Chapter 2

I held up my misshapen, throbbing hand. "You pushed me on purpose. Do you have any idea how important my hands are?"

Andrew's expression was cold as stone. He stepped forward, his dirt-covered shoe stomping down squarely on my injured wrist.

A white-hot agony made me scream out.

"What's so important about a quack's hands? If you even think about harming Mel again, breaking your hand will be the least of your worries!" Andrew said coldly.

A nurse who had been watching rushed over and pushed Andrew away as I cried from the pain.

"Dr. Carter, let me take you to Orthopedics," she said.

Supported by her, I walked towards the Orthopedics department without a backward glance.

The nurse and orthopedic doctor quickly provided emergency treatment and then rushed me to get an X-ray.

The whole way, the young nurse fumed. "Dr. Carter, why did Mr. Lane do that? I saw it clearly, he meant to break your wrist. Doesn't he know how important a surgeon's hands are?"

I gave a wry smile. "Oh, he knows."

He knew perfectly well. But Melissa was all that mattered to him. That shove was hard enough to break bones, and he made sure by stomping on it.

He wanted to ensure I could never hold a scalpel again.

Seeing my distress, the nurse fell silent.

The doctor stared at the X-ray, letting out a heavy sigh he couldn't hold back.

"Dr. Carter, you've really got to take care of this hand. If you don't—" he trailed off, worry all over his face.

Of course I knew what I was looking at.

If I didn't heal properly, I could kiss my surgical career goodbye.

Sitting in the hallway clutching the films, my mind wandered.

I was so young when I first started falling for Andrew.

I was at that age where I'd do anything for love—even walk through fire.

For him, I did all kinds of stupid things.

I turned down a spot at a top overseas med school, just so I could attend the same university as Andrew.

The price was working ten times harder than my peers just to keep up.

But all that struggle just melted away every time Andrew smiled at me.

I went all out chasing him for three whole years, and finally, I got him to look back at me.

We had our blissful romance, but right when we were about to get engaged, an anonymous email landed in my inbox.

Inside were photos of dozens of handwritten letters.

I could instantly recognize Andrew's handwriting. The words were full of affection and sincerity, so heart-wrenchingly sweet.

But every one of those letters was written by Andrew for Melissa.

I read them again and again, like a thief skimming through someone else's private world, aching for a kind of love I'd never had and never would.

In the end, I never dared confront him, clinging to the hope that he still loved me.

In my previous life, after Melissa died and my license was revoked, Andrew treated me better.

I thought I'd finally won.

But it wasn't until I was suffocating, poisoned, and gasping for breath, that the truth finally hit me.

I had never left a mark on his heart.

From the very beginning to the bitter end, Melissa was the only one he ever truly loved.

A shrill ringtone shattered my thoughts.

"Evelyn, a broken hand is no big deal. Drag yourself back here right now. Are you seriously forgetting Mel's still waiting for you to see her? Five minutes. If you're not here, I'll file for divorce on the spot," Andrew snapped.