Chapter 6

Nora's POV

I didn't want to see him. Not for one more second.

I ran. The sky opened up and the rain came down in sheets.

Hollowed out, I stumbled through the water, every step uneven, letting the rain and the tears tear at my face until I couldn't tell which way was up.

Then a bike hit me.

I went down headfirst into a puddle, and eight years flashed before me. Just let me die here, I thought. Be done with all of it.

When I woke, I was in the hospital again.

The nurse said a man had brought me in.

I ignored the fever scalding my forehead and forced myself up. "Was it Ryan?"

She shook her head. "Some stranger, I think."

I dropped back onto the bed. The last sliver of hope inside me went out.

It came to me then. Early on, when Ryan and I were still new, I'd gotten sick once with a fever close to 104. He'd carried me through the snow in the dead of night, stumbling the whole way to the hospital with me half delirious on his back. He never left my side the days I was admitted. The smallest sign of discomfort and he'd be frantic, pacing like a cat on hot coals. Even the doctors and nurses said he was the model boyfriend. Back then I thought Ryan had to be the love of my life.

So the love had been real. And so was the falling out of it.

I sniffed. The cold IV fluid ran down the line into my body, and it wasn't a fraction as cold as what I felt inside.

I spent the night in the hospital. Ryan never once called.

My heart went to ice.

The fever finally broke. Half awake, I saw a message from Ryan.

"Nora, get the statement sorted as soon as you can."

I pulled my bloodless lips into something like a smile and replied: "Fine."

I dragged my weak body upright and recorded a video.

"Hi everyone. This is your relationship livestream host, Nora."

"A couple of days ago, a listener named Phoebe called in, and it caused a stir. I want to set the record straight. That story was a script we planned in advance to boost the show's numbers. I'm sorry for wasting your attention and for misleading you."

The second it went up, it shot to the top of the trending lists.

The abuse poured in.

"We dragged you for two days and now you tell us it was fake?"

"What a joke of a host. Unfollowed. Bye."

"These influencers will do anything for views."

A few diehard fans felt something was off. They posted replies one after another, trying to explain, but almost no one believed them.

I'd built that account over eight years. In the beginning, I'd shared the little moments of my relationship with Ryan, and that's how I got my first followers. As the audience grew, I started recording videos and going live under the banner of being someone people could talk to, and slowly I caught on.

And now, staring at the flood of hate, a hollow, breaking feeling came over me.

I scrolled, my finger dragging the dates backward through the years. Every little moment with Ryan rose up on the screen. As sweet as it had all been, that's how cruel it felt now.

I scrolled through tens of thousands of photos, one by one, crying until my whole body shook.

Then I wiped the account. Every photo, every video. And with them, the last thread of feeling I had left for us.

That was when Ryan seemed to finally sense something was wrong. His message came through.

"Nora, why are you in a hospital gown? Are you in the hospital?"

"I came out looking for you yesterday and couldn't find you anywhere, and then there was an emergency at the office, so I had to rush over. Nora, are you okay?"

"Why did you delete everything on the account? Are you still angry with me?"

My fingers trembled.

After a long moment, I replied: "It's nothing. I'm fine. Just playing the victim."