Dear Arthur, Please Love Me Again

When I was being violated and murdered, my husband, Arthur Clark, was busy making dinner for his childhood sweetheart, Amanda Wills.

Before dying, I struggled to call him, but he hung up on me.

"Get lost, stop playing games! Don't tell me you're dying this time. If you must die, die far away! Don't pollute my eyes!"

That night, he was called to the Criminal Investigation Department to crack a gruesome dismemberment case.

No case lasted more than three days in his hands.

Yet, a whole week passed, and he hadn't recognized that the victim of the dismemberment was his most despised wife.