He muttered under his breath like a madman, "This deep, this spot, this much blood. Jodie must've been in so much pain. She must've needed me so badly."
Before I finally died, I endured one thousand stabs.
It was an ordeal.
Then he tossed our bodies into the bathtub.
He cradled Jodie's ashes in his arms and held a wedding.
As my soul drifted beside him, I saw the madness in his eyes.
I realized how blind I had been.
But by then, it was far too late.
I should've known this from the call Jodie made at our wedding when she returned from abroad seven years ago.
She had abandoned Zayne and provoked me in the first place.
Still, I stood no chance against her.
In our loveless marriage, I had suffered for seven years.
It only ended with my death.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital room.
Full of regret, a nurse told me that my baby didn't make it.
I slowly moved my hands to my belly. Now, there was nothing left but the loose skin, a faint reminder of the child that had once been there.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, I reached for my phone on the pillow beside me.
I wanted to text Zayne to tell him I wanted a divorce.
That was when his call came through.
I pressed the answer button.