Chapter 3

In the hospital, Rowan sat by my bedside as he subconsciously traced the edge of my medical chart.

"Why can't you just let this go?" he asked in a voice so calm that it was almost devoid of emotion. "Are you using self-harm as a way to get my attention?"

I looked at him. He frowned at me like I was an insensible child.

"Miranda's situation isn't like yours," he continued. "After she lost her memories, I became all that was left in her world. She and I grew up together. Her parents are abroad and barely have time for her, so she's always thought of me as her only family."

He paused and looked at my bandaged wrist. "And now, she doesn't recognize anyone but me. After that car crash, I became all that she remembered…"

Rowan subconciously fidgeted with my IV tube, his eyes fixed on the window. "The psychiatrist said that she's acting like this because she's deeply insecure."

He turned to look at me as his brows furrowed. I stared back at him, noting the resigned and weary look on his face.

"Things between us aren't like what you think." A hint of urgency crept into his voice. "She's like a sister to me. You can understand that, right? Besides, you know what the situation is like."

His gaze cooled. "You know she's sick. Why do you keep picking fights with her?"

He sighed. "Stop this tantrum, alright? You'll always be my wife. That will never change."

Rowan brushed my hair lightly and quickly withdrew his hand. "I'll make it up to you once Miranda is better. We'll go on that honeymoon we missed, okay?"

I looked at the tips of his ears, which were flushed. They were a telltale sign that he was lying.

"For now…" He lowered his voice. "Can you just… be considerate of me?"

Rowan's gaze turned pleading. "Miranda really needs me now. It's temporary, okay?"

I listened to his so-called explanation without saying anything. Then, I turned to stare at the ceiling, my gaze empty.

Every word seemed to come from a faraway place. They were muffled yet impossible to ignore as they burrowed their way into my ears.

I made a soft sound of acknowledgment, my voice so hoarse and bitter that it didn't sound like mine.

The numbness from severe depression left me too drained to even get angry anymore.

Rowan wanted me to wait for him. He said he would make it up to me and that he hoped I would be considerate of him.

His words fell like feathers. They were light, fleeting, and they failed to stir anything in my heart.

I watched as Rowan kept glancing at his phone and inching toward the door.

Suddenly, all of this seemed laughable to me. He'd made the same excuses for the past three years, yet I was dumb enough to believe them each time.

"Go on," I said, so calm that I even surprised myself.

The relieved look on Rowan's face stabbed at my numb nerves. He hurried back to my bed, wanting to stroke my hair.

However, I instinctively ducked to avoid his touch.

"You…" He was taken aback. Then, he smiled helplessly. "No more tantrums, alright? I'll be back soon."

I watched him turn to leave, and I heard how gently he spoke when he answered a call. It was then that it hit me—my heart was dead.

It had been killed my Rowan's repeated choices, Miranda's gloating, and my stupid expectations.

The door shut with a soft click. It felt like a lock, sealing Rowan and me in separate worlds forever. I slowly shut my eyes, allowing the darkness to swallow the last shred of light in me.