I Had A Funeral For My Prented-Dead Husband

"I've given up on finding Dante," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Not searching anymore?" My sister asked, her voice hesitant but sharp.

I turned to the stairs, my eyes locking on Dante, holding Ariya in his arms, his lips pressed against hers in a kiss

"I can't find him," I choked out.

"Not anymore."

My sister stood frozen for a moment, before pushing a glass of wine into my hands. "Selina, it's been a month. He's gone. The chances. they're gone. You need to let go."

I stared at the wine, my hands trembling as I lifted it to my lips.

I drank it in one gulp, the burn searing through me like a wave of fire. It didn't stop the tears from falling.

"Is it really possible for someone to fake their disappearance just to trick their wife?"

"What kind of sick mind would do that? Anyone who pulls that kind of stunt is a monster. Better off dead!"

"You're right," I said softly, "Better off dead."

The house, once filled with Dante's warmth, now felt like a tomb.

Every time I came home, I turned on every light, brewed his favorite coffee, and placed it on the table, hoping, wishing, for him to walk through the door. But he didn't.

I picked up the wedding photo from the coffee table. Dante and I, smiling, happy. How long ago did that feel? His voice echoed in my mind, playful, yet tender: "If I'm ever gone, just look at this picture. I'll always be with you."

But now, all I could hear was the heavy weight of that final phone call. Dante's best friend, his voice breaking: "Selina. Dante's gone. He's never coming back."

I couldn't breathe. My phone slipped from my hand, falling to the floor as I crumpled. My only thought, frantic and desperate: I need to find him.

I sold everything. I didn't care. I hired a search team, poured every ounce of money into finding him-no matter the cost.

And then, I sent the message:

Dante passed away a month ago. The funeral is in three days.

Almost instantly, my phone lit up with messages.

"Selina, you can't just do this. Wait. There's still hope."

"How can you have a funeral so soon?"

"Dante's our brother. He can't be gone."

"He's dead. What's there to think about?"

I tossed my phone aside, the screen cracking against the table.

I stood up, my eyes scanning the house-his things, his life-scattered and empty. I began gathering his belongings, everything that was left.

But then I froze.

His clothes were there, but the rest-his razor, his toiletries, his sports bottle-were all gone.

The last thing I had of him. gone.

I laughed, but it was bitter, hollow.

I had spent the last month chasing shadows, searching for a man who had already slipped away.

But then it hit me-he wasn't lost. He was never missing.

He had returned.

Over the last month, while I searched frantically,