Chapter 3
It was a faint, crescent-shaped scar on the inner right wrist. The edges were slightly white from years of wear.
When I was ten, Jack took me skiing at Big Bear Lake. Trying to dodge a reckless snowmobile, I tumbled down a steep embankment. A jagged tree branch had torn into my wrist, staining the pristine snow with bright red blood.
Jack had scrambled down that slope like a madman. His hands were shaking as he pressed gauze against my wound. He carried me on his back through knee-deep snow for two hours.
“Don't be scared, Lia. I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you.”
His eyes had been red, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
And now, that very same hand—the one he once treated like his most precious treasure—lay freezing on a stainless steel slab.
Jack’s thumb lingered on the raised tissue.
His breath hitched. His pupils dilated.
The only sound in the morgue was the low, heavy hum of the exhaust fans. Jack stared unblinkingly at the broken wrist.
I hovered right beside him, my non-existent heart pounding.
He recognized it. He had to. He was remembering the snow, remembering the wound he had bandaged with his own hands.
Jack’s fingers began to tremble.
He slowly reached out, his fingertips grazing the edge of the white sheet covering the victim's face.
All he had to do was pull it back. Just one look.
He would know that the mangled, destroyed girl lying on this table was the little sister he had once sworn to protect with his life.
I held my breath, my eyes locked on his hand.
Just as his fingers gripped the fabric to pull it away—
A bright, cheerful pop song shattered the dead silence of the morgue.
It was the custom ringtone Jack had set specifically for Anna.
Jack’s hand froze in mid-air. His fingertips were less than an inch from the sheet.
Frowning slightly, he quickly pulled the phone from his pocket. Anna's name flashed on the screen, accompanied by a photo of her smiling in her ballet tutu.
"Jacky!"
The moment he answered, Anna's excited, whiny voice filled the space. "I won gold! The judges said I was the most perfect dancer tonight!"
The rigid tension in Jack’s spine instantly melted away. The suspicion in his eyes was replaced by a soft, indulgent warmth.
"I knew my Anna was the best." His voice was low, completely unguarded.
"But you're still not here," she pouted. "Everyone backstage is gone. I'm scared all by myself. Hurry up and come celebrate with me, please?"
Jack glanced at his watch. "Alright. I'm on my way."
Without a second of hesitation, he pulled his hand away from the white sheet.
He ripped off the latex gloves, tossed them into the biohazard bin, and turned on his heel.
Not a single moment of doubt. Not one look back.
He strode toward the heavy metal doors.
I floated in the air, screaming, trying to block his path.
Jack, look at me! Look back!
That's my hand! That's the scar you bandaged!
I swiped at him again and again, but I was grasping at nothing.
Clang. The heavy doors slammed shut.
Jack’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading until there was nothing left but silence.
The morgue was dead quiet once more.
I looked down at my ruined body on the table, and ghostly tears fell silently.
So close.
Just one inch away.
But for a single whine from Anna, he threw away his last chance to find the truth.
You cut the last tie between us with your own hands, Jack.