Broken Marriage of Convenience

Helena Morrison sat in the dimly lit living room, her frail body shivering despite the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. The once-vibrant 32-year-old had become a shadow of herself, weakened by the relentless progression of cancer. The house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the New York streets outside.

She glanced at the clock, anxiety gnawing at her insides. Sergey Novikov, her husband, would be home soon. Their marriage, arranged years ago out of convenience and family pressure, had never been one of love. Helena's father had needed Sergey to stabilize the family business, and Sergey had needed the financial support. Over time, Helena had tried to bridge the emotional gap, but Sergey remained indifferent, cold, and increasingly distant.

The sound of the front door opening made Helena's heart leap. Sergey entered, his expression as detached as always. He was tall, handsome, and impeccably dressed, but there was an air of aloofness that chilled her to the bone. Without acknowledging her, he walked towards the closet and grabbed his coat.

"Sergey," Helena called out, her voice trembling with both sickness and desperation. "Can you stay for the evening? I... I really need you here tonight."

Sergey stopped, his back to her, and sighed heavily. When he finally turned around, his eyes were devoid of any compassion. "I'm going to see Gabrielle," he stated flatly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Helena's heart sank at the mention of his mistress, Gabrielle, who was pregnant with his child. The betrayal stung deeply, but the truth was, Sergey had never pretended to love her. Their marriage was a transaction, nothing more. Still, the reality of his words was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Please, Sergey," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm not feeling well. I just... I just need you here tonight."

Sergey rolled his eyes, his impatience barely concealed. "Helena, we've been through this. Our marriage was a business deal. Your father needed me to save his company, and I needed the money. Love was never part of the equation."

Helena's eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at the man who had been her husband in name only. She had tried so hard to make him care, to make their marriage mean something, but it was all for nothing. "I know," she said, her voice breaking. "But it doesn't make it hurt any less."

Sergey sighed again, clearly irritated. "Helena, I don't have time for this. Gabrielle is expecting me. She needs me."

"And what about me?" Helena's voice rose slightly, a mixture of pain and frustration. "I'm your wife. I'm here, suffering alone. You don't even notice how sick I am. Don't you care at all?"

Sergey's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're always making everything about you. Your father blackmailed me into this marriage. I didn't want this life, but I had no choice. Now I'm trapped in this loveless charade while you cling to some pathetic hope that I'll change. Well, I won't. I need to be with someone who actually matters to me."

Helena's breath caught in her throat. She knew he was cold, but hearing his words cut deeper than any physical pain. "I just wanted... I just needed one night where I wasn't alone."

"You're always alone, Helena. That's the reality. Accept it," Sergey said, his voice harsh. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up."

As the door slammed shut behind him, Helena felt the weight of his rejection crush her spirit. She was left alone once more, battling her illness in solitude, her heart shattered by the cold indifference of the man she had tried to love.

__

Helena returned home from another grueling round of chemotherapy, her body weak and wracked with nausea. Every step felt like a monumental effort, but she pushed herself forward, determined to make it through the evening. Tonight was the charity ball for the orphanage where Sergey had grown up, a place that held special significance for both of them. They had each contributed to different projects over the years, and despite their fractured relationship, Helena felt a duty to be there, perhaps for the last time.

Dressing herself in a simple yet elegant gown, she looked in the mirror and saw a ghost of her former self. Her once lustrous hair had thinned, her skin was pallid, and her eyes, though still a striking dark brown, were shadowed with fatigue and pain. Yet, she held her head high, trying to muster the strength and grace she once had.

The ballroom was modest but beautifully decorated, filled with people who had come to support the orphanage. Helena felt a pang of nostalgia as she entered, remembering better times when she and Sergey had worked together for these events, sharing moments that, fleeting as they were, gave her hope. Tonight, though, she felt a sense of foreboding.

She navigated the room with a practiced smile, exchanging pleasantries with donors and volunteers. Her eyes searched for Sergey, but he was nowhere to be seen. As the evening wore on, Helena found herself growing weaker, the nausea from her treatment gnawing at her insides. She excused herself to get some fresh air, hoping the cool night would revive her.

Stepping outside, she leaned against a pillar, taking deep breaths. The night was still, the air crisp. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of peace. But her respite was short-lived.

"Helena," a voice called out, sharp and filled with barely contained fury. Helena opened her eyes to see Gabrielle approaching, her elegant figure clad in a stunning red dress that highlighted her pregnant belly. There was a fierce intensity in Gabrielle's eyes, and Helena felt a chill run down her spine.

"Gabrielle," Helena greeted her, trying to keep her voice steady. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Of course you didn't," Gabrielle snapped, her voice low and venomous. "You never expect anything, do you? You just float through life, pretending everything is fine while you hold Sergey hostage."

Helena blinked, taken aback. "I don't understand. Sergey is free to do as he pleases."

Gabrielle laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "Free? He's tied to you because of your father's ridiculous conditions. He can't leave you until you either die or turn thirty-five. Do you know how unbearable it is for us? For him?"

Helena's heart ached at the words, but she remained calm. "I never wanted to trap anyone. I've tried to make the best of our situation."

"Well, your 'best' isn't good enough," Gabrielle hissed, stepping closer. "I am tired of waiting for you to die, Helena. Sergey deserves to be happy, and so do I. But we can't be, not while you're still in the picture."

Helena felt a wave of dizziness and reached out to steady herself against the pillar. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Gabrielle. I never wanted to cause pain. I just..."

"Save your pity," Gabrielle interrupted, her voice icy. "You're the reason for our suffering. But not for much longer."

There was something in Gabrielle's tone that set off alarm bells in Helena's mind. "What do you mean?"

Gabrielle's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "Sergey and I have a plan, Helena. A plan that ensures we don't have to wait until you're gone naturally."

Helena's eyes widened in shock. "What are you saying? What plan?"

Before she could process Gabrielle's words, the model's expression twisted with rage. "You should have just died quietly," she spat, shoving Helena with surprising force. Helena stumbled, her weakened body unable to regain balance, and she fell backwards into the path of an oncoming car.

The world blurred around her, the screech of tires and the impact of metal against flesh registering in a distant, surreal way. Pain exploded through her body, and she lay on the cold asphalt, her vision dimming. She could faintly hear Gabrielle's voice, filled with a twisted satisfaction.

"Goodbye, Helena. Finally."

As darkness closed in, Helena's last thoughts were of Sergey. She wondered if he knew, if he was part of this cruel plan. Her heart ached with unanswered questions and a profound sense of betrayal. And then, she succumbed to the darkness, her body and mind finally giving way to the relentless tide of pain and sorrow.

Sergey Novikov slammed the front door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the cold, empty house. He stormed down the steps and headed straight for his car, not bothering to glance back at the house where Helena was left alone and sick. As he drove away, the anger and frustration bubbled within him, each passing mile only amplifying his sense of guilt.

He drove through the bustling streets of New York City, the vibrant lights and constant motion a stark contrast to the darkness enveloping his mind. After a while, he pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of town, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead as he parked beside a pump. He sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.

The reality of Helena's condition had hit him harder than he had anticipated. Every time he saw her, she seemed to lose more weight, her skin growing paler and her eyes more hollow. He couldn't deny it any longer-she was dying. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

He recalled the conversation he had had with her doctor just a few days ago. After much internal struggle, he had finally decided to call the clinic and get a clearer understanding of Helena's condition. The doctor's words had been a punch to the gut. The cancer had spread to several parts of her body, her organs were slowly shutting down, and there was nothing more that could be done. Sergey had sat in stunned silence as the doctor explained the dire situation, feeling a mix of anger, helplessness, and profound sadness.

It reminded him of his childhood in the orphanage, watching his mother waste away from the same illness. He remembered the pain, the fear, and the overwhelming sense of loss. It was a memory he had tried to bury deep within himself, but now it was all coming back, haunting him with a vengeance.

Sergey leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He felt like a monster. How could he have been so cold, so indifferent to Helena's suffering? She had never asked for this life, and yet she had been dealt the cruelest of fates. And what had he done? He had ignored her, pushed her away, and sought solace in the arms of another woman.

For a moment, he considered driving back. He could apologize, try to make amends, and maybe even sit with Helena to watch a movie, letting her believe that they were more than just hostages of a bad deal. He wanted to give her some semblance of peace in her final days, to show her that he wasn't entirely heartless.

But then his phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and saw Gabrielle's name flashing. His heart sank. Gabrielle, the woman who had become his escape from the harsh realities of his life, was calling. He hesitated, his mind torn between the desire to be there for Helena and the pull of his affair with Gabrielle.

With a deep sigh, Sergey answered the call. "Hey," he said, his voice lacking its usual warmth.

"Sergey, where are you?" Gabrielle's voice was laced with impatience and annoyance. "I've been waiting for you. You promised you'd be here."

"I know, I know," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just... I needed to clear my head for a bit."

"Clear your head?" Gabrielle's tone was sharp. "Sergey, I need you here. I can't do this alone. The baby needs you."

Sergey felt a pang of guilt. Gabrielle was carrying his child, a child he had created in the midst of all this chaos. He had responsibilities to her, to their unborn child. But the image of Helena, frail and alone, kept flashing in his mind.

"Look, I'm coming," he said finally, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders.

"Good," Gabrielle said, her voice softening slightly. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," he lied, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

As he hung up the phone, Sergey sat there for a moment longer, staring at the gas pump. He wanted to turn back, to drive home and be with Helena, but the pull of his obligations to Gabrielle was too strong. With a heavy sigh, he started the car and drove off, leaving behind the flickering lights of the gas station and the haunting memories of his past.

Helena's face lingered in his mind as he drove, her eyes filled with pain and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was making the wrong choice, that he was abandoning her when she needed him the most.

___

Sergey sat at a table in the upscale restaurant, the soft glow of the ambient lighting doing little to ease the turmoil inside him. He was supposed to be at the charity ball for the orphanage, a place that held significance for him and Helena. But instead, he found himself here, deep in conversation with his lawyer, Daniel Whitaker.

"You need to understand, Sergey," Daniel said, his voice low and urgent. "The press is going to have a field day once they find out about Gabrielle and the baby. Your reputation is on the line. The shareholders are loyal to your late father-in-law, and they all respect Helena. This news will be a disaster."

Sergey nodded absently, his mind elsewhere. "I know, Daniel. That's why I'm buying the property in the Hamptons. It's secluded and perfect for Gabrielle and the baby. We can spend time there away from prying eyes, and it's only two hours from the Upper East Side."

Daniel sighed, frustration evident. "You can't let your guard down, Sergey. One misstep and everything you've worked for could come crashing down."

Sergey barely heard him. His thoughts were consumed with the new property, imagining it as a sanctuary for his new family. The orphanage ball hadn't crossed his mind at all. He was focused on the future, on a life with Gabrielle and their unborn child.

Just then, Sergey's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen and saw a call from Harris, one of the security personnel assigned to Gabrielle.

"Excuse me, Daniel," Sergey said, picking up the phone. "I need to take this."

Stepping away from the table, he answered, "Yes, what is it?"

"Mr. Novikov, this is Harris. There's been an incident," Harris said, his voice tense.

Sergey's heart skipped a beat. "Is Gabrielle okay? What happened?"

"She's at Cornell Hospital," Harris replied. "You need to get here quickly."

Panic surged through Sergey. He didn't wait for further details. Hanging up, he turned to Daniel. "Something happened to Gabrielle. I need to get to Cornell Hospital now."

Daniel's expression shifted to one of concern. "We need to go. I'll drive."

The drive to Cornell Hospital was a blur, Sergey's mind a chaotic whirl of worry and fear. He hadn't been there for Helena, hadn't cared enough to stay by her side in her final days. Now, it seemed, his negligence had caught up with him in the worst possible way.

As they arrived at the hospital, Sergey was met by a flurry of activity. Doctors and nurses moved briskly through the halls, and the sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air. He rushed to the front desk, his voice shaking. "I'm Sergey Novikov. I was told my ... my relative was brought in."

The nurse at the desk looked up, her face calm and composed. "Yes, Mr. Novikov. Follow me, please."

Sergey followed her down a long, sterile corridor. His heart pounded in his chest, each step amplifying his fear. They reached a room at the end of the hallway, and the nurse pushed open the door.

Sergey stepped inside, expecting to see Gabrielle. Instead, his eyes fell on a sight that stopped him in his tracks. A nurse was standing by a hospital bed, carefully placing a pair of shoes and a handbag into a large plastic bag. On the bed lay Helena, her face pale and lifeless.

"No," Sergey whispered, his voice barely audible. "No, this can't be happening."

The nurse looked up, her expression somber. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Novikov. Mrs. Morrison didn't survive the accident."

Sergey felt his legs give way, and he collapsed into a chair. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing. It was Helena, not Gabrielle, who had been hurt. Helena, who had been at the charity ball, fulfilling her commitments despite her sickness. And now, she was dead.

A wave of guilt and sorrow crashed over him, drowning him in regret. He had failed her in every possible way. He hadn't been there when she needed him, hadn't shown her the kindness and love she deserved. Instead, he had been consumed with his plans for a future with Gabrielle, a future that now seemed meaningless.

He looked at Helena's lifeless body, the reality of her death settling heavily on his shoulders. He had wanted to be free of the burdens of his past, to create a new life, but now he realised the cost. Helena's death was a consequence of his neglect, a stark reminder of the humanity he had lost in his pursuit of selfish desires.

As he sat there, surrounded by the sterile white walls of the hospital, Sergey felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him, the gravity of his actions pulling him into a darkness from which he might never escape. He had lost Helena, the woman who had stood by him despite everything, and the guilt of that loss would haunt him forever.

Helena awoke to the sound of frantic voices and the harsh glow of hospital lights. She felt disoriented, as though emerging from a long, suffocating darkness. The first thing she noticed was the urgency in the room. Doctors and nurses hovered over a bed, their movements hurried and desperate. It took her a moment to realize that the body on the bed was hers.

Panic surged through her. She watched in stunned silence as the medical team worked feverishly, their faces tight with concentration. One of the nurses, a young woman with kind eyes, glanced at Helena's chart and whispered something to a doctor. Helena strained to hear.

"She's a cancer patient at St. Francis. Stage four. Her organs are failing."

The doctor nodded grimly. "We're losing her. Prepare to call it."

Helena's heart ached as she watched them battle for her life. She wanted to reach out, to tell them not to give up. But when she moved, she realised with a jolt that her hand passed through the bed rail. She looked down at herself and saw that her body was faint, almost translucent.

"No," she whispered, her voice a ghostly echo that no one could hear. "This can't be happening."

The room around her began to blur, the edges of reality fraying as her panic intensified. She felt herself growing lighter, more insubstantial. The doctors' voices became a distant hum, and the room seemed to stretch and distort. Helena stumbled back, her movements unsteady. She felt dizzy, disoriented, and an overwhelming sadness washed over her.

One of the nurses stepped back, her face pale. "Time of death, 11:47 PM."

The room fell silent, the fight over. The doctors and nurses exchanged looks of defeat before beginning the somber task of cleaning up. Helena watched, a silent witness to her own death. She couldn't comprehend it. She was dead. Truly dead. And now, as a ghost, she was condemned to watch as her life ended without fanfare or recognition.

She saw the nurse gently place her shoes and handbag into a plastic bag. The sight of those familiar items, so mundane and personal, brought a fresh wave of grief. Helena moved toward the bed, reaching out to touch her own lifeless hand, but her fingers slipped through it like mist.

The realisation hit her with crushing force. She was no longer part of the living world. People passed through her, oblivious to her presence. Her body was immaterial, a mere shadow of what it once was.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and Helena saw Harris, the security guard. He looked shaken, his usual calm demeanour replaced by a look of deep distress. He spoke to one of the doctors.

"Do you know what happened?" Harris asked, his voice trembling.

The doctor shook his head. "All we know is that she was hit by a car. Witnesses said a woman tried to save her, but it was too late."

Helena's anger flared. "No! That's not true! Gabrielle pushed me!" she screamed, but no sound came out. Her words went unheard, her voice as insubstantial as her body.

The nurse nodded sympathetically. "It was Gabrielle, the French model. She tried to pull Mrs. Morrison out of the way, but the car couldn't stop in time."

Helena's fury intensified. "Lies! She didn't try to save me! She killed me!" she shouted, but again, no one responded. They couldn't hear her. She was a ghost, trapped in this purgatory of misunderstanding and deceit.

She watched helplessly as they discussed her fate, each word twisting the knife of betrayal deeper into her heart. Gabrielle was being painted as a heroine, while Helena was left to languish in this silent, unseen torment. Her family was gone, her husband never cared for her, and now her enemy was getting everything she had ever wanted.

She stepped back, her ghostly form trembling with rage and sorrow. She retreated to a corner of the room, collapsing onto the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to find some semblance of comfort in this new, cold existence. The reality of her situation pressed down on her, a crushing weight of despair.

Helena closed her eyes, the tears she couldn't shed burning in her chest. She was dead, alone, and betrayed. The life she had fought so hard to live had been stolen from her in an instant, and now she was left to wander in this shadowy, unfeeling world.

___

Helena opened her eyes, her surroundings a blur of sterile white. She blinked, disoriented, and tried to gather her thoughts. For a moment, she believed she had simply fainted, but a strange sensation in her belly-a laugh, almost-reminded her of her ethereal state. The realization hit her anew with force: she was a ghost.

A mix of frustration and disbelief bubbled up inside her, and she let out a hollow laugh. "A fucking ghost," she muttered to herself. The absurdity of it all made her want to scream, but instead, she stayed sitting on the floor, her mind a whirlpool of anguish and confusion.

As her vision cleared, she looked around and saw she was in a large, empty room. The walls, the floor, everything was an unblemished white. There were no windows, no doors, and no apparent source of light, yet the room was bathed in a soft, diffused glow. Helena felt a deep certainty that this place was neither Paradise nor Hell. It was something else entirely.

She didn't feel like exploring. The weight of her recent experiences pressed down on her, and she preferred to remain on the floor, consumed by her turmoil. Minutes, or perhaps hours, passed in silence. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, veering from anger at Gabrielle to sorrow over her own untimely death, and finally settling into a numb resignation.

The silence was broken by a soft whooshing sound. Helena looked up and saw someone entering the room, or rather, appearing in it. The figure was tall and strikingly beautiful, with a grace that seemed otherworldly. Her eyes were a piercing grey, and her expression was calm, almost serene. She gestured with her hands, and a table and two chairs materialized out of thin air.

The woman sat down and opened a book that seemed to shimmer in the soft light. She glanced at Helena with a curious, almost puzzled expression. "I rarely have an adult with such a small balance of sins and virtues," she murmured to herself, flipping through the pages of her book. She looked up, her gaze piercing. "How old are you?"

Helena struggled to find her voice. "I'm... I was 32," she said, her words sounding hollow to her own ears. She couldn't shake the surreal feeling of the situation, and she had no idea what was going on.

The woman raised an eyebrow and continued to read. "Your life is rather... unremarkable," she said, not unkindly. "Very few notable sins, and a modest collection of virtues. Quite unusual."

Helena felt a spark of indignation. "Unremarkable? I was a person. I had a life, a job, friends..."

The woman looked at her, her grey eyes softening slightly. "I did not mean to offend. Every life has its own story, its own worth. I simply meant that your record is... clean. It makes you an anomaly in this place."

"Where am I?" Helena asked, her voice trembling. "What is this place?"

The woman closed her book and leaned back in her chair. "This is a waiting room of sorts. A place for souls who are neither ready for Heaven nor condemned to Hell. It is a space for reflection, for understanding one's life and the transition that comes next."

Helena felt a wave of despair wash over her. "So I'm just... stuck here?"

"For the moment," the woman replied. "You see, your death was... abrupt. Violent. It has left you with unresolved issues, a strong emotional tether to the world you left behind. This is why you are here."

Helena's mind raced. "I was killed," she said, her voice growing stronger. "Gabrielle pushed me. She wanted me out of the way."

The woman nodded. "I see. Such strong emotions can indeed anchor a soul, preventing it from moving on. However, there is something else..."

"What do you mean?" Helena asked, her voice tinged with both fear and curiosity.

The woman leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "There is a loophole. You were not supposed to die in this manner. Your death was meant to happen differently, naturally. This violent end has disrupted the order of things."

Helena stared at her, the words sinking in slowly. "A loophole?"

"Yes," the woman said, her tone measured. "Because of this, you have an opportunity. You can go back and try to earn your death the way it was meant to be."

Helena felt a jolt of confusion and fear. "Go back? But I... I don't know if I want to go back. It was so painful..."

The woman's expression turned to one of surprise. "You don't want to go back? Most humans would seize the chance to live again, to right the wrongs, to finish what they started."

Helena shook her head, the weight of her emotions bearing down on her. "I've lost everything. My family is gone, my husband never loved me, and Gabrielle... she's taken everything I ever wanted. Going back feels... pointless."

The woman's gaze softened. She reached out and touched Helena's cheek gently. "I see. Your pain is profound. But perhaps there is more for you to discover, more to life than what you have experienced. Sometimes, a second chance can reveal new paths, new possibilities."

Helena closed her eyes, a tearless sob shuddering through her. She felt the woman's touch, warm and comforting, and for a moment, she allowed herself to hope.

"Sleep now," the woman whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "You may not remember much, but you will have a second chance at life. Don't waste it."

As the words echoed in her mind, Helena felt herself drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep. The last thing she heard was the woman's voice, filled with a gentle resolve. "Find your path to your rightful, Helena."

And then, darkness took her.