Chapter 1

After an accident, I came out completely unharmed, but my younger sister, Beatrice Nelson, was left disabled.

I took care of her day and night, yet she regarded me as her worst enemy.

My boyfriend, Richard Wilson, stood up for me. "Why is a cripple making such a big fuss out of everything?"

I forced a smile, and my lingering psychological trauma felt temporarily soothed.

Then one day, Richard came over to pick me up for class.

The moment he pushed open the door, a tennis ball came hurtling down from above and slammed straight into his face.

The trajectory was perfectly calculated, full of provocation.

He caught it with one hand, his face filled with shock and disbelief.

He looked up. Beatrice was bathed in sunlight, smiling right at him.

*****

I stood behind Beatrice Nelson, watching as Richard Wilson froze in place.

His gaze was burning. He couldn't hide the admiration in his expression. "Nice shot."

He weighed the ball in his hand, then gently lobbed it back. The ball dropped onto the floor.

Beatrice, leaning back in her wheelchair, was about to bend down to grab it.

I quickly stepped forward, picked up the ball, and put it in her lap.

She spun her wheelchair around to leave, a mocking smile playing at her lips. "I was even more accurate back when I wasn't stuck in this chair."

Her words echoed in the entryway.

I let my hands drop to my sides, used to the judgment that always seemed to sweep across my face, and stayed quiet.

The wheels of her wheelchair rolled across the floor as she moved further away.

When I glanced back, I caught the smile still lingering at the corner of Richard's eyes.

His gaze lingered on the spot where the wheelchair had disappeared around the corner. He lingered there, still caught up in his thoughts.

"Richard," I called softly.

He blinked, as if waking from a dream, and finally looked away. "Oh, right. Let's go to class."

He pushed the door open with a light touch, clearly in a great mood.

Once we'd been on the road for a bit, he cleared his throat and ventured, "Did Beatrice used to be a tennis player?"

I gripped the strap of my bag tightly. After a long pause, I nodded. "Yeah, she was."

He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the window, his eyes straight ahead. "That's a real shame."

The air in the car seemed frozen.

My back was rigid as I watched the traffic blur past outside. Finally, I managed a vague, "Yeah."

Richard didn't really care about my answer.

Just then, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. It was Dr. Atticus Rivera. [Catherine, you should bring your boyfriend along for your appointment next week. Things are different now. You can't keep him in the dark forever.]

I quietly turned off the screen and caught Richard in my peripheral vision. He looked lost in awe, like when he first confessed his love to me.

A bitter taste rose in my throat. Maybe he didn't need to be there for me anymore.

My days drifted by in a daze.

When I got home at night, the lights were already off.

I opened the drawer in my room, only to see that the medicine boxes inside had been rummaged through and left in a mess.

My eye gave a nervous twitch. I clenched my fists, then slowly relaxed my grip.

I lingered outside Beatrice's door for ages, torn about whether to knock, but in the end, I couldn't bring myself to ask her about it.

I tossed all the medicines I couldn't sort out straight into the trash.

As always, the nightmare hit me late at night.

The screech of brakes tore through my eardrums. Suddenly, I was falling, weightless. Crying, blood everywhere, and a desperate fight that never seemed to end.

"Catherine, why wasn't it you who got hurt? Beatrice's bright future is gone because of you."

"That's her, the one who caused her sister's car crash. Now her sister can barely walk."

It wasn't me. I didn't do it. The suffocating feeling jerked me out of the nightmare.

Gasping for air, I threw off the covers and staggered into the living room.

I crouched in front of the trash can, frantically digging through the pile of dirty pills I'd thrown away.

With shaking hands, I grabbed a handful and shoved them into my mouth.

My breathing got so ragged that I gave up and dropped to the floor.

I lay there until that terrifying, near-death feeling slowly faded away. Only then did I force myself up, stumbling back to my room in the dark. But I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes again.

After that day, Richard started coming over to my place even more often.

Whenever he brought me a gift, he'd always throw in one for Beatrice, like limited-edition jerseys, custom-made tennis accessories, and even autographs from famous players.

Deep down, I knew what was going on, but I didn't say a word.

I carefully put away those valuable gifts for Beatrice and kept myself busy taking care of her.

Beatrice had finished her morning class, and I was already waiting for her outside the classroom.

Today, she was heading to the tennis club to collect her belongings from before.

There weren't many people practicing, so the spacious lounge felt almost deserted.

I was taking her trophies out of the cabinet when the sound of people chatting came from the doorway.

The door swung open, and the girl in the lead was the first to arch her brow. "Well, if it isn't the National Squad's backup."

I frowned and quickened my pace.

Beatrice shot her a sideways glance.

"Seriously, you are already out of commission. What are you still acting all high and mighty for?" She said, and an explosive crash rang out as something heavy smashed into the door.

I looked up in shock.

Beatrice's arm was still outstretched from throwing the trophy, her gaze fierce and unyielding.

Shattered glass was scattered all over the floor.

A few guys, faces burning with anger, lunged at us from the back.

Beatrice didn't move an inch.

Before I could even think, I jumped in and shoved the guy coming at us.

Suddenly, I got kicked hard in the stomach and went flying across the floor.

Glass shards tore into my arm, sending a sharp pain shooting through me.

"Damn it, why are you butting in?" Amidst the shouting and swearing, Beatrice's wheelchair was violently flipped over.

She crashed to the floor, her palms bleeding bright red.

Right then, the lounge door was kicked open, slamming against the wall.

Richard stood in the doorway, his gaze cold as ice. He rushed straight to Beatrice, his steps determined and quick.

His fist whipped through the air, landing hard on their faces. "Get lost."

They bolted, scrambling to get away.

I struggled to stand up in the corner, trembling. My arm was still bleeding, blood dripping nonstop. I barely managed to cover the bleeding with my clothes.

Without hesitation, Richard bent down and lifted Beatrice straight into his arms. "Let's go to the infirmary."

The restrained tenderness in his voice only made the heaviness in my chest grow stronger.

He brushed right past me, not even glancing in my direction. His footsteps echoed down the hallway.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.