Chapter 2

I'd spent days at the hospital, and after my daughter passed, I was caught up in handling her funeral.

By the time I finally got home, my legs felt like they were made of lead. I could barely move.

It finally dawned on me: I'd barely slept ten hours in the whole week.

While washing my face, I looked at myself in the mirror.

The woman staring back had swollen, red eyes, tangled hair, and rough, tired skin. Gone was the bright, lively girl from my wedding three years ago.

I let out a bitter laugh.

For Harvey, I ignored my parents' advice and packed up everything to follow him out to some remote base.

I traded my pen for a shovel, leaving my job at the newspaper behind and working side by side with the other army wives on the farm.

My palms grew thick with calluses from all the farm work, and the harsh winds and dry air turned my skin tough and sunburnt.

Still, I wore it like a badge of honor. This was my way of serving my country, just like Harvey.

My bosses and coworkers always had my back, but he let me down.

And the one who let me down was Harvey, the person I trusted more than anyone.

At first, everything seemed fine. But last year, the unit started a one-on-one support program. Everyone got paired up with someone in need from the local community, doing whatever they could to help out.

Harvey was assigned to help a girl named Ayana Pope, whose parents had died young, leaving her to look after her older brother, who struggled with mental illness.

I really felt for her, so I even sent some of my new clothes and our ration coupons with Harvey to give to her.

Harvey was touched at first, saying he'd married a good woman, someone who truly cared about others.

But after that, for reasons I couldn't understand, Harvey's attitude toward me grew colder and colder.

No matter how much I asked, he just kept everything to himself and wouldn't say a word.

When our daughter fell ill, he'd already been gone for nearly a week.

My head was spinning, and I was about to head to my room for a nap when the door suddenly creaked open.

A blast of cold air swept in, carrying with it the familiar scent of disinfectant.

It was the smell that always clung to Harvey.

Behind him was a pretty girl with pigtail braids. She looked plain enough, but those big, sparkling eyes showed that she didn't look like she came from a struggling family at all.

She flashed me a wide, friendly smile.

It was Ayana.

I shot her a frown, didn't bother to respond, and just walked away.

Before Harvey could even get a word out, Ayana darted over and latched onto my arm.

"Aimee, will you teach me how to write? Dr. Bailey says you've got the prettiest handwriting," she chirped, all sweet and eager.

Watching her act way too familiar for someone I barely knew made my stomach turn. I didn't bother responding, just yanked my arm away and walked off to the back room.

Ayana clung to me like glue.

"Aimee, is it because I'm not educated? That's okay, I can learn! If you teach me, I promise I'll really try," she said, her voice all sweet and eager.

As she spoke, her eyes flicked over to the fountain pen sitting on the table.

I got a bad feeling and quickly tried to stop her. "Don't you dare..."

But I was a step too late. Ayana, acting like she was right at home, reached out and grabbed my fountain pen, turning it over and examining it closely.

"Give it back! That pen was a gift from my grandpa," I demanded sharply.

It was the last present my grandpa gave me before he passed away. He'd been a college professor and had used that pen for more than ten years. He told me to use it to give a voice to the people and work for their well-being. That pen meant the world to me.

"I just want to take a look. I've never seen such a pretty pen before," Ayana chirped.

As I reached for the pen, her eyes flashed. She pulled off the cap and stabbed the pen straight into the back of her own hand.

With a sickening squelch, the pen sank right into her skin.

I was so shocked by what she did that I just froze for a second. Ayana was already on the floor, wailing dramatically.

"Aimee, if you don't want to teach me, that's fine! I just wanted to look at your pen, why did you have to stab me with it? It hurts so much..." Ayana wailed, her voice all dramatic and fake.

Harvey, hearing Ayana's cries, dropped his cup and rushed in.

Seeing Ayana hurt and on the floor, his expression turned grim. He crouched down and grabbed her hand to check the injury.

The pen was jammed right into the back of her hand, blood streaming down her fingers.

"My pen!" I cried out.

Right then, all that mattered to me was that pen. It was my grandpa's last gift for me.

Adrenaline surged through me as I dashed over, snatching the pen from Ayana's hand and clutching it, my hands shaking as I checked for damage.

Just as I feared, the fine tip was bent out of shape.

And the barrel, with my grandpa's name engraved on it, was now stained with Ayana's blood.

Ayana was totally caught off guard by my move. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears from the sudden pain.

"Ah... it hurts so much!" she yelped.

"Aimee, what did I ever do to you? Why are you treating me like this..." Ayana whimpered.