Chapter 3

The rumor spread faster than I expected.

On the third day, Jake casually mentioned to a friend that I apparently had not survived. That friend immediately posted a picture of me with the caption, [Rest easy, Natalie.]

Ethan left five comments in a row demanding answers. The friend replied, [I don't know the details. Ask someone close to her.]

Then everything exploded.

For the next two days, I stayed in bed while Jake sent me live updates on Ethan's panic.

He called every mutual friend we had. One told him my condition had suddenly worsened after the transfer. Another told him to stop asking questions and take time to grieve. No one could give him a straight answer.

On the fourth day, Sophie posted a nine-photo collage of the two of us.

[Nat, you will always be my best friend.]

Dozens of comments followed. [I'm so sorry, Sophie.] [Stay strong.] [You two were more like sisters.]

I took a screenshot and saved it in my evidence folder.

In one photo, Sophie leaned against my shoulder, smiling sweetly and flashing a peace sign. Even the jacket she wore belonged to me.

You were not always like this, Sophie. How did you change so fast?

I left the hospital on the tenth day.

My ribs still ached, but I could walk normally and think clearly. I moved into the old house my parents had left me. It sat well outside downtown, but it was clean and quiet.

The event planner Jake found came to discuss the details. His name was Greg Lewis. He had a military-short haircut and carried an enormous travel mug under one arm.

"What kind of atmosphere are you looking for, Ms. Bennett?" Greg asked, opening a notebook.

"Funeral. Rent a small memorial hall. I want a casket, wreaths, candles, a guest book, and a huge portrait. The full package."

He paused. "Whose funeral is this?"

"Mine." I set a glass of water in front of him. "I'm not dead. I just want my fiancé to experience mourning me."

His hand jerked. A few drops spilled onto his pants.

"Immersive theater," he said, dabbing at the stain with a napkin. "Got it. What exactly do you need?"

"Rig confetti cannons inside the lid. I want gold glitter, streamers, everything you have. Put a red button inside the casket. Halfway through the funeral music, switch to the happiest song you can license." I leaned forward and traced out the timing with my hands. "Most important, Ethan must believe this is a real memorial. He cannot suspect anything when he walks in. I need him to honestly believe I'm dead."

Greg filled two pages of his notebook.

"Understood. Total commitment to the mood, then a hard reveal." He closed the notebook. "I once staged a fake wedding for a woman whose boyfriend had been cheating. When he lifted the bride's veil, his ex was standing at the altar. He dropped to his knees and cried. People talked about it for months."

"That's exactly the energy I want."

Once the plan was set, Jake began sending invitations.

The event was billed as [A Celebration of Life for Natalie Bennett]. The invitation explained that while settling my affairs, my friends had found personal items they wanted loved ones to claim before the rest were donated.

It looked painfully official, printed on heavy charcoal cardstock with a subtle black border.

Both Ethan and Sophie received one.

The day Ethan opened his, Jake texted me.

[He read it and sat in his office without moving for over an hour.]

I did not reply.

That evening, I sat in my parents' old living room with two candles burning beside their photograph. I told them I was about to do something big and asked them to enjoy the show from wherever they were.