My husband's hands are red and screaming when he storms into our apartment. His knuckles are bleeding, and I don't know what I can do to help him. If I could speak, I'd ask him what's wrong. Instead, I go to him and take his hands in mine.

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My boyfriend told me to wait outside of his apartment before slamming the door in my face. I wish he would tell me what's going on, tell me why he's so worried, tell me why he wants me to stay behind while he goes in to, "face someone he hasn't spoken to in a long time."

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"Why are you here now of all times?" he asks, his hands shaking in mine. He doesn't believe me the lie I concoct on the spot, which seems appropriate. We have been married a long while, so he should be able to tell when I'm not being honest.

"Seriously, Maria, why are you here?"

"Why don't you believe me?"

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Shouts start to reach me, muffled by the walls separating us. I wipe my sweaty hands on my slacks before I slide down the wall I was previously leaning on, collapsing into the itchy carpet of the dusty corridor.

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His hands turn to ice as he falls to the ground. When I reach for them, he pulls away, scrambling away from me as fast as he can with a bad knee. I've always enjoyed his look of fear that decorates his face so well. If only I could see it more often, see how terrified he is of me.

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Everything goes quiet. I try to ignore the way my heart races, thudding against my ribs so hard that I can feel them cracking. I have to see if he's okay. I can't leave him inside with whomever is in there.

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I back him up against the front door, crouching in front of him like I'm ready to attack. If only I had something to cut a grimace on to his face with. Then everything would be okay. Then everything would feel complete.

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I stagger onto my feet, reaching out for the door handle. When I push it open, my boyfriend falls forward, backing up on his hands to the opposite wall. When I look around, no one is there except for him and me.

"Jake, are you okay?"

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I rise to my feet in front of the man I've seen, but never met before. I bear my teeth and lunge, only to pass through him.

.

"Maria!" my boyfriend shouts, looking past me. "Please behave! I've wanted you to meet Marcus for a while now."

"Why?" a ghostly wail cries out as a woman twenty years younger than my boyfriend and me erupts out of my chest, flying towards my love.

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"Why should I meet his person you brought into my domain?" I cry, falling to my knees in front of him. He doesn't reach out for me, but reaches out for the man behind me. He helps my husband up and pulls him into a loving embrace.

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The woman fades out before my boyfriend finishes telling her, "This is the man who helped me move on from you. I want to marry him, and as much as I want you out of my life, I still would like your blessing."

Even my boyfriend, a man who apparently lived with a ghost for roughly twenty years, didn't expect the flying knife to stab through his hand and into my heart.

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After the man who stole my husband from me falls to the ground, dead, I pull the knife out of my husband's hand. "Now you have my blessing," I tell him as he falls to his knees, sobbing over the lifeless body of his lover.

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When I look down at my boyfriend and my body, I can feel myself moving onto a better place. The only thing that crosses my mind when I look down at what she did is, "Rot in Hell, bitch. My fiance didn't deserve this."