On My Own

Seeing my grief-stricken father standing beside me, I stopped Clara Jennings. “For Dad’s sake, can you at least stay until the funeral is over? Please?”

Ethan Dunn grabbed her coat. Clara didn’t even bother to look up.

“Peter, this case is very important. I’ll make it up to you later.”

Make it up to me? When she forgot my birthday and went to take a walk along the riverbank with Ethan, she said she would make it up to me.

When I had appendicitis surgery and she abandoned me to celebrate Ethan winning gold at a major competition, she said she would make it up to me. And now, when I had just lost my mother and needed her the most, she was still using that same line to brush me off.

In our three years together, I had received far too many of her promises, yet not a single one had ever come true.

Ethan glanced at me with a hint of pity in his eyes. “Forget it, maybe we should stay and keep Peter company, and leave after the funeral is over.”

Clara sighed, gave in with a smile, and only then agreed to stay. She backed down, but it was painfully obvious whose sake she did it for.

A dead silence fell over the room for three seconds. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open, and a huge gust of wind swept through the room.

“So you’re the ones trying to sue our boss? That old lady died in a simple car accident. Stop trying to frame us for it! If you know what’s good for you, drop the lawsuit right now!”

Seven or eight men in black shoved their way inside. They thrashed the funeral home in a frenzy and tipped the urn over, spilling its contents all over the table.

“No! Stop it, all of you!”

I rushed forward frantically to stop them, only to be kicked away. Subconsciously, I looked toward Clara.

She stood there and said, her tone calm and collected, “There are too many of them. We can’t take them head-on. Besides, as an attorney, getting into a physical fight is breaking the law. Just wait a little longer. The police will be here soon.”

Her rationality shattered every hope I had left. The Clara Jennings who had sworn to Dad that she would always stand by me was gone.

Dad rushed over to try to put the urn upright, but someone shoved him to the floor.

“Dad!”

I threw myself over him to protect his body but was struck in the back of my head by a heavy club, and stars began to dance before my eyes. Ringing filled my ears, and the background music and the sounds of smashing blurred together.

In a daze, I saw Clara pick up a wooden stick and instinctively take a step toward me. Yet, the next second, a shattered porcelain shard grazed Ethan’s face, leaving a bloody scratch.

“Gasp!”

Distressed, she immediately examined Ethan’s cut, then turned around and kicked the attacker to the ground.

My chest felt tight, and I collapsed with a bitter smile.

It was never about some code of ethics; I simply wasn’t worthy of her saving me. Whenever it was a choice between Ethan and me, she had never chosen me.

The police arrived at the scene quickly, and the gang fled in panic. I secretly wiped the tears from the corner of my eyes and forced myself to support Dad up. Clara and Ethan, meanwhile, were already gone.

I retrieved my phone—the screen was shattered—and found a text message from Clara.

[Ethan’s injured, so I’m taking him to the hospital. Call me if you need anything.]

I thought of the tiny scratch on Ethan’s face and then raised my hand to touch my own head, only to find my palm covered in blood. My heart felt hollow, and even my body felt numb. It was only when the nurse pressed a cotton swab down to disinfect my wound that I felt a sharp sting of pain.

After getting the wound treated, I returned home to an empty house. Her message was still stuck on the one where she took Ethan to the hospital.

Without turning on the lights, I sat on a chair in the dark, staring at the computer screen, which displayed our pre-wedding photo. There was only one photo, and it was just a candid shot taken by the photographer.

It happened because, while I was changing outfits back then, she claimed Ethan didn’t understand a specific statute for a case and that she had to help him. And so, our pre-wedding photoshoot turned into a solo portrait session for me.

With a bitter laugh, I took down all the photos and threw them into the bin.