After He Faked His Death, I Chose to Live

Six years after Anthony Henson died in a car accident because of me, I was still unmarried at thirty.

My elders were anxious. My friends urged me to move on. Even in my dreams, he begged me to keep going.

So I agreed to a blind date. On Memorial Day, I went to say goodbye to him one last time.

But the moment I stepped out of the cemetery, a post popped up on my feed.

Sixth anniversary! My husband just bought me another luxury condo!

I stared at the photo, trembling from head to toe, my scalp prickling with ice.

In the picture, the man I had buried with my own hands was pressing his cheek tenderly against the top of another woman's head.

I followed the address and knocked on the door. The instant our eyes met, I froze where I stood.

The woman was Victoria Mason. The same secretary Anthony Henson had fired six years ago for having an affair with him.

Victoria's face flickered with panic.

"Nora Whitfield..."

She tried to slam the door shut, but I braced my hand against it.

Just then, voices drifted from the elevator lobby. Anthony's friends, talking among themselves.

"Anthony's been married six whole years, and that girl is still drowning in grief over his death. She's thirty now and hasn't married anyone."

"I heard she finally agreed to a blind date a while back. Guess she's ready to let go."

"I'm just saying, what Anthony pulled was brutal. Back then, the only reason he sped onto that overpass was because Victoria sent him an explicit photo and he lost his mind. But he let Nora believe he'd been rushing to celebrate her birthday."

"She tried to kill herself more than once because of the guilt."

"Well, at least she agreed to the blind date. She'll probably be married soon enough."

"Keep it down. Don't let Anthony hear..."

They rounded the corner and met my eyes. Every voice died at once.

John Dickerson, Anthony's oldest friend, couldn't hold my gaze.

"Nora, what are you doing here..."

From inside the apartment came a voice I knew better than my own heartbeat.

"Babe, are John and the guys here yet?"

That familiar voice punched through me. My breath seized. My heart nearly stopped.

I spun around. Anthony Henson stood there, holding a bouquet of neatly trimmed flowers, whole and alive and untouched by death.

When he saw me, his body went rigid. Something shattered behind his eyes.

I looked past him to the banner stretched across the living room wall. A bitter smile twisted my lips, and I read it aloud, word by word.

"'To my beloved wife. Happy sixth anniversary.'"

"You've been doing just fine, haven't you, Anthony."

Anthony pulled Victoria behind him on instinct, shielding her. His expression tightened with something close to shame.

Everyone else stood frozen. The silence was suffocating.

Six years ago, Anthony had raced onto an overpass in a downpour to make it to my birthday before midnight. His car went off the bridge and into the ocean.

By the time I got there, he was nothing but an urn.

The guilt consumed me. The grief ate me alive. Over and over, I told myself: if I hadn't made such a fuss about his affair, he never would have been out there trying to make it up to me.

The day he was buried, I clung to his headstone and cried until I blacked out.

In the years that followed, I missed him so badly I couldn't sleep. I'd go to the cemetery alone and sit there until dawn.

At my lowest, I tried to end my life right there at his grave. A groundskeeper found me in time. That was the only reason I survived.

Never, not once, did I imagine that all of it had been a scheme. That he'd shed his old life like a snake sheds its skin and walked away clean.

I picked up a framed photo from the table. Two people standing shoulder to shoulder beneath the northern lights. My eyes burned so fiercely the pain lanced straight through my chest.

"Nice wedding photos. Iceland?"

Back when Anthony and I were engaged, Victoria had been his secretary, involved in every detail of the planning.

Once, while I was agonizing over where to shoot our wedding photos, she had offered a careful suggestion.

"I think Iceland would be perfect. Every aurora only appears once and never again. It symbolizes something truly one of a kind."

Anthony had smiled at that and said it was a wonderful idea.

But not long after, I found a lipstick in his car that didn't belong to me.

I followed the trail of clues until I uncovered its owner: Victoria Mason.

I insisted on calling off the engagement. He responded by standing on the ledge of an eighteen-story building.

"Nora, if you call off this engagement, I'll jump."

My heart caved instantly. I gave him a chance to end things with her cleanly.

He erased every trace. Fired Victoria. Went to every length to make it up to me.

He even died in an accident because of me.

Or so I'd believed. Because now he was standing right in front of me, alive and breathing, with a home built alongside the very woman he'd sworn was out of his life for good.

A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat. I grabbed the framed wedding photo and hurled it to the ground.

Glass exploded across the floor. Victoria shrieked, clutching her face where a shard had sliced her skin.

"Nora, could you stop acting like a lunatic?!"

Anthony's eyes went red. He was screaming at me.

I let out a hollow, self-mocking laugh. My voice was raw, scraping like sandpaper.

"I'm the lunatic? You're right. I am!"

"For six years after you died, I lived like one every single day!"

Anthony's chest heaved violently, his eyes bloodshot, his tone thick with accusation.

"Back then, I was ready to die. You're the one who wouldn't let me!"

"I did everything you asked! But you refused to let it go. You kept holding it over my head, tormenting me!"

"Do you have any idea how exhausting it was to live like that?"

My palm cracked across his face. The impact jolted through my wrist, and tears spilled before I could stop them.

"Anthony Henson, you were the one who cheated! You were the one who lied to me!"

"How dare you stand there and say I tormented you? That you had it hard?"

Victoria dropped to her knees in front of me, eyes glistening with tears.

"Nora, please stop fighting. This is all my fault."

"I'm the shameless one. I'm the disgusting one. I'm the one who seduced Anthony."

"He kept every promise he made to you. I was the one who wouldn't let go."

"I'll divorce him right away."

She pressed a hand to her lower belly, her voice trembling with pained reluctance.

"As for the baby... I'll get rid of it."

Joy lit up every corner of Anthony's face.

"Victoria, you're pregnant?"

My chest seized. It felt like a fist had closed around my heart and was crushing it, squeezing until my entire body went rigid.

Victoria pushed Anthony away as he moved toward her, shrinking back.

"The doctor said it's barely over a month. If I terminate now, it's nothing more than a clump of cells."

"I'll walk away with nothing. I'll give you the signed divorce papers."

"Just... make things right with Nora."

The moment the words left her mouth, she bolted for the door without a second's hesitation.

Anthony's face drained of color. He moved to chase after her.

I stepped in front of him on instinct, wanting an explanation, but he shoved me hard.

"Nora!"

His eyes were full of revulsion. His voice, ice.

"No matter how big a scene you make, this is between the two of us!"

"Ever since you threatened her six years ago, Victoria has suffered from severe depression. The slightest emotional trigger and she does something drastic."

"I spent years nursing her back to health. And now you want to destroy her out of pure spite?"

"If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you."

The shove threw me off balance. My body pitched backward, out of control, and the back of my neck dragged across a shard of broken glass. Warm blood seeped out, wet and spreading.

Right before everything went black, I heard John talking to Anthony.

"Anthony, Nora's bleeding badly!"

"Call an ambulance and dump her at the hospital. Clean this up. Victoria can't handle the sight of blood."

I drifted awake to the sound of nurses whispering in the room.

"Miss Mason only had a little scare with the baby, and her husband moved her straight into a VIP suite. He's been by her side the whole time, terrified something might happen to her."

"And then there's this one. The glass nearly hit her carotid artery. Do you know how close that was? She's been awake for a while now, and not a single person has come to see her. It's just sad."

"How can two people's lives be so different?"

After the door clicked shut, I slowly opened my eyes and let out a bitter laugh.

My hand drifted to the gauze on my neck. Tears slid down my cheeks. I wiped them away and swung my legs off the bed to go find the billing desk.

I had barely sat up when Anthony shoved the door open and stormed in. He seized my wrist, his voice ice-cold.

"Nora, what the hell are you trying to do?"

"Lying to you was my decision. Victoria had nothing to do with it!"

"If you have a problem, take it up with me. Why did you have the media drag her name through the mud online, calling her a homewrecker?"

"She just woke up, saw those posts, and got so worked up she nearly jumped off the balcony. Did you know that?!"

His grip was brutal. The color drained from my already pale face.

I wrenched my wrist free with every ounce of strength I had and fired back.

"Anthony, I never did anything like that!"

He let out a contemptuous scoff and shoved his phone in my face.

The screen was flooded with posts calling Victoria Mason the other woman.

Henson Group's wife Victoria Mason a mistress who clawed her way to the top.

Beyond that, there were lengthy threads detailing how Anthony Henson had faked his own death and spun an elaborate web of lies to deceive his girlfriend, all for the sake of his mistress.

Henson Group's stock had been in freefall ever since.

And the outlet that had broken the story was the same one where my best friend used to work.

Anthony's eyes were glacial, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Still denying it? Your little friend worked right there, didn't she?"

"When it comes to you, she's always been the first to charge in without a second thought."

I stood frozen, struggling to explain through the frustration choking my throat.

"She moved abroad three years ago. She hasn't worked there in"

"Stop lying to my face!"

Anthony cut me off, his voice sharp as a blade, his eyes heavy with disappointment.

"Nora, when did you become so calculating?"

"You used to be such a kind person. Now you'd rather drive Victoria and her unborn child to their deaths."

He paused. When he spoke again, his tone softened in a way that made no sense.

"Have you forgotten how much pain you were in when you lost your own baby?"

My head snapped up. I locked onto his gaze and held it.

My heart felt like a dull knife was sawing through it, tearing open scars that had barely held together.

The memory surged back unbidden. Six years ago, the day I found out I was pregnant, I walked into our apartment and found Anthony tangled up with Victoria in our bed.

I had only just discovered the affair. Before I could even confront him, the shock sent me to the hospital.

I made it home in a daze, only to hear the unmistakable sounds of a man and a woman behind the bedroom door.

I lost my mind. I flew into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and charged at them. But Anthony threw himself in front of Victoria, shielding her, and shoved me so hard I slammed into the vanity.

A searing pain ripped through my abdomen. Something warm and wet spread between my legs. The baby was gone. Just like that.

After that came his tearful apology, his threats to kill himself if I left. And after that came my surrender, my foolish belief that he had changed.

Bitterness coated my tongue like ash. I forced a hollow smile, my voice so hoarse it barely sounded human.

"Anthony, Victoria Mason will never shake that label. Not in this lifetime. What the two of you have will always disgust people."

"And you don't get to mention my baby. Ever."

"Nora, shut your mouth!"

Anthony's brows twisted into a hard knot as he barked the words. His eyes were sheets of ice, and in them there was not a single trace of guilt.

"This is between you and me. It has nothing to do with Victoria."

He lowered his voice, looking down at me with naked threat in his eyes.

"You've been working yourself to the bone all these years just to pay for your foster mother's heart surgery, haven't you?"

"I hear they've already found a matching donor?"

My heart slammed to a stop. Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze solid.

I'd been an orphan for as long as I could remember. Margaret Whitfield had taken me in despite the whispers and sideways glances from everyone around her. She survived by collecting recyclables, picking up odd jobs, pinching every penny, raising me bit by bit on almost nothing.

When Anthony and I first started dating, I never let him drive me home. I was terrified he'd look at me and my family the same way everyone else did, with that mixture of pity and contempt.

But when he found out the truth, he cried.

He pulled me into his arms, one hand stroking my hair, his voice breaking.

"Nora, I'm going to work so hard. I'll give you the best life. I'll take care of your mom. And I'll make every single person who ever looked down on you choke on their words."

And he did.

When he proposed, he hired the most prestigious event planning team in the city and built a sea of ten thousand roses. It was the talk of the town. Overnight, I became the woman everyone envied.

He bought us a house and put my name on the deed. He found doctors for Margaret, managed her treatment plan, covered every medical bill without blinking.

All those people who had sneered at me, who had mocked me behind my back, suddenly lined up to congratulate me, falling over themselves with flattery.

Back then, they used to whisper that Anthony must have done something terrible to feel guilty about, that it was the only explanation for why he treated me so well.

I was drowning in it, certain that a love like ours would never change.

Then Victoria wedged herself between us and shattered that dream to pieces.

But never, not once, did I imagine he would use my mother's life as a bargaining chip. That he would weaponize the only vulnerability I had left, just to make Victoria happy.

My fists clenched so tight my nails carved crescents into my palms. The pain didn't register. It was nothing compared to what was tearing through my chest.

Despair pressed down on me like a hand over my mouth. I couldn't breathe. I closed my eyes, and tears rolled silently down my cheeks.

When I opened them again, everything inside me had gone quiet. Dead quiet.

"Fine," I whispered. "I'll apologize."

Anthony looked at me with satisfaction, snapped his fingers, and his assistant placed a sheet of paper covered in text on the hospital bed.

"Read it exactly as written. Don't skip a single word."

I picked up the paper. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Every line on that page turned the truth inside out. It pinned all the blame on me, claimed I had slandered Victoria out of jealousy and spite. It even stated that Anthony's faked death was a delusion, a product of my own psychological breakdown.

But I had no way out. None. So I swallowed everything I was feeling, read the script he'd prepared, recorded the video, and posted it.

When it was done, my whole body was ice cold, drenched in a thin sheen of sweat.

Anthony glanced at the wound on my neck. He pulled a checkbook and pen from his pocket, scrawled a string of zeros, and pressed the check into my hand.

He let out a long sigh.

"There's a million dollars here. Consider it compensation."

"Transfer to another hospital as soon as you can. Victoria shouldn't have to see you. It upsets her."

Then he turned and walked out.

I checked out of the hospital on unsteady legs. The moment I stepped outside, my phone rang.

It was my boss.

"Nora, the company is going through a restructuring. Your termination notice has been sent to your email, and the severance has already been deposited into your account."

I stood there, stunned, before I managed a few hollow words.

"Thank you for the opportunity. I understand."

After I hung up, I scrolled through my phone. The apology video I had just recorded was already trending at number one. Every negative story about Victoria had been scrubbed clean, wiped away without a trace, as if none of it had ever existed.

A string of messages popped up on my phone, one after another.

They were from Victoria.

The photos showed a VIP hospital suite piled high with designer clothes, jewelry, and handbags from the latest season.

Nora, take a good look. This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how he spoils me.

I'll be honest with you. He and I never stopped seeing each other. The whole time he was stringing you along, he came to me every single night.

There's no right or wrong in love. The one who isn't loved is the real other woman.

I stood in the biting wind, tears dripping onto the screen. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper, refusing to let a single sound escape.

Then my phone rang.

It was Margaret's attending physician.

"Miss Whitfield, your mother has gone into sudden cardiac arrest. It's critical. You need to get to the hospital immediately and sign the consent forms so we can operate ahead of schedule!"

Grief evaporated. I spun around and ran toward the hospital like a woman possessed.

The elevator wouldn't come. I turned and bolted for the stairwell.

I had barely reached the third floor when a swarm of people claiming to be reporters surged out of nowhere, boxing me in on every side.

"Miss Whitfield, we've heard that your obsession with Mr. Henson drove you to a mental breakdown, that you fabricated his death because you couldn't have him. Is that true?"

"Former classmates have come forward saying you're an orphan who grew up picking through trash to survive. Can you confirm?"

"You knew Mr. Henson was married, yet you continued to harass and slander him. What exactly are you after? Care to give the public an explanation?"

Camera flashes erupted in rapid bursts, searing my eyes until I couldn't keep them open.

The barrage of accusations drilled into my skull, filling my ears with a high-pitched ringing, splitting my head apart.

Sweat soaked through my clothes. I shoved at the wall of bodies surrounding me, my voice cracking, half-sob, half-plea.

"Please, just let me through! My mother is dying. She needs surgery right now. I'm begging you!"

They didn't move. They kept shouting questions, kept snapping photos, kept pressing me for the answers they'd already written.

In the shoving, my phone slipped from my hand, hit the floor, and was trampled beyond recognition.

I bent to pick it up and a palm cracked across my face so hard my vision went white.

"A shameless homewrecker like you doesn't deserve a mother. Using her as a prop for sympathy? You make me sick!"

The woman who struck me spat the words with venom, her eyes brimming with contempt and disgust.

My head swam. My cheek burned like it had been pressed against a hot stove. Despair and fury crashed through me in equal measure.

Security guards charged up the stairs, shouting.

"This is a hospital! Clear out now, or we're calling the police!"

The moment a gap opened, I threw myself up the remaining flights.

But the instant I burst through the door of the hospital room, every ounce of strength drained from my body.

Margaret lay still on the bed. Her face was the color of parchment, her lips completely bloodless.

Her attending physician stood at the bedside, his expression heavy with regret. When he saw me, he let out a quiet sigh.

"Miss Whitfield, I'm sorry. We did everything we could."

My pupils contracted. The room tilted, darkened at the edges, and my knees nearly buckled.

A nurse caught my arm and steadied me, her voice low.

"She was fine just an hour ago. Then a woman came into the room, said a few things to her, and they got into an argument. That's when she collapsed."

"When you didn't come to sign the consent forms, we activated the emergency protocol, but the donor backed out at the last minute."

Grief pressed down on my chest like a slab of concrete. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't cry. Not a single sound would come.

Slowly, I pulled free of the nurse's hands and moved to the bedside, one leaden step at a time. I took Margaret's hand. It was ice cold.

The woman who had given me warmth and strength when I had nothing left in the world would never open her eyes again.

I carried her to the funeral home myself. After the cremation, I laid her to rest in a quiet little cemetery, a simple burial in a peaceful plot of earth.

After kowtowing three times, I dragged my numb body to the River Bridge. Standing at the railing, I recorded a video and set it to publish on a timer, then uploaded it.

Without a shred of hesitation, I jumped.

At that moment, Anthony was in the obstetrics wing with Victoria for her prenatal checkup. The two of them were discussing baby names.

His assistant's call cut through the conversation, the voice on the other end frantic.

"Mr. Henson, something's happened. Miss Whitfield jumped off the bridge!"