Chapter 1
After I fell down the stairs, Ethan Cole finally put aside his work to take care of me.
But just as we were nearing the hospital, a "client" called, and he went back.
When I dragged my fractured leg downstairs to pay the bill, I saw a photo his childhood friend Madeline Linwood had posted. It showed him kneeling, applying medicine to her knee.
The caption read, [Someone just scraped her knee from walking. Ethan laughed at me so much.]
That was when I knew there was no client.
Our mutual friends didn't dare to comment.
Only I left a like and a comment. [Well, you two make a great match, so just get together already.]
*****
Ethan was a workaholic.
When he said a client needed him, I totally understood.
I even told him to prioritize work, to go back quickly, and not to worry about me.
When I dragged my fractured leg downstairs to pay the bill, I saw a photo his childhood friend Madeline Linwood had posted. It showed him kneeling, applying medicine to her knee.
My throat tightened instantly.
I had a huge fight with him. He was impatient.
Ethan said, "If you get so angry all the time, how could I have told you directly? Would you have been able to rest and recover peacefully?"
After that, no matter how many messages I sent, he didn't reply with a single word.
That night, I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia and woke up multiple times during the surgery due to the pain.
When I came out of the operating room, no one was there to help me. A kind nurse helped me downstairs.
Ethan still hadn't replied to my messages.
Dragging my heavy, useless leg, I had to handle work and run around paying bills and picking up medicine myself.
The nurse felt sorry for me and helped me with the errands that required moving around.
On the day I was discharged, Ethan texted me first. [I'm coming to get you.]
I knew he wanted to sweep this whole thing under the rug.
This was always how things played out between us.
He hated arguing. Every time I fought with him about Madeline, he'd give me the cold shoulder for a while.
Then, when he decided it was time to move on, he'd reach out.
By then, my anger would be worn down to nothing. He always had control.
This silent treatment could last anywhere from three days to half a month.
In the past, I would have been overjoyed that he was finally making time for me.
But now, I didn't feel a thing.
These past few days of managing completely alone had cooled me down a lot.
I just replied flatly. [No need. I've already finished the discharge paperwork.]
He replied immediately. [Then I'll pick you up.]
[No, I'll take a cab.]
[I'm already on my way. Wait for me, I'll be there in half an hour.]
Half an hour passed. No sign of Ethan's car.
It was already dark, past 9:30 PM. He hadn't sent a single message.
I didn't ask him where he was.
After waiting another ten minutes with no show, I opened a ride-sharing app and booked a cab.
It was 10:30 PM by the time I got home.
The driver saw me struggling with my crutches and kindly got out to help me up to my fifth-floor apartment.
The hallway light was broken, and there were no cameras, so I video-called my best friend for safety.
The driver didn't mind my cautious move. He just helped me to my door and left.
Still no message from Ethan.
I didn't confront him. I went inside, sent the driver a tip via the app, tidied up a bit, and sank onto the sofa.
A notification popped up. Madeline had posted again.
A photo of that familiar figure tending to another one of her 'injuries'.
The caption read, [I fell again right after Ethan left. How clumsy can I be, lol? It was so funny how he scolded me while bandaging me up.]