His Will, His Fortune, His Ashes—All for Her

Summary

On my husband’s 60th suicide attempt, he succeeded—after Isabelle sneered, "You’re revolting." He jumped from the 33rd floor, demanding his ashes be buried beneath her window to watch her forever.

I, his wife, inherited only debts and blame. "Clara, this is your fault!" His family smashed my head against the wall at the wake, forgetting it was me who dragged him from the burning wreckage, me who ruined my health reconstructing his face.

Then my heart gave out.

I woke up on the day of the crash. This time, when Isabelle provoked him, I didn’t intervene.