Chapter 3

I froze, then instinctively refused her. I said, "No, I'm taking you back home."

I reached out to help her up, but she firmly shook her head.

One hand clung tightly to my sleeve, the other still pointing toward the care facility.

"Ryan, let's go there," she said, her voice frail but resolute.

I locked my gaze on her, wishing she'd take back what she said.

Vivian tried to convince me this was the best choice for Wendy, but I gave her a hard glare.

Then I turned to Wendy, softening my voice. I said, "Come on, don't make a fuss. You're still burning up. Let's go home, okay?"

Wendy's eyes filled with tears, but she held them back, refusing to let them fall.

She let go of my sleeve, her hands moving in silent gestures only I could read. She was saying, "Ryan's tired. I know. I don't want Ryan to be tired."

It felt like my heart was being squeezed so tightly that I could barely breathe.

"I'm fine, I'm not tired," I said, reaching out to pick her up, but she pulled away.

She got it all, my exhaustion, my struggles, even those messy thoughts I tried to bury deep down.

Right then, I realized this wasn't just a rash decision. She'd really thought it over.

She was using the clumsiest but bravest way she knew to try to lift the burden she thought she was from my shoulders.

"Okay," I said, barely managing to get the word past my clenched teeth.

When I was arranging for her discharge, the doctor gave me a stern warning. He said, "Her lung infection isn't fully healed yet. You can't rush her out."

My eyes burned with tears, and I quickly turned away.

When we got home, I started packing her things, but honestly, there wasn't much to pack.

She just had a few worn-out, washed-out clothes, a ceramic doll with a broken edge, one I'd picked up for her off a street stall years ago, and a handful of photos of us together, ones she'd quietly stashed away.

The next day, after all the paperwork was done, the care facility van pulled up.

After helping her into the van, I stood there, frozen, my eyes glued to the window.

Normally, she'd be pressed up against the glass, giving me that goofy grin and waving like crazy until I was out of sight.

But this time, she didn't.

I just stood there, watching the van disappear around the corner, feeling hollow inside, like something important had gone missing.

The relief I'd been hoping for never showed up. Instead, what hit me was an even deeper emptiness and a sense of being lost, like someone just tore a piece out of my heart.

After Wendy left, it seemed like my life was finally getting back on track.

I landed a better job and threw myself into it with everything I had, quickly finding my footing at the company.

My relationship with Vivian also became more stable. She was caring and understanding, never once mentioning Wendy.

I always sent money to the care facility on time, and I would throw in a bit extra every time.

But I never set foot there.

I just couldn't bring myself to.

I was scared I'd see her struggling, but even more scared that she'd be doing just fine, and I'd realize she didn't need me anymore.

I forced myself to focus on a whole new life, pretending I could leave it all behind.

I thought I'd made it.

But on countless nights, her voice calling me would echo so clearly in my mind that I'd jolt awake, heart pounding, only to find the pillow cold and empty, my own ragged breathing the only sound in the room.

On what seemed like the perfect night, Vivian looked at me, her eyes full of anticipation, and said, "Ryan, let's get married."

This was the life I'd always dreamed of.

I should've nodded, pulled her into a hug, and said yes.

But as I met her gaze, I couldn't help it; another face flashed through my mind, no matter how hard I tried to stop it.

That face with the silly, trusting smile, the one who believed in me no matter what, who was scared out of her wits but still wanted to protect me.

"Ryan?" Vivian asked. Her voice snapped me back to reality.

I looked at her, opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

We fell into a long, heavy silence.

After that, neither of us brought up the topic of marriage again; we both knew better than to mention it.

I threw myself into work, burying myself in projects and deadlines.

Three months later, my team landed a major project.

As the project lead, I was calmly presenting our progress, keeping everything running smoothly.

Just then, my phone started buzzing nonstop in my pocket.

Instinctively, I glanced at the screen; it was a call from the care facility.

Those words stung, making my heart clench out of nowhere.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the surge of emotion.

"Sorry, I need to take this call," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

It was the care facility director, Mike White, on the line. He said, "Wendy's had an accident."

My head buzzed, as a wire had snapped inside me.

He said, "She climbed up to the rooftop to get a kite stuck on the roof for a new little girl at the care facility, but she slipped and fell."

I could barely make out the rest of what Mike was saying.

My fingers turned white from gripping the phone so hard, my knuckles creaking under the strain.

I could feel the blood draining from my face, my limbs turning icy cold.

"Got it," I said.

My voice was so calm, I sounded like a stranger to my own life.

After hanging up, I stood in the hallway, staring out at the overcast sky, rooted to the spot.

A few seconds later, I straightened my tie and pushed open the conference room door.

I walked back to my seat, my face expressionless.

I didn't say a word. I just placed my phone face down on the table.

"Let's continue," I said, my voice flat and emotionless.

The meeting went on, and none of my colleagues seemed to notice anything was wrong.

I forced myself to focus on the boring numbers and plans, shoving all my feelings into a corner of my mind.

I was perfect, just like a robot programmed to do its job.

But when my gaze lingered on a red pie chart glowing on the screen, something inside me snapped.

Out of nowhere, a fierce wave of nausea surged up from my gut, clawing at my throat.

I covered my mouth, stumbling out of the conference room with everyone staring in shock, and made a beeline for the nearest restroom.

I didn't even have time to close the stall door before I was violently retching into the cold toilet.

But my stomach was completely empty; nothing came up except for some sour stomach acid.

The dry heaves wracked my body, tearing at my insides like they were trying to rip my soul right out of me.

I fell down on the cold tile, my forehead pressed against the edge of the toilet, my whole body shaking uncontrollably.