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A major drug operation was active in Riverside City. I went undercover to gather evidence.
After a month hidden, I secured vital information.
The officer assigned to extract me was my husband's teammate, the youngest cop in Homicide.
But he sacrificed himself to cover my escape, dying in that firefight without a shot fired.
When backup arrived, they only found his body blown to pieces.
Seeing his former teammate dead and dismembered,
My husband pointed at me, enraged.
"Do you realize he was only twenty-one! Because of your reckless actions, he died saving you! Anna Miller, do you even have a heart?"
"Why couldn't it have been you!"
I lay quietly on the stretcher in the ambulance.
Tears slid from the corners of my eyes. All I could think was,
Why couldn't it have been me...
Why did I let him come? I know it's dangerous, but I still said yes.
I remembered what Ethan said before the op.
A young man in uniform, standing under a tree, eyes full of earnestness.
"Anna, please let me come! I promise I won't get in the way!"
I asked him then,
"Why are you so determined? Aren't you afraid to die?"
But the young man flashed a brilliant smile and answered without hesitation.
"Scared? Hell yes. Everyone's scared. But someone has to do it. My dad used to say, 'Don't pretend you don't see the tragedy. That's true cowardice.'"
"I don't want to be a coward. I want to avenge my dad. I want them to pay."
Later, I learned Ethan's father was an undercover narcotics officer.
He'd died on duty over a decade ago. Ethan grew up, inherited his father's badge number, and became a cop.
I remember at the station, Ethan was always tailing me and my husband.
He had no family, so on holidays, I'd invite him over for meals.
Ethan loved my homemade pasta.
He said it tasted like home. So, the day Ethan was buried,
I made pasta and took it to the cemetery.
The whole Homicide squad was there, including my husband.
He saw the container I was holding, blocked my way coldly.
"Anna Miller, how dare you show your face here? Have you forgotten who got him killed?"
My heart ached fiercely, tears rolling down.
I held out the container timidly.
"I just... wanted to bring him something. Ethan loved my pasta."
"Please, just let me go in..."
Instead, my husband flew into a rage.
He grabbed my wrist tightly.
His eyes filled with disgust. "Playing the good Samaritan now? Too late! You killed Ethan. Get out of his life if you have any shame."
"Don't you dirty his path to the afterlife!"
I fell to the ground, clutching my stomach in excruciating pain.
"Honey, my stomach hurts so bad, please take me to the hospital... I can't get a cab here."
I grabbed my husband's sleeve, begging him.
He shook me off without hesitation.
"Telling lies to make me forgive you? You think I'll fall for that? Anna Miller, if you want to die, do it somewhere else. Stay out of my sight forever!"
Colleagues nearby tried to help me up.
My husband barked, "No one helps her! Let's see how long she keeps up the act!"
Though they wanted to help, it was a domestic matter—and my husband had given an order.
With my husband's order, they backed off.
Soon, everyone left. I was abandoned in the cemetery.
With no signal, I dragged myself for miles in agony.
Finally, I called my best friend.
She rushed over that night, got me into an ambulance.
She held my hand, voice choked.
"Did Michael leave you there? What kind of man is he?!"
I was pale, trembling—but worse than the physical pain was the heartbreak of his betrayal.
