding before me made my stomach churn. I felt like throwing up again. "Ethan..." Emily began, her eyes misty, but Ethan silenced her unfinished words with his mouth. "Didn't we talk about this? Call me by my name when no one else is around. I don't want to be just your mentor, Emily. Not only your mentor." Responding to him, Emily tilted her neck back, returning his kiss passionately. A shrill ringing suddenly pierced the air. Startled, as if caught doing something illicit, both looked annoyed. Ethan moved to answer the phone, but Emily clung to him, protesting. The ringing, however, showed no sign of stopping. Reluctantly, Ethan stood up and checked the caller ID. "It's the office. Probably a new case." He put the call on speaker, so I could hear too. "This one's bad, Ethan. Get back here, quick!" The voice on the other end sounded urgent. 5 I was forced to follow Ethan to the medical examiner's office. Emily trailed close behind him. The office was chaotic, everyone rushing around. No one seemed to notice anything unusual between Ethan and Emily. An emergency meeting was called to handle the body parts forensics had sent over, to assign the autopsy. The remains were partial limbs, recently pulled from the lake. As the most brilliant forensic pathologist of his generation, Ethan was unsurprisingly assigned the autopsy. Emily would assist, documenting the findings. The moment I followed Ethan into the autopsy room, my heart clenched violently. Staring at the limb on the stainless steel table, I had a sickening feeling I knew who it belonged to. Ethan changed into blue scrubs and approached the table, beginning the examination methodically. The partial limb on the table was just a forearm, bloated and bleached white from the lake water. The skin tissue was severely damaged. Due to the recent heatwave, decay had already set in around the cut edge. The room reeked of decomposition. Emily took one look, turned pale, and averted her gaze, waving a hand in front of her face. "So gross." It was just the two of them in the room. Seeing Emily tremble, Ethan dropped all pretense of professionalism. He pulled her into a hug. "It's just a limb, don't be scared. Aren't I right here with you?" He gently patted her back, his tone indulgent. "You're so easily spooked. How can I trust you to handle cases on your own someday?" "Then just keep me with you always, okay?" Emily’s eyes were full of dependence. Ethan frowned slightly but nodded anyway. Unexpectedly, as the scalpel made its first incision on the arm, a sharp pain shot through my own forearm. It made my scalp tingle, an agony I couldn’t suppress or lessen. Ethan's deep voice boomed like thunder in my ears. "Right ulna length 24 centimeters. Based on ulna-to-height calculation, estimated height of deceased is around 5'5". Significant outward curvature of the arm… deceased is female, bone age approximately 25 to 28 years old." It felt like being plunged into ice-cold water. I snapped to awareness, yet felt frozen to the bone, my blood turned to ice, my mind blank. Of course. This was my body. Even though I had suspected, seeing the mutilated limb on the table still sent a wave of profound shock through me. I never imagined I would die like this, so brutally. 6 Even the brightest lights cast shadows. Aside from the faint sounds from the autopsy table, the room was silent. The examination was nearing its end. Ethan was patiently reviewing the autopsy report details with Emily, explaining everything meticulously, point by point. I stumbled towards the unrecognizable limb. An old scar on it, reopened and uglier than ever due to the prolonged immersion in water, gaped open. That scar... I got it a year ago, slashed by a criminal while on duty. I remember sweating from the pain, bleeding heavily. It took ten stitches to close. I hadn't made a sound then, just gritted my teeth, my sweat-soaked hair plastered to my face. Ethan had burst into the emergency room then. He was frantic, hadn't even changed out of his work clothes, beads of sweat on his nose as he ran in. The moment he saw me, his face went whiter than mine. The moment I saw him, the throbbing pain in my arm seemed to lessen. But his eyes reddened. He looked at my arm, wanting to touch it but afraid to. After a long moment, he managed to choke out two words. "Does it hurt?" I hadn't felt sorry for myself, hadn't really felt the pain until then. But his careful, quiet question unleashed a flood of tears. Suddenly, it hurt terribly. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here," he'd stammered, clumsily wiping my tears, holding me close, whispering comfort. In that moment, I felt like I had the whole world. My eyes saw only him. Later, the wound healed, but it left an ugly scar on my forearm forever. Even though I have a tough personality, dealing with criminals all day, and don't usually fuss over my appearance, I'm still a woman. Looking at that hideous scar, I couldn't help but feel self-conscious. Ethan noticed my discomfort. He took my arm, cradled it gently in his palm, kissed the scar softly, then looked me straight in the eyes and said, word by word: "This is a badge of honor, Jenna. Like your father's medal. It's the most beautiful mark in the world to me." His words were so beautiful then, like young love, passionate and pure. But things change. No matter how beautiful the memory, it couldn't withstand the brutal reality. Right now, I truly wished Ethan could recognize my body. We were once the closest people in the world, holding each other through countless nights, leaning on each other through disappointment and sadness. Nobody knew my body better than him. This scar, you kissed it once. Ethan, don't you remember? I closed my eyes, letting go of that last shred of futile hope. Nearby, the two of them had somehow ended up in another embrace. Ethan, usually so meticulous about his work, was now tangled up with Emily right next to the autopsy table. He didn't recognize me. They expertly cleaned the autopsy table, pushed aside the instruments that were in the way, and became intimate, oblivious to their surroundings. And my body was right there beside them. That's my body. I wanted to get away. I felt nauseated. The initial despair slowly morphed into a venomous thought. He will recognize me eventually. Sooner or later, that day will come. He will realize he was fooling around with another woman right next to the body of his murdered wife. I looked forward to that day. I don't know how much time passed. Emily was sitting again, Ethan hugging her tightly from behind, guiding her through her questions with that same protective, doting manner. Such a familiar scene, so much like how we used to be. Emily pointed to the scar tissue. "Here, the wound on the arm… how did you determine the time frame?" she asked, puzzled. "You can tell from the color of the granulation tissue. It indicates about a year ago..." Ethan ruffled her hair, looking satisfied. As he said this, a flicker of confusion crossed his eyes, disappearing as quickly as it came. A year ago, same spot, same wound. He had called it... the most beautiful mark. After a moment, pulled back from his distraction by Emily's soft call, he resumed explaining as if nothing happened. Suddenly, the door to the autopsy room banged open. Ethan opened it. It was my old mentor, Captain Miller. He was bringing in more remains. It was my torso. 7 Unlike the arm, the torso hadn't been thrown into the lake. Aside from the crushed skull and several patches of livor mortis, the body was relatively intact. Because of this, the crescent-shaped birthmark near my ribs was starkly visible. Ethan approached the autopsy table, then froze abruptly. His eyes locked onto my torso.
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