Chapter 3

The security guard, Marcus, heard me during his night patrol.

Seeing my state, he panicked and reached for his phone to call Ethan.

"Oh my god, Maya, is it happening again? Are you okay? I'll call Ethan right now. Hang in there!"

My fingers shook violently as I grabbed Marcus's arm.

"Don't tell him."

A text from Ethan popped up on my screen.

[Maya, I'm giving you ten minutes.]

This was Ethan's warning sign before he lost his temper.

My mind drifted, suddenly remembering two years ago, during my first major depressive episode.

Back then, I couldn't eat anything. The moment I saw a stranger, I would reflexively start gagging.

In just a month, I became skin and bones.

Ethan would push my wheelchair out so I could get some sun, while I stared blankly at the birds in the distance.

One night, Ethan came home from work to find me holding a kitchen knife.

Paling with fright, he rushed forward to stop me.

Triggered and terrified, I screamed and shrank back.

"Stay away from me! Let me go, please let me go!"

With bloodshot eyes, Ethan lunged forward and locked me in a hug.

The knife left a long, deep gash on his arm.

But he didn't seem to feel the pain. He just held me, his voice cracking.

"I'm sorry, Maya, I'm so sorry!"

"It's my fault. I didn't take care of you..."

With Ethan holding me, I slowly calmed down.

That incident left a prominent scar on his arm.

To keep me from feeling guilty, he always wore long sleeves, even in the dead of summer, to hide it.

But today, when I went home, he was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt.

I stayed out all night.

Ethan didn't call me again.

The next morning, he came to the studio.

I had sat in front of the canvas all night. Black paint had completely bled through the entire fabric.

Ethan looked at the painting, fell silent for a moment, then reached out to gently stroke my hair.

"I'm sorry, Maya. I lost my temper yesterday. Can you forgive me?"

My eyes stung with tears.

But the next second.

He knelt on one knee in front of me, looking into my eyes, practically begging.

"Chloe has an art exhibition coming up soon. I want to let her use this studio for a while. You can paint at home during this time, okay?"

I stared at his face.

My mind went completely blank for several long seconds.

I realized I couldn't comprehend what Ethan was saying.

This studio.

It was the key to my recovery.

I had painted so many of my breakthrough moments on these canvases.

This place was my entire world.

But now, Ethan wanted to hand this sanctuary over to the very person who had broken me.

Ethan held my hands.

"Chloe knows she was wrong. She's been apologizing to me for the past two years."

I stared at him, numb.

"She went abroad to study art for two years just to clear her head, and she came back specifically to apologize to you. It's been two years, Maya. It's time to let it go."

I didn't understand.

Does two years of time automatically erase someone else's trauma?

I stared blankly at Ethan's lips moving.

He was spitting out words that made absolutely no sense to me.

In the end, a harsh truth dawned on me.

Right. Out of the three of us.

I was the only one who had actually been hurt.

That was why Ethan could choose forgiveness so easily.