Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband

My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.

I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn't a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover.

She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered.

"Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy."

She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief.

When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."

He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party.

But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void.

Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*.

Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get.

He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end.

Chapter 1

Ava POV

My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.

The rain slashed against my face like shards of ice, blurring the neon sign of the Emergency Room. Jeremy was heavy, a dead weight against my chest, his small legs dangling limp. His lips were the color of a bruised plum.

"Just breathe, baby. Just breathe for Mommy."

I tried to check my phone again, hoping for a miracle, but the screen remained a stubborn, black mirror. Dead battery. Just like my luck. Just like my hope.

I stumbled toward the sliding glass doors, my lungs burning as if I had swallowed fire. I knew this hospital. I knew who worked here. Benedict had mentioned it once, casually, while he was putting on his tie in the morning, telling me about his new fiancée, Yvonne. She was a nurse here.

The irony tasted like bile in my throat.

I burst through the entrance, dripping wet, looking like a madwoman.

"Help!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "Please, someone help my son!"

People turned. Heads shook. But the person who stepped forward wasn't a doctor. It was her. Yvonne.

She stood there in her crisp blue scrubs, looking impeccable despite the chaos of the ER. Beside her was her brother, Francis, who looked more like a club bouncer than a human being in a place of healing.

"Yvonne!" I rushed toward her, nearly tripping over my own feet. "Please. It's Jeremy. A snake bit him. He's not breathing right."

Yvonne looked at me. She did not look at the dying boy in my arms. She looked at my wet hair, my cheap coat, my desperate eyes. A slow, cold sneer spread across her face.

"Well, look who decided to show up," she said, her voice low and venomous.

"Please," I begged, shifting Jeremy's weight. "He feels cold. You have to get a doctor. You have to tell Benedict."

"Don't you dare say his name," she hissed.

She took a step back, as if I were contagious. Francis stepped in front of her, crossing his massive arms.

"The ER is full," Francis grunted. "Go to the county hospital."

"That's twenty minutes away!" I screamed. "He doesn't have twenty minutes!"

Yvonne inspected her fingernails.

"You should have thought about that before you decided to play the victim card tonight," she said. "Benedict is busy. We have a party to get to later. Do not ruin my night with your drama."

"This isn't drama! This is his son!"

Yvonne laughed. It was a dry, sharp sound.

"So you say. Everyone knows you're just a gold-digger who trapped him. That boy is probably some bastard you're trying to pin on the Sinclair family."

She linked her arm through Francis's, turning her back on me.

"Get her out of here, Francis. She's disturbing the patients."

Francis shoved me. Hard.

I stumbled back, my shoes slipping on the wet floor. I fell to my knees, but I did not let go of Jeremy. I took the impact on my elbows, a jolt of pain shooting up my arms, but I kept his head from hitting the tile.

A nurse walking by stopped, her eyes wide with shock.

"Yvonne?" The nurse started. "Should we-"

"Mind your business, Sarah," Yvonne snapped. "She's just a junkie looking for drugs."

I crawled toward the corner, huddled against the wall. The world seemed to be narrowing down to a pinhole. I looked down at Jeremy.

His chest was not moving.

"No. No, no, no."

I remembered Benedict handing Yvonne a ruby pendant weeks ago. He had told her it was a family heirloom. He had promised her the world. He had told me nothing. He had hidden me away like a dirty secret because his mother was strict, because he was weak, because he loved the idea of Yvonne more than the reality of us.

Yvonne walked back over, looming over me.

"Get out," she said. "Don't make me call security. Take your little bastard and leave."

I looked at her, really looked at her, and I realized she did not hate me because of a misunderstanding. She hated me because I existed.

I looked back at Jeremy. A line of white foam was trickling from the corner of his mouth. His body gave one violent, terrible jerk, and then went still.

It was a silence louder than the storm outside.

I pulled him closer, rocking back and forth on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into his wet hair. "I am so sorry Mommy couldn't save you."

Ava POV

The pain stopped.

That was the first thing I noticed.

The burning in my lungs, the bruising on my knees, the crushing weight in my chest-it all just vanished.

I was floating.

I looked down and saw a woman huddled in the corner of the emergency room, clutching a small, limp body. Her hair was matted with rain, her shoulders shaking violently. It took me a disorienting moment to realize that woman was me.

And the boy... Jeremy.

He looked so peaceful now. The terrifying purple hue was fading from his lips, replaced by a pale, waxen stillness. I felt a strange sensation wash over me, like a heavy, waterlogged coat slipping off my shoulders. It was over. The fear was gone. The desperation was gone.

I watched as the woman-my empty vessel-slumped over, unconscious or worse.

Then, the double doors swung open.

Benedict walked in.

He was wearing his pristine white coat, looking exhausted but undeniably handsome. He rubbed his temples, that familiar gesture he always used when he had a headache.

"Doctor Sinclair, we need you in Bay 4," a nurse called out urgently.

He nodded-professional, detached. He strode right past the corner where my body lay curled around our son. He walked right past us.

"Benedict!" I screamed, but no sound tore from my throat. I was smoke. I was air.

He paused, frowning slightly, looking around as if he had heard a whisper caught in the draft. But then he shook his head and kept walking.

He approached a gurney where a nurse was frantically checking vitals.

"What do we have?" he asked.

"Possible snake bite," the nurse reported, her voice tight. "Brought in D.O.A. No ID on the mother yet. She collapsed right after intake."

Benedict glanced at the small form on the gurney-my Jeremy. He looked at the small, pale hand hanging off the side.

"Benedict, look at him! Look at his face! It is your son!"

He did not look at the face. He looked at the chart.

"Time of death?" he asked.

"Ten minutes ago," the nurse said softly.

He sighed. A heavy, tired sigh.

"Process the paperwork. Call the coroner. I have a heart attack patient in Bay 2."

He turned away. Just like that, he reduced our son-the boy who had his eyes, the boy he had sworn to protect-to a statistic. A paperwork problem to be filed away.

As he turned, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

I drifted closer, compelled by a force I could not control. It was the note I had written him. The one I had shoved into his mailbox earlier today when my phone died, begging him to meet us here.

Yvonne must have found it and given it to him.

He smoothed it out against his palm.

"Jeremy is sick. Please meet us at the hospital."

He scoffed. A short, dismissive sound that echoed in the silence of my soul.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."

He crumpled the note back into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash can next to the nurses' station.

I felt something snap inside me. Not a heart, because I did not have one anymore. But something deeper. The last thread that tied me to him. The last shred of hope that he was just misguided, that he was merely a victim of his mother's control.

He was not a victim. He was a monster.

I tried to fly away. I wanted to leave this wretched place, to follow Jeremy wherever he had gone.

But I could not move.

An invisible chain yanked me back. I was tethered to Benedict. I floated inches behind his shoulder as he walked down the sterile hallway.

"Hey, Ben," another doctor, Dr. Jensen, said, falling into step beside him. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea," Benedict said, his voice flat. "The patient load is insane. And Yvonne is stressing about the engagement party."

Jensen lowered his voice, glancing around conspiratorially. "Speaking of Yvonne... the nurses were saying she was acting weird at the entrance earlier. Screaming at some homeless woman?"

Benedict rolled his eyes.

"You know how sensitive she gets when she is tired. She is just protective of the hospital protocols."

He defended her. He defended the woman who had barred us from entry, leaving his son to die on the floor.

I watched him walk, and I felt nothing but a cold, hollow silence. I did not love him. I did not hate him. He was just a stranger who had killed us both.

I watched as orderlies came to take my body away. I watched them cover Jeremy's face with a white sheet.

I tried to scream one last time, but the sound died in my throat. I was stuck here. Stuck with him.

Benedict POV

The next morning, the hospital vibrated with a suppressed, grim energy.

I hovered in the corner of Benedict's office, watching him stare blankly at his computer screen. The internal incident report was open, glowing with cold, blue light.

Subject: Deceased Pediatric Patient.

Cause of Death: Anaphylactic shock secondary to venomous snake bite. Delayed treatment.

Benedict scrolled down, his movements mechanical.

Patient Name: Jeremy Fuller.

His hand paralyzed over the mouse.

Fuller.

My last name.

He blinked-once, twice-as if trying to clear a hallucination. Then, his eyes drifted to the date of birth.

July 14th.

I saw the color drain from his face, leaving him ashen. July 14th. Jeremy's birthday was next week.

A memory flickered, sharp and painful. I remembered finding a browser tab open on Benedict's laptop months ago-a search for a limited-edition Ultraman figure. He knew. Somewhere in the deep recesses of that self-absorbed brain, he had actually remembered his son's birthday.

"Jeremy," he whispered.

The name sounded foreign on his tongue, heavy with a sudden, crushing weight.

My spirit hovered near the ceiling, looking down at the man I had once loved. I felt a surge of grief, not for him, but for Jeremy. My baby had wanted that toy so badly.

A sharp knock broke the silence, and the door swung open before Benedict could answer.

Yvonne entered, carrying two steaming coffees. She looked fresh, rested, and immaculate. A perfect mask.

"Morning, darling," she chirped, her voice jarringly bright against the gloom. "I heard we lost a kid last night. So sad."

I wanted to claw her eyes out. I wanted to smash the scalding coffee cups against the wall and scream the truth into her face.

Benedict looked up at her, his eyes unfocused, swimming in shock.

"The boy..." Benedict's voice cracked. "His name was Jeremy."

Yvonne did not flinch. Her heartbeat didn't even skip a rhythm. I could sense it from where I floated; she was ice cold, a void where a soul should be.

"Oh? That is a common name."

Benedict rubbed his face aggressively, trying to wake himself up.

"Jensen said there was a woman... at the entrance."

Yvonne set the coffee down on the desk with a deliberate, calm click. She walked over and placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging the tension with practiced ease.

"Ben, you are overthinking. It was a crazy night," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That woman was unhinged. She was screaming obscenities. Francis had to step in to protect the staff."

The lies spilled from her lips as easily as breath.

Benedict leaned back into her touch. He wanted to believe her. God, he wanted to believe her. It was infinitely easier to accept the lie than to face the devastating truth staring him in the face.

"You are right," he murmured, his resistance crumbling. "I am just tired."

Suddenly, the office door burst open.

There was no knock. No polite warning.

An older man in a bespoke, tailored suit strode in, bringing a storm with him. The air in the room shifted instantly, heavy with authority and rage. It was William Sinclair, the hospital CEO. Benedict's father.

He looked furious. But beneath the fury, he looked terrified.

"Dad?" Benedict stood up, startled. "What is wrong?"

William ignored him entirely. He marched straight to the desk and slammed a piece of paper down on top of the incident report.

SLAM.

It was a missing persons flyer. My face. Jeremy's face.

"Where are they?" William demanded, his voice shaking with a volatile mix of fear and anger.

Benedict looked at the flyer, then back at his father, confusion clouding his grief.

"I... I do not understand."

"Security cameras," William barked, his eyes darting to Yvonne like a predator spotting prey. "I just watched the footage from last night. A woman matching her description came in carrying a child. And she never checked out."

Yvonne's hands stilled on Benedict's shoulders. The massage stopped.

William turned his full, withering gaze onto Yvonne. It was a look that could peel the paint off the walls.

"And the footage shows you, Yvonne. It shows you and your brother blocking the door."

I felt a sudden, sharp pull in my chest. My father-in-law-my real family, in spirit if not in blood-was here. He was angry. He was looking for us.

For the first time since I died, amidst the cold fluorescent lights and the stench of betrayal, I felt a tiny spark of warmth.