She Died, Then Betrayed Me Again / Chapter 6: The Dead Return—and So Does the Betrayal
She Died, Then Betrayed Me Again

She Died, Then Betrayed Me Again

Author: Rachael Morris

Chapter 6: The Dead Return—and So Does the Betrayal

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I called my father-in-law to ask about it.

My hands shook as I dialed his number. The phone rang and rang before he finally picked up.

He answered coldly, "I told you to stay out of it, and you actually listened? Coward."

His voice was icy, each word dripping with contempt. I swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at me.

"Come home, grab some of Emily’s stuff. We need it for the burial. Then get over here and see her one last time."

He sounded exhausted, like the grief had hollowed him out. I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, and hung up without another word.

I hung up and just lost it, bawling in the car.

The tears came fast, blurring my vision. I hugged the steering wheel, rocking in the dark. Everything felt emptier than ever.

I didn’t even think—I just raced home.

I grabbed my keys, barely remembering to lock the door behind me. My mind was a blur, my heart pounding as I sped down the highway.

But as soon as I opened the door, I was stunned—Charles Turner was lounging on my couch like he owned the place.

He looked right at home, legs crossed, a glass of whiskey in hand. The bruises on his face were still fresh, but he grinned like nothing had happened.

Bruised face or not, I was furious. "How the hell did you get in here?"

My voice echoed through the empty house. I dropped my bag by the door, fists already curling.

I charged at him, fists raised.

I lunged, ready to finish what I’d started at his office. The anger surged back, hot and uncontrollable.

Turner quickly stood up and backed away. "Whoa, whoa, Mr. Morgan—don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not the one you should be worried about. Time for our real guest!"

He held up his hands, trying to calm me down. His eyes sparkled with mischief, like he was enjoying the chaos.

As he finished speaking, the door to the bedroom opened, and my wife, Emily, walked out.

She stepped into the living room, her hair perfectly styled, wearing the dress I’d bought her for our anniversary. For a moment, I thought I was seeing a ghost.

I stared in shock, completely dumbfounded. What the hell was going on?

My mouth hung open. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My heart hammered in my chest, hope and dread warring inside me.

Instinctively, I slapped myself in the face. The pain was real.

I needed to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. The sting snapped me back to reality.

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