Chapter 2

For a second, I felt dizzy.

I couldn't tell which Ethan was the real one anymore.

Seeing the vacant look in my eyes, panic flashed across Ethan's face. He reached out to pull me into his chest, just like he used to do when I had my breakdowns.

But this time, a sudden wave of terror hit me. I pushed him away with everything I had.

He stumbled backward, falling onto the floor. Shock and confusion filled his eyes.

Mia rushed out of the room, quickly helping him up. She glared at me, her face a mix of accusation and protective anger.

That was when I got a clear look at her. She looked shockingly familiar. She looked like me when I was eighteen. This realization hit me like a physical blow.

The fragile emotional wall I had built over the years crumbled instantly.

In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed my purse and flung it at her.

A blood-curdling scream tore from my throat.

Ethan instinctively shielded Mia. The heavy bag caught him right on the nose, and blood instantly started dripping down his face.

Mia started to yell at me, but Ethan silenced her with a sharp look. She pouted, looking incredibly wronged.

But Ethan didn't seem to care about his bleeding nose. He acted as if this was just another one of my regular tantrums.

"Chloe, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I won't let her near you again."

Mia stomped her foot in frustration but was reluctantly forced to leave by Ethan.

In my head, the scene of Ethan protecting Mia kept playing on a loop.

I closed my eyes in agony. It took a long time before I could find my voice.

"Do my legs really disgust you that much?"

Ethan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

I tried my best to ignore the crushing pain in my chest. Disappointment washed over me as I turned my wheelchair around to leave.

Ethan quickly tried to follow.

"Chloe, I—"

"Don't follow me!" I snapped.

When I got back to our apartment, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

Suddenly remembering something, I began frantically searching through the closets. Finally, I found my prosthetic legs, covered in dust in the back corner.

I had always hated them. Seeing them was a constant, brutal reminder of what I had lost.

This was the first time I forced myself to actually look at them.

They were ugly. And the harness looked like it would hurt.

But I gritted my teeth and strapped them on. I tried to stand up. I wanted to do a simple turn in front of the mirror, but the moment I let go of the wall, I crashed heavily to the floor.

Frustrated and broken, I slammed my fists against the hardwood floor, crying until my throat was raw.

Yet, a stubborn spark of defiance flared up inside me. I dragged myself up again.

This time, I held onto the wall, taking one agonizing step at a time. Every movement sent a shooting pain through my thighs.

Sweat poured down my face, but I kept going, stepping forward again and again until the stumps became completely numb.

By the time I collapsed out of sheer exhaustion, panting heavily on the floor, I finally felt a spark of life in me.

That was the scene Ethan walked in on. He dropped the groceries he was holding, terror written all over his face.

"Chloe!"

When he saw the blood seeping through the bandages near the prosthetics, his brow furrowed, and he roared, "Do you have to torture yourself like this to be happy?!"

Torture myself?

I froze. Then, a low chuckle escaped my lips, turning into a bitter, hysterical laugh.

The old Ethan would never have spoken to me like that.

To help me accept the prosthetics, he used to do everything he could to make me smile. He knew that wearing them would at least make me look "normal" to the outside world.

He had even put on a pair of prosthetics himself once, wearing a skirt to dance around the living room just to make me laugh.

When I complained that they were ugly, he had secretly customized them with my favorite patterns.

But now, I realized his words from earlier weren't a slip of tongue.

He... had probably been sick of me for a long time.

Slowly, I pushed his hands away. Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself back onto my wheelchair. It took a massive amount of effort, but I managed.

No matter how burning his gaze was, I didn't look back at him once. I just wheeled myself away.

Ethan stood frozen in the middle of the room, his fists clenched, staring at the empty hallway.

An unsettling wave of anxiety washed over him. It felt like something was slipping out of his control.