*My Dead Wife*

We were only married for 2 years.  

She hated loud music, loved cold soda, and always left her socks on the floor.  

I used to complain. Now I’d pay anything to step on them again.

She died on a Wednesday. Car accident.  

They said it was instant. I wish it was.  

Because the pain didn’t come instantly. It came slowly, every morning I woke up and reached for her side.

For months I kept her number saved.  

I’d text it sometimes.  

“Got us groceries.”  

“Rain today.”  

“Miss you.”  

The messages never delivered. But sending them felt like talking.

One year later, my phone buzzed at 3:17 am.  

Unknown number.  

The message said: _“Stop texting me. I’m tired.”_

My hands shook.  

I replied: “Lola? Is that you?”  

Delivered.  

Three dots. Then: _“Come to the bridge. Now.”_

I drove like crazy. Rain on the windshield.  

The same bridge where we took pictures on our anniversary.  

She was standing there. In her favorite yellow dress. Dry. Smiling.  

“I knew you’d come,” she said.  

I ran to her. Held her. She was warm. Real.  

“Why did you leave me?” I cried into her hair.  

“Because you wouldn’t let me go,” she whispered.

We sat on the edge, feet dangling. She told me she watched me.  

Every text. Every night I slept with her shirt.  

“I’m at peace now. But you’re not. You’re living in a grave with me.”

I begged her to stay. “One more day. One more hour.”  

She touched my face. “You promised me forever. You didn’t promise me never to live again.”

Then she stood up.  

Walked to the edge.  

Turned back and smiled the same way she did the day we met.  

“Don’t follow me. Live.”

And she stepped off.

I screamed. Ran. There was nothing below but water and darkness.  

No body. No dress. No Lola.  

The police said no one was there. The number was disconnected.  

The camera on the bridge was “down for repairs” that night.

Now it’s been 3 years.  

I don’t text anymore.  

I don’t set two plates.  

I live.  

But some nights at 3:17 am my phone lights up.  

No message. Just one missed call.  

From an unknown number.

And my heart breaks all over again.  

Because the cruelest part isn’t that she died.  

It’s that for one night, I thought I got her back.

And I which she was there to put her socks on the floor 

Now I understand the pain of losing someone you love.