After I Died, They Begged for My Forgiveness

My fiancé gouged out my eye. My brothers stole everything I owned and broke my leg. The youngest—a doctor—extracted my bone marrow for the woman who had stolen my identity.

They believed her lies. Every single one.

So I bled out in that basement. Gladly.

But I didn't die.

Now they're on their knees. Scrambling for rare medicine. Begging me to stay.

Too late.

I don't forgive. I never will.

Let them watch me walk away.