Rebirth Into My Second Chance

The car screeched to a halt, jerking Claude from his tipsy slumber against my shoulder. I thought he sought comfort there, but then I chastised myself for such wishful thinking. After all, I was dead. What more could I possibly hope for?

Once Claude stumbled back into our house, he clumsily went upstairs, shedding his prized suit and tie with a defeated grace. Standing before our empty bed, I could feel his hesitation. He probably loathed the idea of sleeping in a bed I had once occupied. In the past, any

bed I had slept in would be discarded the next day with me on it.

I thought he would retreat to his study for the night. However, against all expectations, he slowly approached our bed. His usual cleanliness was gone. He didn't even shower before collapsing into bed.

Soon after, he sat up, rifled through his jacket for his phone, and dialed my number, the so-called "Grim Reaper" he had taunted me with in life. I had become his haunting spirit after I died, as he had wished.

"You have reached a number that is currently off."

He tried to call me, but couldn't get through. Frustrated, he threw the phone forward, which passed right through my forehead. I felt nothing.

But then, in a drunken frenzy, he picked up the phone again. This time, he called Richard.

"Richard, did you hide Claire away? Tell her not to bother returning if she doesn't want to. If she dies out there, I won't even claim her body."

they only ever contacted you!" Undeterred, Claude furiously typed something

mother's birthday is the day after tomorrow. If you don't come home by then, don't bother returning. I'll proceed with the divorce legally, and you can

again. Once you find out about

to stay by Claude's side,

night. In that flash of lightning, Claude's hand found me, and he murmured,

I wondered if he could see me. But then his hand fell through me, a

following morning, Claude awoke with a groan, his gaze tightening as he surveyed the room. He glanced at his hand as if trying to grasp the remnants

muttered bitterly, irritable, as he stripped off his shirt and

of his despicable

cold, aristocratic beauty of his

en

outside the bathroom, the phone rang several times, with calls from Kate

a towel, water droplets tracing down his neck to his chest. He casually returned one of the

this Mr. Claude Hart, husband to Ms.

paused, assessing whether the caller was a