Chapter 2

The doctor told me later that if I had waited any longer, I would have had a perforated ulcer.

It wasn't that she couldn't drop her work. It was just that I wasn't worth dropping it for.

I let out a dry, raspy laugh. Mocking myself.

The sound drew the nurses in. They quickly checked my monitors.

"Mr. Cole, your vitals are stable for now, but we need to keep you under close observation," one of them said. "Your arm is severely crushed. You're going to need another surgery shortly. You need to contact your family immediately for consent forms and billing."

I opened my mouth, my voice completely hoarse.

"Claire Whitmore is my wife."

The two nurses froze. The color drained from their faces as they stared at me in shock. One of them let out an awkward, nervous chuckle.

"Ms. Whitmore... probably doesn't know you were injured in the quake too. Hold on, I'll go inform her."

"Don't." I closed my eyes. "Don't call her. She won't come. Just bring me the paperwork. I'll sign it and pay the bills myself."

I wasn't ready to see her. I wasn't ready to have that conversation yet.

The nurse glanced down at my mangled arm, her tone turning cautious.

"The paperwork is fine. But your injuries are extensive. You're going to need skin grafts and reconstructive surgery. The tattoo on your arm... we won't be able to save it."

It was an initials tattoo we got when we first started dating.

I looked down at the ruined ink and smiled bitterly.

"Carve it off. I don't care. Just do the graft."

Being buried under that rubble had given me absolute clarity.

Claire and I were done. There was no future left to salvage.

Right then, my phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was Claire.

Had she finally settled Ryan in and remembered I existed?

I scoffed inwardly. My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally swiped to answer.

"Ethan, where are you?" Her voice was light. "I heard the earthquake hit downtown pretty hard. Are you okay? Why aren't you home yet?"

The words caught in my throat.

So she knew how bad the quake was.

She had literally carried my coworker out of the wreckage, yet she hadn't spared a single glance for the man she had been married to for eight years, who was bleeding out on the same floor.

"Home?" I choked out. "Which home is that, Claire?"

I heard her breath hitch. Then, she forced a breezy tone.

"What are you talking about? We only have one home. Do you think I have a secret second house or something?"

She sighed, playing the exasperated wife. "Look, I didn't come home last night, and I didn't have the candlelight steak dinner ready like I promised. I'm sorry, okay? Stop pouting."

Listening to her lie through her teeth, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I actually laughed out loud.

My chest ached like it was being eaten alive from the inside.

She used to pull this all the time. Claiming she had to work late. Standing me up on dates became her standard operating procedure.

And I had been so stupid. I believed every single word. I thought she was just working hard. I would make her soup and sit at the dining table like an idiot, waiting for her to come home.

Looking back now, how much of it was ever true?

I let out a dry laugh, mocking my own stupidity.

"Claire," I said, my voice dead. "Let's get a divorce."

Her tone shifted instantly, laced with sudden tension.

"Ethan, stop saying things like that just to pick a fight. I work overtime for us, for this family! I stood you up one time. I'll cook for you tonight to make it up to you, okay?"

Before I could even respond, she rushed on.

"I have to get back to work. We'll talk properly tonight. Bye."

The line went dead.

Even when she was trying to placate me, she couldn't hide her impatience.