5

When Gabriel heard his father say the same thing, his expression hardened, the irritation in his eyes slowly giving way to unease.

Victor's voice was loud enough for Jasmine to pick up on the tension. She stepped closer, concern filling her eyes.

"Could it be true? Did something really happen to Emily? Maybe we should go to the hospital, just to be sure."

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

"Dad, this is absurd. There's no way Emily..."

Victor cut him off, his patience completely gone.

"Get to the hospital. Now!"

The call ended with a sharp click, leaving Gabriel stunned.

Jasmine, ever the supportive figure, gently placed a hand on his arm.

"We should just go, Gabriel. I'm sure she's not... dead. Maybe she's hurt, but nothing more than that. Your parents love her, and they're probably exaggerating to get you to go."

Her words seemed to calm him down a little. His jaw unclenched as he nodded.

"You're right. I don't know what spell Emily cast on my parents, but they're definitely playing into her hands."

He shook his head dismissively. "She just fell down some stairs. At worst, she broke a bone or two. There's no way she's dead."

I followed them, feeling the bitter irony twist inside me.

Jasmine had fallen from just a few steps, of course, she wasn't dead.

But me? I'd plummeted down ten. My head had smashed against the cold, unforgiving stairs as I tumbled, my body breaking with every impact.

And when Gabriel finally arrived, all he saw was Jasmine—lying unconscious, as if she were the only one who mattered.

He didn't even glance at me, my body broken and bleeding out.

I had held on, hoping, praying that I'd be saved.

But as I lay there, my blood pooling beneath me, my hope slowly drained away—just like my life.

I died in agony, clinging to the last shred of life.

And yet here Gabriel was, convinced it was all part of some elaborate lie.

I floated alongside Gabriel and Jasmine as they returned to the hospital.

Victor stood at the entrance, waiting. The second Gabriel stepped out of the car, Victor stormed over and slapped him across the face, the crack echoing in the air.

"You absolute fool! Have you lost your mind?!"

He turned his anger on Jasmine next, his eyes blazing.

"What have you done to him? Did you brainwash him?"

Jasmine immediately teared up, her voice quivering as she spoke.

"Mr. Crowe, you've known me for years. I would never do something like that..."

She sniffed, blinking back more tears. "Did Emily tell you something? Is that why you're so upset?"

Gabriel, seeing Jasmine's distress, immediately jumped to her defense.

"Dad, you've got it all wrong! Emily's the one playing mind games here. Why are you attacking Jasmine? She ended up in the hospital after Emily pushed her down the stairs! If anyone should be getting blamed here, it's Emily!"

Victor, shaking his head in disbelief, grabbed Gabriel by the ear and dragged him toward the elevator, ignoring the curious stares from passersby.

Gabriel groaned, his voice thick with annoyance.

"What is this? Fine, if it'll shut everyone up, I won't bother Emily about Jasmine anymore. But all of this? It's ridiculous."

Victor remained silent, his face pale with rage as they descended in the elevator.

Gabriel's muttered complaints filled the small space until they finally reached the door at the end of the hallway.

Victor stopped, his voice rough with emotion. "Go say your last goodbye to Emily. You owe her that much."

He shoved Gabriel forward, nearly knocking him off balance.

Gabriel straightened himself, confused, until he saw the sign above the door: Morgue.

For a second, everything froze. His face twisted, confusion giving way to something darker, something he wasn't ready to face.

6

The silence in the hallway was suffocating. And then Gabriel laughed, a hollow, humorless sound.

"How much did Emily pay you all to pull off this circus act? What's next, a fake funeral? This is disgusting!"

Victor's hand collided with Gabriel's face again, harder this time.

"Shut up and look, you idiot. See who's lying in there."

Gabriel recoiled, clearly reluctant to enter.

But Victor wasn't giving him a choice.

He pushed Gabriel inside, the cold air of the morgue sending a shiver through him.

Each step Gabriel took toward the table felt heavier, slower.

My father stood beside the table, his face a mask of grief.

Without a word, he lifted the sheet, revealing my lifeless, pale face.

Gabriel froze, the color draining from his own face.

He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, but his mind refused to accept what he was seeing.

Two minutes passed in agonizing silence.

Then Gabriel, voice trembling with forced laughter, said, "Emily... okay, I get it. You win. This makeup... it's really realistic. You've scared the hell out of me."

He kept laughing, though it sounded more like a plea than anything else. "Alright, enough. This is ridiculous. Stop it now. I won't hold it against you. Just... stop."

He reached out, as if to shake me awake, but my father moved faster.

He shoved Gabriel back, his voice cracking with rage.

"Don't you dare touch her! You don't deserve to! You killed her!"

Gabriel stumbled, his face a mixture of shock and confusion.

He scrambled back toward the table, grabbing my hand, desperate for any proof that this wasn't real.

"No, this can't be Emily. It's not her. Emily has a scar on her arm, she—"

His voice broke as he turned my hand over, eyes locking on the scar.

The scar he knew so well.

It was from that day, when Gabriel had been attacked at the hospital, and I had stepped in front of him, taking the blow for him.

That scar was a constant reminder of how much I had loved him.

He used to kiss it, promising me, "Emily, you wouldn't have been hurt if it weren't for me. I swear I'll never let you down. I'll always protect you."

But all those promises... they'd become nothing more than distant echoes.

Gabriel had forgotten the love he once had for me.

Otherwise, how could he have left me there, all alone, to die like that?

His eyes filled with tears as he stared at the scar, his voice breaking.

"No... this can't be happening. Emily, you're not dead. You're just messing with me, right?"

My father, unable to contain his fury any longer, lunged at Gabriel, punching him to the ground.

"You murderer! You let her die! It's your fault!"

Gabriel lay there, stunned, his gaze fixed on my body.

His lips trembled as he whispered, "It wasn't me... it wasn't my fault. She fell... she did this to herself..."

The morgue attendant, having witnessed the entire scene, finally stepped forward.

"Dr. Crowe," he said quietly, "by the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. If you had stayed with her and stopped the bleeding, or taken her to the hospital yourself, she might've survived."

He sighed, his tone heavy. "She bled out from a ruptured uterus. She missed the critical window for treatment. If she'd gotten help sooner... or if she'd had the will to fight..."

The attendant glanced at me with a sad shake of his head, as if to say, "She was too young. Such a shame."

Victor's face twisted with realization.

He turned slowly toward Jasmine, his voice low and deadly.

"So... they're telling me Gabriel was too busy saving you to care that Emily was dying?"

Jasmine, as expected, began to cry.

But before she could say anything, Gabriel threw himself between her and Victor.

"Dad! Leave Jasmine out of this! She had nothing to do with it!"

7

I never imagined that even now, even after everything, Gabriel would still defend Jasmine.

Victor hadn't expected it either.

His face twisted in fury as he raised his hand to slap Gabriel again, but this time, Jasmine stepped between them.

"Mr. Crowe," Jasmine said softly, her voice trembling, "this is all my fault. Please don't blame Gabriel... It's because I upset Emily. We had a misunderstanding, and things got out of hand."

She was playing the victim so convincingly, tears brimming in her eyes. And Gabriel, like clockwork, fell for it.

His arms wrapped tightly around her as he said, "If you and Mom hadn't opposed it back then, I would've been with Jasmine a long time ago! Now, I'm just helping her out as a friend. It's Emily who keeps picking fights, always jealous, always going after Jasmine!"

Victor's neck tightened as his voice rose with emotion.

"You're not my son! You're nothing but a disgrace!"

Victor was flushed with anger, his chest heaving as if he might collapse right there.

Gabriel's mother, Lydia Crowe, rushed over with a doctor in tow, helping to support Victor before he fell.

She looked over at Gabriel, still clutching Jasmine, her own face a mask of disappointment and grief.

"Why can't you see Jasmine for who she really is?" Lydia's voice cracked as she spoke, her anguish clear.

"When we found out you were dating her, we followed her, Gabriel. We followed her because we didn't trust her."

Lydia, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, finally revealed the truth Gabriel had never been told.

"The reason we opposed your relationship so strongly back then wasn't because of some misunderstanding. We saw her. With our own eyes, Gabriel. We saw her with other men—going to bars with those thugs."

Lydia's voice trembled, her grief now mingled with years of bitterness.

"She was stringing along three different men at the same time, playing innocent in front of you. She took the money you gave her and spent it on dates with them!

We didn't want to break your heart, so we offered her money and told her to leave you. She told you it was us who forced her out of your life, and you believed her. You resented us for years... and we let you."

Lydia wiped away her tears, her voice thick with the weight of everything she had kept hidden.

Watching Lydia's face crumple with emotion, I felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Even though Gabriel had grown colder and more distant toward me, his parents—Victor and Lydia—had always treated me like a daughter. They had loved me, in ways Gabriel never could.

Gabriel, standing there with his mother's tearful confession hanging in the air, looked stunned.

Slowly, he released Jasmine from his grip, his eyes darting between her and his parents.

"Jasmine," he said, his voice uncertain, "is what my mother said true?"

Jasmine's expression faltered, panic flashing across her face. She took a step back, her eyes narrowing as she turned to Lydia.

"Mrs. Crowe... I know you've always preferred Emily, but that doesn't give you the right to make things up about me."

Victor scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Make things up? I took photos of you with those men, Jasmine. The only reason I didn't tell Gabriel then was out of respect for your family. But you crossed a line when you destroyed his relationship with Emily."

Victor's confidence made his words even more damning. He was no longer just angry, for he had facts and proof.

His fury simmered as he turned back to Gabriel.

"I told Emily everything, you know. She wasn't jealous of Jasmine. She was trying to protect you. She loved you, Gabriel, and she didn't want you to be hurt."

Gabriel's face went pale as his father's words slowly sank in, disbelief clouding his eyes. I let out a quiet sigh.

I had known all of this for a long time.

And that was why I kept trying to keep them apart.

I didn’t want Gabriel to be fooled again, and I certainly didn’t want Jasmine to hurt Victor and Lydia any more than she already had.

But in the end, all I could do was stand by and watch as this family unraveled.

Gabriel, struggling to take it all in, stumbled back, his legs giving way as he sank to the floor.

"No... that can't be right. But... but even if that's true, Emily shouldn't have tried to kill Jasmine, shouldn't have pushed her down those stairs..."

His voice trailed off, weak and trembling as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind of revelations.

At that moment, my father stepped forward, a grim expression on his face. He tossed a phone down in front of Gabriel.

"Listen to this, Gabriel. Find out for yourself who pushed who down the stairs."

8

I had already been framed by Jasmine once before, so I knew this meeting would be different.

I wasn't going to let her twist the truth again. That was why, before our confrontation, I had hidden a miniature camera in my watch. I wanted to capture everything.

After my death, my father had been relentless, searching for any clues about what had happened in my final moments.

He found the camera in my belongings and had the footage extracted by professionals.

It revealed everything.

Gabriel's hands shook as he pressed play on the recording.

The angle was off, but it was clear: Jasmine was standing right across from me, and her voice came through first, dripping with faux innocence.

"Emily, there's nothing going on between me and Gabriel. He's the one who keeps reaching out to me. I've done nothing wrong. The real issue is between you and Gabriel. Don't take it out on me."

I had laughed bitterly in response, knowing exactly what Jasmine was trying to do.

But before I could say anything, Jasmine's voice rose in a sudden scream.

"Emily! Why are you hitting me?!"

The camera clearly showed Jasmine raising her own hand and slapping herself across the face with a hard, resounding smack.

She began to cry.

"That hurt! Emily, why would you kick me?!"

I knew she'd try something like this. I'd seen it coming.

My voice, cold and detached, echoed in the footage.

"Not every sobbing story is going to work, Jasmine."

Jasmine's eyes narrowed, her fake tears drying up as she scowled.

"Is that so? What about this one?"

She glanced up at the clock on the wall, calculating something.

Then, a wicked smile crept across her lips as she slowly began backing toward the staircase.

I had known, then, what she was planning. She wanted to make it look like I'd pushed her.

But the stairs were steep—falling from them wasn't a joke.

I didn't think she'd actually go through with it. But she did. She tumbled backward, but as she fell, she reached out, grabbing me, and pulling me down with her.

The camera shook violently as the footage showed me crashing down the stairs, my screams of pain filling the air as my body collided with the steps.

Jasmine, having carefully timed her own fall, only dropped down a few steps, landing much more softly. Then, she looked up and saw me sprawled at the bottom of the staircase.

She took one final, calculated misstep, and let herself collapse beside me.

There were two distinct sounds of bodies hitting the ground.

The first thud was heavy—that was me.

The second was softer—that was Jasmine.

By the time Gabriel arrived, all he saw was Jasmine lying there, pretending to be unconscious.

The sound of frantic footsteps followed. And then, Gabriel's cold voice pierced through the noise.

"Can't you have a shred of decency? Jasmine's unconscious because of you! I'll deal with you later for what you did to her."

The recording ended with the quiet hum of the camera, documenting the last ten minutes of my life—my final, lonely moments.

As the video finished, the room fell into a suffocating silence. No one moved. No one spoke.

Finally, my father broke the stillness, tears streaming down his face as he held up a blood-stained ultrasound report, shoving it toward Gabriel.

"She was pregnant, Gabriel. My daughter was carrying your child when she died. You didn't just kill her. You killed your baby too."

Gabriel's hands shook as he took the report, staring at the image of the tiny life that had been growing inside me.

His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Emily... she was pregnant? Why didn't she tell me?"

"She tried to," my father growled through his tears, his voice filled with hatred. "But you didn't care. You didn't want to listen. All you ever cared about was that bitch, Jasmine!"

Gabriel's eyes widened in horror as he remembered that moment—when I had reached into my pocket, desperate for something.

He had ignored me, too focused on Jasmine to notice.

Suddenly, Gabriel snapped. He lunged at Jasmine, his hands wrapping around her throat.

His voice was manic, trembling with rage. "Emily begged me to save her! She begged me!"

His face was red with fury as he slammed her against the wall, his grip tightening.

"But I didn't... I left her there to die... for you. For you, you murderer!"

It was Victor who finally called the police, and they arrived just in time to pull Gabriel off of Jasmine.

9

The truth about how Jasmine deliberately caused my death was finally exposed.

My father sued her, and Gabriel was there at the trial when Jasmine was sentenced to thirty years in prison.

After the trial ended, Gabriel returned to our home.

He hadn't been back since our last argument, more than two months ago.

Seeing him now, his face lost and distant, I couldn't quite place how I felt. There was no satisfaction, no anger—just a hollow sadness watching him unravel in the space we used to share.

Gabriel tore through the house like a man possessed, throwing open drawers, and yanking things from closets, until everything I owned was scattered across the floor.

Among the chaos, he found one of my old shirts and crumpled to the ground, clutching it tightly to his chest.

"Emily..." His voice was broken, barely more than a whisper. "You were always so patient with me, always so forgiving..."

He rocked back and forth, his fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. "Just one more time, please... Forgive me again. Come back. Come back and let me make it right."

Gabriel's words turned into a rambling monologue as he knelt there, lost in his own grief.

But then, something caught his eye.

He crawled forward, reaching under the bookshelf, and pulled out a familiar notebook—our relationship journal.

It was the one I had lovingly kept, documenting every date, every movie we'd seen, every small moment we shared.

As he flipped through the pages, he found that the entries became fewer and less detailed.

Gabriel had stopped making time for me, and the only words left in the journal were mine—lonely thoughts, scattered through the pages.

"Today, I went to the hospital by myself again. Four IV bags. My hand is so swollen. It hurts so much."

"But I won't bother Gabriel with this. I don't want to distract him. When he gets his promotion this month, I'll buy him a new watch to celebrate. He'll love it."

"Mrs. Crowe was hospitalized today for gallbladder surgery. Watching her in pain made my heart ache. I hope everything goes well tomorrow."

"I stayed up all night at Mrs. Crowe's bedside. She stroked my hair and said, 'Even Gabriel wouldn't help me with this. If only you were my daughter.'"

"I'm pregnant. Gabriel and I are going to have a baby. Should I tell him? Would he be happy?"

"Mr. Crowe told me stories about Gabriel and Jasmine today. He cried, and it made me feel awful. I'll do my best not to upset them..."

At first, Gabriel flipped through the pages calmly, but when he reached these entries—these personal, quiet notes—he broke. Completely.

He collapsed into the pile of my clothes, his forehead pressing into the fabric as he sobbed, banging his head against the floor.

"Emily, come back! I don't care about anything else, just come back. Please, I don't care if you don't forgive me—just come back so I can hold you!"

His voice was hoarse, cracking with every word. "Emily, I know you can hear me... You loved me. I know you can hear me..."

Even though I knew there was nothing left between us, watching him fall apart like this made me want to hold him, just one last time.

But it was too late.

"Why do people only realize what they had once it's gone?"

I sat silently beside him, watching him cry until he had nothing left.

He sobbed through the night until, finally, exhaustion took over, and he collapsed into a fitful sleep, clutching my shirt in his hands.

When he woke up the next morning, I saw it—the emptiness in his eyes.

There was nothing left inside him.

10

Gabriel became a shadow of his former self. He wandered through the house like a ghost, existing but never really living.

He spent his days cleaning—obsessively.

He folded my clothes over and over, carefully placing them back into the closet, only to stand in front of them for hours, staring.

When he wasn't doing that, he was flipping through the relationship journal, laughing softly to himself at times, and then breaking down in tears at other moments.

At night, he clung to the journal and one of my old shirts, refusing to sleep without them.

They became his only comfort.

And then there were the chores—Gabriel, who had rarely lifted a finger before, now scrubbed the house spotless.

He polished the floors until they gleamed, took care of my plants, watered, and fed them with a precision that made it seem like they were all he had left to nurture.

Every day, he cleaned my belongings, talking to them like I was still there.

"Emily, look, I'm keeping everything nice and clean for you. I'm getting good at this, right? When we get married, I'll make sure you're the happiest woman in the world."

He stood in front of the mirror, his reflection gaunt and tired, but still, he smiled—a smile that never reached his hollow eyes.

I didn't feel triumphant. I didn't even pity him.

I just felt... empty.

Gabriel was lost, trapped in a delusion. And it wasn't going to end.

He stopped eating, surviving on instant noodles and whatever snacks he could find.

When those ran out, he turned to water, drinking just to stave off the hunger.

And yet, he still bought groceries—filling the fridge with ingredients he never used.

"Ribs... Yes, you love ribs. I'll make you the best ribs you've ever had. You'll come back and taste them, right?"

He made a mess of the kitchen, burning every dish, and then collapsing into sobs over the charred remains.

"Why do you love me? I can't even cook for you..."

But after every breakdown, he wiped his face, cleaned up the mess, and started over again.

11

It was a bright morning, the sun streaming through the windows when Gabriel turned to face where I was sitting. His voice was barely audible, filled with a quiet desperation.

"Emily, I miss you. I miss you so much..."

Then, without hesitation, he walked to the window and jumped.

Twelve stories. He died instantly.

When the police arrived, all they found was his mangled body, twisted on the ground, unrecognizable.

For my father, there was some small comfort in knowing that Gabriel was finally gone, finally paying for his part in my death.

But for Victor and Lydia, it was another crushing blow. They had already lost me, and now they had lost their son too.

I watched them in the morgue, sobbing over Gabriel's lifeless body, their grief raw and unbearable. There was nothing I could do—no way to comfort them.

All I could do was bow my head in silence and think,

"In the next life, I'll be a better daughter and take care of you."

The End