His Substitute, His Madness After My Death
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He broke down the morgue door, his guttural scream echoing off the cold tiles as he yanked open drawer after drawer.
"Emily!"
Ethan's hands shook violently as he pulled it open. She lay inside, a white sheet draped over her face. With trembling fingers, he peeled back the fabric. Her face was paper-white, lips bloodless, her eyelashes casting faint shadows. So still.
This wasn't the Emily he knew. The Emily he knew could smile, could cry, could clumsily try to warm his frozen heart. But now, she was just a corpse. A corpse because of him.
"Cancer... stage four..." he whispered, drowning in a tidal wave of panic.
He remembered all those times she had clutched her stomach in agony, and he had mocked her. He remembered demanding she give her heart to his lover. He remembered her final silent words through the surgical glass: "I hate you."
"AHHH—!!" A raw scream tore from his throat. He slammed his fist into the metal drawer, blood blooming across his knuckles.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her stiff, freezing body into his arms. She was so light. Like holding air.
"Emily, I was wrong. I was so wrong," he choked out, crying for the first time in years. "Wake up. Hit me. Hate me. I'm begging you..."
But death is the most absolute silence of all. How far will a man go when he realizes he murdered his only salvation?
"Emily!"
Ethan's hands shook violently as he pulled it open. She lay inside, a white sheet draped over her face. With trembling fingers, he peeled back the fabric. Her face was paper-white, lips bloodless, her eyelashes casting faint shadows. So still.
This wasn't the Emily he knew. The Emily he knew could smile, could cry, could clumsily try to warm his frozen heart. But now, she was just a corpse. A corpse because of him.
"Cancer... stage four..." he whispered, drowning in a tidal wave of panic.
He remembered all those times she had clutched her stomach in agony, and he had mocked her. He remembered demanding she give her heart to his lover. He remembered her final silent words through the surgical glass: "I hate you."
"AHHH—!!" A raw scream tore from his throat. He slammed his fist into the metal drawer, blood blooming across his knuckles.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her stiff, freezing body into his arms. She was so light. Like holding air.
"Emily, I was wrong. I was so wrong," he choked out, crying for the first time in years. "Wake up. Hit me. Hate me. I'm begging you..."
But death is the most absolute silence of all. How far will a man go when he realizes he murdered his only salvation?

















































