After I Died, He Ruined the Woman He Chose Over Me

The day I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer, I curled up alone in the hospital hallway, trembling from the pain. I called Ethan Ford ninety-eight times. He rejected every single call. On the ninety-ninth try, he finally picked up. But instead of his voice, I heard Claire Leedon laughing. Then Ethan spoke, his voice cold and impatient. “Stop pretending you're dying. Claire's afraid of the dark. I can't leave her.” I opened his social media page. His latest post was a photo of them kissing beneath the Northern Lights. “You're the only one I'll ever choose.” I laughed until I coughed up a mouthful of blood, staining the diagnosis report in my hands. Then I tore it to pieces and tossed them into the trash. Ethan Ford, you got what you wanted. I’d never bother you again. Chapter 1 The oncology wing of City General Hospital was quiet. I sat on a cold bench at the far end of the hallway, clutching the diagnosis report that had just been printed. The corners of the paper were crumpled beneath my fingers. “Late-stage stomach cancer. The cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. Immediate hospitalization and chemotherapy are recommended. Estimated survival time is no more than three months.” Dr. Parker, my attending physician, took off his glasses and looked at me with the calm of someone who had seen life and death too many times. I asked him what would happen if I refused treatment. He said I might have two months at most, and the final month would be extremely painful. The pain could reach a seven or higher on the scale. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” I left his office with the report in my hand and sat down on the bench outside. My stomach started hurting again. It felt like someone was slowly sawing through the lining of my stomach with a dull knife, back and forth without stopping. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead and trickled down my cheeks. I curled up on the bench, digging my nails into my palms. My phone screen lit up. Ethan Ford had posted on social media an hour ago. The location tag read Reykjavík, Iceland. In the photo, Ethan stood beneath the Northern Lights with his arm around Claire Leedon. Waves of green light poured across the sky as she leaned against his shoulder, smiling sweetly. He wore a black coat, his chin resting on top of her head. The tenderness in his eyes made it seem as though he were looking at the most precious thing in the world. The caption was simple. “The only one I’ll ever love.” I stared at the photo for a long time as wave after wave of pain tore through my stomach. In the end, I called him. Ring. Ring. Ring. No answer. I hung up and tried again. The second call went unanswered. He declined the third. Then the fourth. I kept count, calling again and again, only to have each call rejected. On the ninety-eighth attempt, the screen showed a call duration of zero seconds before the red “Call Ended” notification appeared. My eyes burned. I pressed call for the ninety-ninth time. This time, it rang three times before he answered. A fierce wind howled through the phone. Then I heard Claire’s bright laughter, crisp and clear like ice shattering against the ground. “Ethan, come look! The Northern Lights are turning pink over there!” His voice was warm with amusement. “I’m coming.” Then he spoke into the phone, and his tone instantly turned cold. “Nora Spencer, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s the middle of the night.” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt blocked. Even I barely recognized my own voice when it came out. “Ethan, I’m in so much pain. The doctor said I…” “You’re pretending to be sick now just to get my attention?” he cut me off, his voice thick with impatience. “Nora, you disgust me.” Claire’s timid voice came through the phone. “Ethan, is that Nora? What happened to her?” “Nothing. She’s just acting up again.” His voice softened so completely when he spoke to her that he sounded like a different man. Then he turned back to me. “Quit pretending you’re dying. Claire’s afraid of the dark, and I can’t leave her. Go find something else to do and stop embarrassing yourself.” The call ended. Beep. Beep. Beep. As I listened to the dial tone, a metallic taste surged up my throat. I covered my mouth, and thin streaks of blood seeped between my fingers. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Ethan. “Call me again, and I’ll block you.” Before I could reply, another message appeared. “Claire’s going to sleep. Don’t disturb us.” I typed a single word and tried to send it. A red exclamation mark appeared beside the message. It had been rejected by the recipient. He’d blocked me. I leaned back against the bench. The fluorescent light above me buzzed softly. The hallway was deserted except for the occasional tapping of a keyboard at the nurses’ station in the distance. I looked down at the diagnosis report in my hands. The words had gone blurry. I raised a hand to wipe my eyes, only to realize there were no tears. I laughed. But the laugh quickly brought another mouthful of blood rushing up my throat. I bent forward as blood spilled from my lips and splattered across the report, staining the words “late-stage stomach cancer” red. One drop after another soaked into the paper. The color reminded me of Claire’s lips beneath the Northern Lights. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. Then I tore the report in half. And again. I ripped it into pieces and threw them into the trash can at the end of the hallway. One scrap fluttered back out and landed on the floor. Blood stained the words printed across it. “Three months.” I didn’t bend down to pick it up. The pain had left my legs weak. Bracing one hand against the wall, I slowly made my way toward the exit. As I passed the nurses’ station, the night nurse looked up at me. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she stopped herself. I walked out of the hospital. Rain was falling outside. A cold gust slipped beneath my collar, making me shiver. A taxi was parked by the curb. The driver rolled down his window and called out to me. “Miss, need a ride?” I opened the back door, climbed in, and gave him the address of the villa. As the car pulled away, I turned and looked back at the hospital entrance. The white lights blurred through the rain. I wasn’t going to get treatment. I would spend my final two months with what little dignity I had left. Chapter 2 It was already two in the morning by the time I got back to the villa. I dragged myself upstairs, gripping the handrail with every step. The pain in my stomach came in relentless waves, like a dull blade twisting deeper every few seconds. I walked into the master bedroom and stopped in front of the walk-in closet. It was enormous. Ethan's clothes filled the left side, arranged with meticulous precision by color. Suits, overcoats, dress shirts. Every piece looked expensive. Mine occupied barely a third of the space on the right. Simple colors. Understated styles. Easy to overlook. Just like me in this house. I pulled out a suitcase and started packing. A few changes of clothes. Toiletries. Important documents. When I came across our marriage certificate and the photo from the City Hall, I paused. In the photo, we stood shoulder to shoulder. Ethan wasn't smiling. His lips were pressed into a thin line. My smile was careful, almost timid, as though I was afraid too much happiness might shatter the moment. I slipped the certificate into the suitcase. Then I took it back out and returned it to the drawer. I didn't need it anymore. Another wave of pain doubled me over. I crouched on the floor, hugging my knees until it finally passed. When I could stand again, I searched through my vanity drawer and found a blister pack of painkillers. I'd secretly gotten the prescription from the hospital a month ago. They were powerful enough to suppress most of the pain, but the doctor had warned me about the side effects. They were especially hard on the stomach. Back then, I hadn't known I already had terminal stomach cancer. I tucked the pills into my handbag and zipped the suitcase shut. The front door opened downstairs. A moment later, Claire's light, airy laugh drifted up the staircase. "Ethan, your house is huge." His voice was warm with affection. "It'll be your home too." I walked onto the second-floor landing and looked down. Ethan had one arm around Claire as they stood in the foyer. He gently helped her out of her coat. She wore a white puffer jacket trimmed with soft white fur around the hood, making her already delicate face look even smaller. After hanging up her coat, Ethan lowered his head and kissed her forehead. "Are you cold? Want something hot to drink?" She shook her head and nestled into his arms. "I'm not cold. Not when I'm with you." I dragged my suitcase toward the staircase. The wheels bumped against each step with a dull thud. Ethan looked up, his brows immediately knitting together. "What are you doing now?" I said nothing and kept walking. The suitcase was heavier than I expected. My arms were too weak to control it. Halfway down, it tipped to one side. I instinctively reached out to steady it. At that exact moment, a stabbing pain ripped through my stomach. My whole body froze on the stairs. Cold sweat instantly beaded across my forehead. Ethan stood at the bottom of the staircase, watching me with icy indifference. “Packing your bags again?” He gave a cold laugh. “Nora, can’t you come up with something new? It’s been seven years. You may not be tired of using this to threaten me, but I sure am.” Claire peeked out from behind him. The surprise on her face lasted only a second before it melted into concern. "Nora, you don't look well. Are you sick?" She sounded so sincere. So sincere it made me sick. I ignored her and continued down the stairs, one slow step at a time. Every step felt like someone was wringing my stomach with both hands. I clenched my jaw until it ached, my nails digging into my palms. When I finally reached the first floor, I let go of the handrail. My palm was slick with sweat. Without sparing Ethan a glance, I dragged my suitcase toward the front door. As I passed the coffee table, another violent wave of pain crashed through me. It felt like that dull blade was sawing through my flesh all over again. My knees buckled. I lurched forward and caught myself on the edge of the coffee table, barely managing to stay on my feet. Chapter 3 A blister pack of pills sat on the table. They were the painkillers I’d opened the night before. Three tablets remained. I reached for them. “Oh, what’s this?” Claire moved faster. She picked up the blister pack and held it in front of her face. Her expression turned innocently concerned. “Nora, these are expired. Look. They expired last month.” She flipped the pack over and pointed to the printed date. I knew they weren’t expired. I’d only gotten them last week. The date was clearly printed on the foil. “You shouldn’t take expired medicine. It’s bad for you.” As she spoke, Claire walked over to the trash can and dropped the pills inside. They landed on a pile of wastepaper with a faint rustle. I lunged for the trash like I’d lost my mind. Dropping to my knees, I shoved my hand inside and started digging. Scraps of paper. Fruit peels. Used tissues. I didn’t care. My fingers finally closed around the blister pack, and I clenched it tightly in my fist. Ethan walked over and looked down at me crouched beside the trash. The coldness on his face turned to disgust. “Nora, are you so desperate for sympathy that you’ll dig through garbage now?” He kicked my wrist. The blister pack flew from my hand and skidded across the floor. Then he stepped on it. His shoe ground down hard, crushing the tablets into white powder against the tile. I stayed on my knees, staring at the mess without moving. Claire immediately hid in Ethan’s arms, her voice trembling. “Ethan, Nora’s scaring me. I’m afraid.” He pulled her closer and rested his chin on her head. “Don’t be. I’m here.” Then he turned to me, looking at me as though I were something filthy. “Listen carefully, Nora. Claire just moved in. If you scare her or try anything, I’ll make sure you can’t stay in this city.” I slowly pushed myself to my feet. My knees throbbed from hitting the floor, but I didn’t rub them. I looked down at the white powder scattered across the tile. Those pills were supposed to help me make it through my final two months with some dignity. Now they were ground into the dust, mixed with dirt and trash. I looked up at Ethan. He stood there with his arm around Claire. They were pressed close together. Her fingers clutched the edge of his shirt as she watched me timidly, like a frightened little rabbit. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in his eyes. Suddenly, I felt calm. Not relieved. Just empty. The kind of stillness that came after every feeling had been used up and there was nothing left. I brushed the dust from my hands. Then I pulled the broken piece of nail from my palm. A bead of blood welled up, but I didn’t wipe it away. “You’re right,” I said, looking at Ethan. He froze. He clearly hadn’t expected that response. He said nothing. His brows only drew tighter as he stared at me like I was a stranger. I picked up my suitcase, opened the door, and walked out. Behind me, Claire spoke softly. “Ethan, will Nora be okay? It’s freezing outside.” His reply was full of impatience. “She’s too stubborn to die from a little cold.” The door shut behind me. Rain was still falling. Cold wind slipped beneath my collar, making me shiver. The suitcase wheels rolled over the wet pavement with a dull rumble. I didn’t look back. On the third day after I moved into the house on the outskirts of town, Ethan's assistant, Ryan Cole, called me. “Mrs. Ford, Mr. Ford said there’s a banquet tonight. He expects you to attend.” Chapter 4 I leaned back in the old wooden chair, staring at the overgrown weeds outside the window. "I'm not going." Ryan was quiet for a moment before lowering his voice. "Mrs. Ford, Mr. Ford said that if you don't come, he'll stop paying the maintenance fees for your parents' graves. The annual fee is thirty thousand dollars, and this year's payment is still outstanding. He's been covering it for you all this time, but now he says..." He trailed off. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the chair. My parents were buried at Grand Memorial Park on the outskirts of the city. I had bought their burial plots with a loan during my first year of work. There were still ten years of maintenance fees left to pay. When Ethan married me, he'd told me I would never have to worry about those things again. He would take care of everything. It wasn't until later that I realized what "taking care of it" really meant. He'd turned it into something he could use to control me. "I'll be there." Ryan let out a quiet sigh of relief. "The banquet starts at seven. I'll send a car to pick you up." After hanging up, I sat in silence, watching the sky outside gradually fade into darkness. I changed into a long black dress. It was the only decent dress I still owned. The woman in the mirror looked painfully thin. My cheekbones jutted out, and my collarbones were so sharp they looked like they could cut through skin. I put on makeup to hide the sickly pallor. At least I looked like someone who was still alive. The car arrived promptly at seven and dropped me off in front of the hotel. The moment I looked up at the entrance, I froze. This was where Ethan and I had gotten married. The lobby hadn't changed. Crystal chandeliers still hung from the three-story ceiling, bathing the room in warm golden light. Seven years ago, I'd stood here in a white wedding dress. Ethan had stood beside me, expressionless, going through the motions of the ceremony. That night, he'd drunk far too much. When we got home, he'd looked at me and said only one thing. "Nora, marrying you was my family's decision. Don't expect me to ever love you." "I know," I'd replied. He'd looked at me for a long moment before saying nothing more. From that day on, I spent seven years being the understanding wife. The banquet was being held on the second floor. By the time I pushed open the doors, the ballroom was already full. I recognized most of the city's social elite. They were Ethan's business associates and friends, dressed in tailored suits and glittering designer gowns. The moment I walked in, countless eyes swept over me like blades. Some leaned together to whisper. Others covered their mouths as they laughed. The ballroom was decorated in soft pink and white. Flowers and balloons filled every corner. A massive banner hung across the center of the room. 'Happy Birthday, Claire Leedon.' I stood there, staring at those words. Suddenly, I wanted to laugh. Today was the seventh anniversary of my marriage to Ethan. He'd turned our anniversary into Claire's birthday celebration. He'd chosen our wedding venue and invited the half the city’s elite just to watch me make a fool of myself. "Well, if it isn't Mrs. Ford." A woman in a red evening gown walked over with a champagne flute in her hand, smiling with undisguised amusement. I recognized her immediately. Sophie Sunders. Claire's best friend. "So you actually came to Claire's birthday party." Her eyes swept over me from head to toe. "You're more generous than I expected." She smirked. "I heard Mr. Ford absolutely spoils Claire. He even took her to see the Northern Lights. Tell me, Mrs. Ford... How does it feel knowing she’s the one he really wants?” I ignored her and walked past. She laughed behind me, her voice just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "The most spineless wife in the entire city. Everybody knows it." The banquet officially began. Claire emerged from backstage wearing a white princess-style gown. Her hair fell in soft curls over her shoulders, and a delicate crystal tiara rested atop her head. She looked like she'd stepped straight out of a fairy tale. Ethan followed a step behind her. He wore a dark navy suit with a white boutonniere pinned to his lapel.