It Wasn't Ketchup

If you really want to die, just do it!

That was the tenth time Id staged my own death for my husband. But the scream didnt come from him. It came from the woman he brought home.

Harrison stepped over my body like I was a pile of dirty laundry to get to her. He wrapped his arms around the trembling woman, his eyes locking onto the red stain on my chest.

Disgust. Pure, unadulterated disgust.

"How much ketchup did you waste this time? Seriously, Zara? Are you addicted to the drama?"

He didnt know.

This time, it wasnt ketchup.

My body was actually failing.

I was doing this for him. I had to desensitize him. So when the day finally comes it wont destroy him.

Chapter 1

Beep. Whir. Click.

The smart lock disengaged.

I set the compact down on the vanity and checked my reflection one last time. Even the palest porcelain foundation couldnt mask the ashen decay of my skin anymore. The blood on my white tee wasnt makeup. Id retched it up minutes ago.

It looked better than Hollywood special effects.

I let my body go limp. Thud. I hit the floorboards.

The door swung open. A scream ripped through the air. High-pitched. Unfamiliar. Not Harrison.

My eyelids felt like lead weights. I forced them open, fighting the black spots dancing in my vision. A woman was buried deep in Harrisons chest.

"Harrison Im terrified."

Kinsley. His secretary.

She was trembling, pressing her body tight against his. "I thought she was"

Harrison froze. A beat. He didnt push her away. When his gaze finally shifted to me, the concern evaporated, replaced by cold, hard annoyance. "How much ketchup did you smear on yourself this time? Zara, is this a fetish now?"

Kinsley clung to his bicep. She caught my eye. Reluctantly, she loosened her grip. "Zara, that was horrific. I mean, Im fine, but Harrisons had a few drinks. You could have triggered him."

My eyes traced the lingering heat between them. Harrison didnt even blink. No guilt. No shame. "Get up."

"I cant," I whispered. My voice was a broken rasp. "No strength."

He scoffed. He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. The room spun violently. Id never seen this level of rage in him before. And it was all in defense of her. "Zara, are you trying to drive me insane?"

His voice boomed off the walls.

"I bust my ass at the firm every single day to pay for this life! I dont expect a parade, but for the love of God, stop seeking attention with these psychotic stunts!"

Kinsley was already there. A glass of water in her hand. The perfect, soothing presence. "Harrison, breathe. Zara didnt mean it. She didnt know you were tipsy."

Harrisons knuckles turned white. He snatched the glass. Crash. He hurled it at the floorboards.

Shards exploded outward. A razor-sharp piece sliced across my wrist. Bright red blood welled up instantly. Real blood.

"Theres a hell of a lot she doesnt know."

He glared at me. His expression was a void. Pure ice. "You play dead every damn day."

He stepped closer, looming over me.

"If you really want to die, Zara just do it."

Chapter 2

Harrison got it wrong.

I know plenty.

I know the exact shade of grey exhaustion he wears after a fourteen-hour shift. I know the recipe for the bone broth that restores him, simmering on the stove for hours until the house smells like comfort. I know I wait up for him, staring at the clock, night after night.

And I know his tolerance for scotch is legendary. Iron-clad.

So why did he need Kinsley to play designated driver? Was it safety? Or was it access? To build rapport between boss and subordinate for a smooth working relationship?

I spent the night on the hallway linoleum, dissecting that thought. Eventually, I started laughing. A neighbor stepped out to walk his dog, took one look at the blood-spattered woman cackling on the floor, and muttered, "Freak."

I hugged my knees to my chest. The cold seeped through my clothes, settling into my marrow.

Harrison hadnt just been tipsy. After Kinsley left, hed dragged me out here to "sober up," told me to stop looking for trouble. Then the lock clicked. Silence. Hed passed out.

The scratch on my wrist had scabbed over. It stung. A nuisance. But compared to the rot eating my stomach liningthe Stage IV diagnosisit was a tickle.

I didnt have my phone. I had nowhere to go.

My mind drifted back to the first time I played dead.

Harrisons face had gone paper-white. I remembered the way his hands shook when he reached for me. "Zara?"

A whisper. A prayer.

When I opened my eyes and chirped, "Im here!" he didnt get angry. He wept. He crushed me against him, burying his face in my neck. His eyes told me everything: He was terrified of a world without me.

That was the plan. To vaccinate him against the grief. To simulate the loss so many times that when the flatline actually comes it wont destroy him.

I succeeded.

The door opened the next morning.

Harrison pulled me inside. He used those eyesthe soft, brown puppy-dog gaze that used to be my kryptonite. He lowered his lashes, looking innocent. "Zara, God, Im sorry. I cant believe I left you out there all night."

He brushed a hand over my stomach. "You must be starving. Its all my fault."

Zara.

Not "Honey." Not "Baby."

The pet names had evaporated.

I should have screamed. I should have raged about freezing on the welcome mat. Instead, I played the guilt card. "Its your day off. Stay with me."

I made him watch a movie. The one where the wife pranks her husband by pretending to be dead every day when he gets home.

Harrisons jaw tightened. "Is this where you got the idea?"

He hit pause. The screen froze on the couple. "Do you have too much free time? Stop mimicking fiction to torture me."

I didnt look at him. I watched the frozen screen. "But the husband thinks shes adorable"

Harrison let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Its a movie, Zara. In the real world? Its exhausting. Its obnoxious."

He leaned in, his voice steady. "I admit I was an ass last night because of the whiskey. But you need to hear this. Its not cute. Its a burden. Do you understand?"

He didnt yell. He didnt have to.

The words were small, precise needles. They bypassed my skin and pierced straight into the heart muscle. Thank God for the blackout curtains. The room was dim. Just enough to hide the way my smile had rigor-mortised onto my face.

Chapter 3

Of course I understood.

The wife in the movie probably understood, too.

"Were halfway through," I said, my voice small. "Just finish it with me."

A shrill ringtone shattered the atmosphere.

Harrison whipped his phone out. The screen pulsed with her name. Kinsley.

Her voice, trembling and panicked, bled through the speaker. "Harrison I think I blew the Starline merger. The CEO he touched me. I refused, and he just"

Harrison shot up from the sofa like a loaded spring. He snatched his coat.

I reached out, my fingers desperate to find purchase on his sleeve.

He looked down. His eyes were heavy, dark pools of exhaustion. "Stop it, Zara."

He peeled my fingers off his arm. Coldly. Efficiently. Slam. The front door vibrated in its frame.

On the TV screen, the movie played on without us.

Then came the twist. The wife had terminal cancer. The husband, thinking it was another prank, laughed and nudged her limp body. "Hey, cut it out. I found a really delicious restaurant. Lets go."

But she never woke up.

As the credits started to roll, my phone buzzed against the cushion.

Kinsley.

I answered.

Harrisons voice drifted through the line. It was soft. A tone of patience I hadnt tasted in years. "Stop crying. We lose the deal, we lose the deal. Its not worth this. You need to eat. Theres a new bistro near the office. Come on."

Kinsleys voice brightened, wet with relief. "Okay. But Im ordering the most expensive thing on the menu on your dime."

I leaned into the microphone. "Which bistro? Should I grab a table for three?"

The line went dead silent.

A beat laterClick.

She hung up.

She probably didnt expect me to speak. But it didnt matter. I knew exactly where they were going. Id mentioned that place to him weeks ago. A candlelit spot. High-end. Romantic. I had begged Harrison to take me.

Im too busy, Zara. Im building a future. Im working for us.

On our anniversary, he brushed me off. "Zara, stop being so high-maintenance."

He spent that night at the office.

Later, I saw Kinsleys Instagram story. The office was empty except for two mugs. Harrison was there. Glasses off. Rubbing his temples, looking relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the impatience he wore like armor whenever he walked through our front door.

Kinsleys caption: Late night grind with the boss. Thank you for the tea!

That was the first red flag. The moment the infection took hold. And now, the restaurant he refused to take his wife to, he was offering to his secretary.

When I pulled up to the curb, Harrison was alone.

He was leaning against the side of his sedan, the cherry of a cigarette burning bright in the twilight. He saw me. He didnt blink. No surprise. No guilt. He just took a long, sharp drag.

"Done eating already?" I asked.

"Were not eating."

He exhaled. A grey plume of smoke drifted between us, blurring his face. "You really know how to suck the joy out of everything, Zara."

Through the haze, his gaze was flat. Bored.

A sharp, physical pain twisted behind my sternum. It wasnt the tumor this time. It was just him. I forced myself to look away, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. "Wheres your coat?"

Chapter 4

The passenger window hummed down.

Kinsleys face was flushed. She was drowning in Harrisons oversized blazer, wearing it like a trophy. She gave me a tight, apologetic smile. "Zara I am so sorry. My finger slipped. I didnt mean to dial you."

Harrison ground his cigarette into the pavement. "Get in. Shes shaken up. I need to get her home."

He saw my eyes locked on the front seat. On her in his seat.

"She gets motion sickness," he said, his tone flat. "She needs the front seat."

"So I get demoted to the back?"

It was laughable.

How fragile was she? She gets harassed, so she calls her CEO instead of the police? She gets a little nauseous, so she usurps his wifes seat?

Kinsley bit her lip. The picture of guilt. "Is Zara mad? I should just call an Uber."

She turned those wide, innocent eyes to Harrison. "Harrison, please dont let this ruin your night. Its my fault. I shouldnt have been so needy."

She made a show of reaching for the door handle. Harrisons hand shot out to stop her.

His brow furrowed, turning his glare on me. "Zara, do you have a shred of empathy? She was targeted because of our company. Youre a woman. Where is your compassion?"

I stared at his righteous indignation. "She claims assault, and you just buy it?"

"No woman lies about that, Zara."

"She claims she dialed me by accident, and you buy that too?"

Harrison didnt flinch. "Shes not like that."

A bitter, dry laugh bubbled up in my throat. Total, blind faith. For her.

A hot, suffocating pressure expanded in my chest. My lungs refused to inflate. The pain was sharp, physical, and radiated from my stomach to my spine. I doubled over, clutching my abdomen. "Im not getting in."

Harrisons voice dropped. Dangerous. "What is this? Another scene?"

He gripped my wrist. Hard. He yanked the back door open and tried to shove me inside like a misbehaving child.

Pain.

It exploded in my gut. White-hot and blinding.

"I said no!"

I screamed.

I ripped my arm from his grasp with a strength I didnt know I had left.

Harrison froze. He wasnt used to resistance. Id chased him. Id courted him. I had always been the one to bend, to fold, to accommodate. This was the first time Id ever snapped back.

The shock on his face curdled into a sneer. "Wow, Zara. Look at you, growing a backbone. Fine. Dont get in."

He slid into the drivers seat. Slam. "Stay here and rot for all I care."

The engine roared. Tires screeched. He peeled away without looking back.

Through the rear glass, I saw Kinsley turn. She tilted her head. She adjusted his jacket, which was slipping off her shoulder.

I stood on the curb, hollowed out. The city noise faded into a dull buzz. I called him. Straight to voicemail.

I opened our text thread. I typed. Backspaced. Typed. Backspaced. My fingers trembled against the glass screen. Finally, I hit send.

Harrison. I want a divorce.

Chapter 5