Chapter 8

As soon as Henley left, Joanna emptied her closet of clothes and burned everything in the fireplace. She tossed anything in the house that bore her traces into the fire.

The flames roared, as though devouring every piece of beauty that had hidden a bitter truth.

Earlier that morning, Henley had snuck out to the balcony to make a phone call.

Before that, his phone had been flooded with over a hundred missed calls and messages from Addison.

Addison: [Henley, why aren't you answering my calls?]

Addison: [Are you tired of me? How could you treat me like this?]

Addison: [If you don't call me back, we're done!]

And so, Henley caved. The moment the call connected, his voice softened to a "Babe, I'll come see you today, okay?"

Joanna stood just a few steps away from the balcony, hearing every word with unsettling calm. Her heart felt nothing but numbness.

After clearing out the house, Joanna took one last look around.

She could still vividly remember the day they first walked through the front door.

At the time, they had just graduated, with little money to their name. The real estate agent had shown them the house—its floor-to-ceiling windows and spacious balcony had instantly captivated her.

Despite that, it had been far beyond their budget.

Joanna had been about to drag Henley away, but he had held her hand firmly, saying, "We'll take it."

Joanna had been stunned, ready to protest, when Henley said, "My wife likes it. As long as she's happy, nothing else matters."

He had noticed the joy in her eyes the moment she stepped into the house.

She had understood Henley deeply back then, and he had understood her just as well.

He had worked tirelessly to give her the life she wanted, selling his academic achievements and taking on grueling work schedules.

He had always said, "As long as you're happy, Joanna, I'd give you everything. Even my life."

When had that love changed? When had he become the man who didn't even notice her illness, who failed to see the pills she swallowed daily for her pancreatic cancer?

The reasons no longer mattered. Only the outcome did.

Joanna closed the door behind her and left.

The streets were covered in fallen leaves. The chill of late autumn filled the air, and the few pedestrians hurried along, eager to reach the warmth of home and family.

Joanna walked slowly toward the hospital.

After today, her life would end peacefully. She couldn't think of anyone left to miss.

At a crosswalk, the light turned red.

She stood still in the cold wind, counting down the seconds as if counting the final moments of her life.

When the light turned green, she stepped off the curb.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light and the deafening sound of an impact.

Joanna was struck and thrown several meters beyond the crosswalk. Her vision blurred with crimson, and her mangled legs lay at unnatural angles.

Chaos erupted around her—screams from bystanders, honking cars, the sound of blood pouring from her body.

She didn't know how much time passed before she was lifted into the emergency ward.

Doctors and nurses shouted urgently.

"Severe facial trauma—no way to identify her!"

"Her condition is critical! Call Dr. Zeal now!"

"He says he can't come—Addison had a terrible scare, and he's staying with her!"

"No time to wait. Get her into surgery now!"

Joanna could feel her life slipping away, faster and faster.

The sounds of medical equipment and frantic voices blended into a fading echo.

"She's crashing! Blood pressure's plummeting!"

"Her heart rate's unstable!"

"Where's Dr. Zeal?"

"It's too late!"

The piercing flatline of the heart monitor filled the room as Joanna exhaled one final breath.