Chapter 5

Right then, the door to the examination room opened, and Claire was wheeled out.

"She has a mild concussion and a splenic laceration, but the bleeding has stopped for now," the doctor said, looking at Henry. "She'll need close monitoring over the next few days."

Henry nodded. "Move her to a private room."

Claire glanced at his grim face and asked cautiously, "Who was that on the phone?"

"Adam," Henry said, not holding back. "He was looking for Emily."

Claire's lashes fluttered with worry. "Emily still hasn't come home?"

"No."

"Could it be..." Claire hesitated.

Henry looked at her. "Could what?"

Claire paused and then spoke up like she'd finally made up her mind, "She came to see me a few days ago. She said once some paperwork was finalized, she'd leave for good."

Henry's eyes turned cold. "What paperwork?"

"She didn't say," Claire said, lowering her head. "I thought it might be divorce papers, or maybe immigration papers. She also said she wouldn't bother us anymore."

I did say that.

But Claire sent me a photo that day before that. In it, Henry was fast asleep, his head propped on her shoulder. She texted me, asking how much longer I was gonna hold onto being Henry's wife.

I replied: [Once the divorce paperwork is all finalized, I'll leave. Whatever happens between you two is none of my business anymore.]

I wasn't threatening her, and I had no intention of bothering anyone. But the way Claire repeated my words made it sound like Adam and I had planned everything from the very start.

"Henry, I'm not trying to talk bad about her," Claire said, studying his expression. "Maybe she's just mad. Emily loves you. She'd never really leave you."

Henry didn't say a word.

But I knew him too well. The quieter he got, the angrier he was inside.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, he pulled out his phone, pulled up our chat, and finally hit the call button.

The phone rang continuously with no answer.

My heart had already sunk, yet a tiny flicker of hope ignited inside me. My phone screen was shattered beyond touch control. The line was still active, but I had no way to answer. Anyway, at least he was finally reaching out to me.

The call ended automatically.

Henry tried calling again. Still no answer.

By the third call, his face was as dark as a thundercloud.

"Emily," he snapped. "You better hope I never find you."

My smile froze in an instant. He wasn't calling because he cared. He wanted to confront me.

Claire reached out and touched the back of his hand. "Don't be mad. Emily probably wants you to be the one to make the first move. She's stubborn on the surface, but she's soft inside."

Henry put his phone away. "Not this time. If she wants to leave so badly, then let her walk away for good."

With that, he personally wheeled Claire into the private room.

The nurse helped her change into a hospital gown. When the nurse adjusted the gown, I saw her right shoulder and arm had only a few scrapes and the real damage was to her abdomen.

But when I looked at my own body before I died, my left chest and abdomen were almost completely caved in.

Judging by where we were hurt, I couldn't tell what really happened before the crash. But seeing how Claire's shoulder and arms were barely hurt at all left me with a strange, lingering unease.

Suddenly, a sharp screech of brakes echoed in my mind.

I saw Claire lunge for the steering wheel, and then I remembered unbuckling my seatbelt, throwing myself toward her.

The memory lasted only a split second before it was shattered by a surge of blinding pain.

"Emily," Claire, lying in bed, suddenly whispered my name. Henry was outside on the phone and didn't hear her.

I walked up to her.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her forehead drenched in cold sweat. She looked like she was trapped in a nightmare. "I didn't hurt you. You came at me yourself."

I froze. I came at her? So she remembered it all?

Right then, the door to the room swung open. Susan walked in, holding a temporary report. "Dr. Palmer, the traffic police sent over the preliminary info on the unidentified victim."

Henry took the file. "What did you find?"

"The victim was about thirty, O negative blood type." Susan turned the page. "There are marks on the right hand from using precision tools for a long time, and the clothes are covered in cat and dog hair."

Henry's fingers froze.

Susan continued, "There's also an old scar from stitches on the webbing of her right hand. About five stitches."

The room went dead silent.

Henry stared down at the report.

Claire's face gradually drained of color.

Susan glanced at him. "Dr. Palmer, are you sure you don't know who this victim is?"