The scalpel slips. Or maybe it doesn’t. I can’t tell anymore—just the cold rush spreading through my abdomen, the alarms blaring like dying birds. "Blood pressure crashing!" someone shouts. I try to speak, but my lips won’t move. Through the surgical drape, I see him—my husband—standing beside her, my best friend since college. Not holding my hand. Not even looking at me. He’s whispering to her, forehead pressed to hers, and then… he kisses her. Not on the cheek. On the mouth. Tender. Long. Like it’s always been this way. \n\nThe nurse yells, "She’s coding!" Chaos erupts. But I’m still watching. Still seeing. And in his eyes when he finally glances at me—no fear. No grief. Just relief. \n\nThe last thing I hear before the darkness takes me is his voice: "Make sure the will is executed by morning." \n\nI’m not dead yet. And now… I know what really happened.