Chapter 3

When Maisie saw me, her expression shifted slightly.

"Sylvie, you—" Maisie hesitated, her voice carrying the faintest trace of reproach. "Why were you running so fast?"

I looked at her face. Aside from a few scratches, she was completely unharmed.

"I was scared," I said calmly, as though discussing something trivial. "It was my first time seeing anything like that."

Maisie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Quinn lay on the stretcher with his eyes half closed. I couldn't tell whether he had heard our conversation.

I watched as the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance, the doors slammed shut, and the ambulance sped away. Then I lowered my head and looked at my hands.

With these hands, I had massaged him for three years in my previous life. Now I was finally free.

The ambulance drove away, but the smoke was still everywhere. Standing there, I suddenly thought back to our wedding night.

He was drunk, pinning me to the bed, calling out Maisie's name.

Back then, I thought it didn't matter. I had plenty of time, and I believed that one day, he would fall in love with me.

I waited three years, only to end up being shoved off a cliff.

Now I didn't have to wait anymore.

Both legs gone. Good. That served him right.

*****

I only went to the hospital on the third day after Quinn was rescued.

I didn't delay on purpose. Her mother called me.

She said, "What are you doing here? If you hadn't fainted from fear, Quinn wouldn't have been in this condition now."

She finished yelling and hung up immediately.

Alright, then I wouldn't go.

I stayed in the tent in the war zone, writing about this damn war and the people who had died. It was late at night when Maisie showed up.

She was still in her nurse's uniform, eyes red and swollen, looking spent and miserable.

"Sylvie," Maisie said softly at the tent entrance. "Quinn wants to see you."

I set my pen down and looked at her.

It had only been three days, and the scratch on her face had already scabbed over. I could barely notice it.

Her hair was neat, her uniform clean, and apart from her red eyes, she looked totally fine.

"How's he doing?" I asked.

Maisie's eyes welled up again. "The doctor said neither of his legs can be saved. He'll never—"

She couldn't finish and covered her mouth, breaking into tears.

I stayed still and watched her cry.

After nearly a minute, sniffling, she finally continued through sobs, "It's all my fault. If he hadn't been protecting me, this wouldn't have happened."

"Okay," I said.

Maisie looked up. Tears were still on her face, but a flicker of surprise passed through her eyes. She probably hadn't expected me to react so calmly.

"Sylvie, don't you feel sad?" she asked.

"I do," I said, standing up and grabbing my coat. "Come on, let's go see him."

'Sad? Why should I be?

Was I supposed to feel sorry that he was crippled in one leg last time, and now it was both? Or should I be sad that he killed me in my previous life, and now he finally got what he deserved?'

*****

The ward was on the third floor of the rear field hospital. Conditions were crude, and the corridors were filled with wounded soldiers.

Maisie kept nodding to people as we walked. A few nurses greeted her warmly, and she replied softly.

I followed behind her, watching her slender figure.

How did I not see it in my previous life?

Every time she came over, she'd "accidentally" leave lipstick marks on the cup. Every time she spoke to me, she would "casually" bring up her past with Quinn.

And whenever Quinn gave me the cold shoulder, she'd tell him not to treat me that way.

Back then, I thought she was so kind. Now I realized I was too stupid.

At the door to the ward, Maisie stopped and turned to look at me, looking like she wanted to say something. "Sylvie, there's something I don't know if I should say."

"Then keep it to yourself," I said.

Her words caught in her throat.

I didn't bother with her and pushed the door open.

The room was tiny with only one bed. Quinn was lying there, both legs wrapped in bandages and hoisted up by a frame at the end of the bed.

He'd lost a lot of weight. In three days, his cheekbones stood out, his eyes looked sunken, and his lips were dry and cracked.

When he heard the door open, he turned his head. The moment he saw me, his gaze instantly turned icy. "What are you doing here?"

I closed the door. "You had Maisie call me over, right?"

"I never asked her to."

"Guess she's a pretty good actress then."

Quinn frowned, probably confused or in too much pain. He looked terrible.

I sat down in the chair by the bed and looked at his legs.

Both legs were injured. That was great.

"Are you done staring?" he said coldly.

"Not yet," I replied. "I should look a little longer. I won't be seeing them anymore."

He froze for a moment, something complicated flashing in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Just thinking. When you were perfectly fine, you never looked at me. Now that you're lying here, you suddenly remember to have me called over."

Quinn's expression shifted. "Sylvie, I'm not in the mood to fight with you. If you're here to throw shade, you can go."

"Throw shade?" I looked right at him. "How am I throwing shade? I'm here to see my husband and to check on his injuries. Isn't that what a wife is supposed to do?"

"Check?" Quinn sneered. "Do you really worry about me? You're only thinking who's going to back you up later."

I looked at his face.

I'd looked at this face for three years in my previous life every day. I watched him give me the cold shoulder, frown at me, and pull away from my touch with disgust.

Back then, I thought if I tried a little harder and treated him a little better, he would eventually see me.

He never did. In the end, he killed me.

Now he's lying here with both legs gone. And I don't have to try anymore.

"Quinn," I said slowly, "You know, ever since I married you, I've had one question."

He frowned. "What is it?"

"Whether I ever mattered to you," I said.

His frown deepened, and a flicker of impatience crossed his eyes.

"Now I know," I said, standing up with a smile. "I never did."

I turned and walked out.

"Sylvie," he suddenly called out.

I stopped in my tracks, but didn't turn around.

"Why did you run that?" he asked.

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

I turned around and looked at him.

There was something in his eyes I'd never seen before. It wasn't hate or disgust, more like he was trying to confirm something.

"I was scared."

"Scared?"

"Yeah," I replied with a smirk. "It was my first time seeing something like that. It scared the hell out of me. You always said I was useless, right? Guess you were right all along."

His expression went rigid.