Chapter 5

It was 2:00 am when I was awoken by the sharp pain in my right hand. I sat up with the support of the bed, my vision repeatedly blacking out.

I noticed that Sheila wasn't home. I hesitated briefly before I called her number. It took a long time before she answered. I could hear Jeremy quietly calling her in the background as she asked in a hurry, "What's the matter, Christian?"

I leaned back against the headboard, hardly able to breathe from the pain. "My hand won't stop hurting, and my fingers have gone numb, Sheila…"

Sheila fell silent for a moment before Jeremy called out to her softly again. She immediately said, "You should take a cab to the hospital yourself first, Christian. Jeremy got his hand burned by the fireworks sparks, so I can't leave at the moment."

I slowly tightened my fist. It turned out that a tiny burn on Jeremy's hand meant more than my hand being practically ruined. I asked softly, "What if my hand is actually ruined for good, Sheila?"

Sheila let out a frustrated sigh and said, "You shouldn't say things like that, Christian. Do you really have to pick a time like this to cause trouble? Jeremy is in a lot of pain right now, so just be sensible for once."

She suddenly lowered her voice as Jeremy started talking again on the other end. "I'm going to hang up now, so just text me once you reach the hospital."

In that instant, the call disconnected, leaving only silence behind. I looked down at the blood on my palm and suddenly realized that our seven years together only meant this little to her. I truly had nothing left to say to her.

I took the cab by myself, cradling my right hand throughout the whole ride. I even had a thought when the pain was at its worst. I thought that if I really lost the use of this hand, it might be for the best; at least then, there would be nothing left tying Sheila and me together.

The nurse hurried over to support me as soon as I arrived at the hospital. "Did you come with your family today?"

I remained silent for a few seconds before replying with a shake of my head, "It's just me."

It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would when I uttered that reply. I just felt completely hollowed out, as if something inside me had finally been stripped away completely.

Having examined my hand, the chief of hand surgery looked grave. "Your hand is currently suffering a ruptured tendon and nerve damage."

I could hear a ringing filling my ears as soon as I heard the doctor's diagnosis. I had operated on so many hearts and saved countless lives, but in the end, I couldn't even save my own hand.

"If you had come any later, it would have been hard to preserve the function of your hand." The doctor paused for a moment before continuing softly, "It'll be hard for you to perform high-precision tasks even if the operation is a success. You probably won't be able to perform any surgery from now on, Mr. Gunther."

I lay on the hospital bed, staring at the harsh white light overhead. I couldn't even shed a tear then.

It was then that my phone buzzed with a notification. Jeremy had posted a photo on his social media. He had a small red patch on the back of his hand, while Sheila was crouching in front of him, gently putting medicine on it. His caption read, "I'm glad you were there when the fireworks spark landed on my hand."

There were comments under the post.

"Isn't Sheila overreacting a bit?"

"He's not suffering from a burn! He's suffering from being smothered in affection!"

Jeremy responded with a smiley emoji. "Sheila is just making a mountain out of a molehill."

I looked at the comment and chuckled softly. I realized that phrase depended entirely on who it applied to. Jeremy got burnt slightly at the back of his hand, yet Sheila acted like the world was ending. I was suffering from nerve damage on my right hand, yet Sheila thought I was making a fuss over nothing.

Just as dawn approached, the surgery finally ended.

I hauled my exhausted body home, only to find that the living room was empty. I took out my medical report and placed it on the dining table, with the ring placed right beside it.

It was all meaningless to me now. I would board a plane and leave in three hours, disappearing completely from Sheila's life.

…

Third-Person POV

It was already morning by the time Sheila returned home. She was carrying a bag of medicine, likely having finally remembered Christian saying his hand was in pain last night.

She walked in and saw the dishwasher in the corner of the living room first. She then noticed the half-empty closet before seeing the ring and medical report on the dining table.

She suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. She picked up the medical report and read the diagnosis—torn tendon in the right hand, nerve damage—and was advised to leave surgical positions.