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."

damn it, they only ever contacted you!" Undeterred, Claude furiously typed something into his phone and tossed it onto

me, a threat veiled in concern. [My mother's birthday is the day after tomorrow. If you don't come

thought, 'I can't return, Claude. This time, you'll never be bothered by me again. Once you find out about my death, our marriage will be null and void.

my spirit, but I got compelled to stay by Claude's side, perhaps because I'd slept on this bed every

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

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

gaze tightening as he surveyed the room. He glanced

never come back," he muttered bitterly, irritable, as he

his

denying his appealing physique and the cold, aristocratic beauty of his face, which I had fallen for repeatedly. My

en

the bathroom, the phone rang several times, with calls

droplets tracing down his neck to his chest. He casually returned one of the unknown

Mr. Claude Hart, husband to

was a police officer based on the