We were married for three years. I was his substitute, his kept bird, and the secret he never showed anyone.
On the seventh day after my death, I came back.
Only then did I discover that the secret room he had never let me enter was covered with sticky notes I had written.
Only then did I discover the 99 unsent “I love you” messages saved on his phone.
Only then did I realize that his one true love was no longer her. It was me.
But I was already dead.
At dawn on the seventh day, he stood on the balcony and said he was coming to join me.
This time, I could finally tell him myself:
Don't come. Live well. Live for me.
