Chapter 3

The fluorescent lights in the hospital were blinding.

An ER nurse rushed out with a gurney. She gasped when she saw my leg and wheeled me straight into the treatment room without a word.

The sharp smell of disinfectant rushed up my nose, mixing with the greasy scent of the gumbo still clinging to my burned leg. It was nauseating.

The doctor had a mask on. He took a pair of scissors and cut open the skirt stuck to my leg. The fabric had already fused with the burned skin. When he peeled it away, I heard a tearing sound, like ripping off a piece of charred chicken skin.

I bit down on the pillow as silent tears streamed down my face.

"Deep second-degree burns covering about 15% of the body, mainly on the right calf and knee," the doctor said calmly to the nurse, like he was commenting on the weather. "Prepare for debridement."

Debridement. That meant popping every blister on my leg one by one, tearing off the dead skin piece by piece, and cleaning out the pus and the leftover oil.

The nurse brought over a box of needles. The tips glinted coldly under the lights.

I asked shakily, "No anesthesia?"

The doctor glanced at me. "The area's too big. To numb it, we'd have to administer many shots, and it still wouldn't work well. You'll just have to bear with it."

Bear with it, huh? I'd been bearing with things for the past 22 years.

When the doctor popped the first blister, my whole body jolted off the bed. Two nurses had to pin me down by the shoulders.

Then came the second, the third, the fourth… Every time one was popped, I screamed. Eventually, I couldn't scream anymore. My throat went hoarse. All I could do was bite down on the pillow until I bit a hole right through it.

The comments drifted by.

[It's awful seeing the female lead like this, but she brought it on herself. It's her fault for insisting on leaving. If she'd just stayed home, none of this would've happened.]

[The male lead would be devastated if he knew. He was only acting tough. He was definitely freaking out inside.]

[Emily must be bawling her eyes out at home. She's so kind that she must be blaming herself for this.]

I stared at those words, suddenly wanting to laugh. But I couldn't. I was in too much pain.

The debridement took almost an hour. When it was finally over, my leg was wrapped in thick layers of gauze from my knee all the way down to my ankle.

The doctor said I'd have to be hospitalized for at least two weeks and asked where my family was. I told him I didn't have any.

He gave me a quick look but didn't ask more. He'd probably seen too many cases like mine.

The hospital was short on beds, so they placed me on a temporary cot at the end of the hallway. The patient next to me was a middle-aged woman recovering from an appendectomy.

Her husband came every day to bring her food. The two of them chatted and laughed together.

I had no family and no one to bring me food. The hospital delivered three meals a day—plain oats, bread rolls, and boiled vegetables.

I ate with my left hand. The glass shards had been embedded in my right palm, and the doctor needed four stitches to close the wound.

I read the comments. According to them, Mom was looking for me, Emily had cried until she fainted, and Elliott was practically going out of his mind with worry.

I turned on my phone. There were no missed calls or messages, and my WhatsApp was totally silent. I scrolled through social media and saw that Emily had posted something ten minutes ago.

It was a selfie of her smiling brightly while holding a bouquet of roses. The caption read, "Today's my birthday. Even though there was a tiny accident, I'm still grateful for everyone's wishes!"

Underneath, Mom had commented, "My darling Em is the sweetest. Happy birthday."

Elliott had liked the post.

I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I turned my phone facedown on the bed and closed my eyes.

…

On the third day of my hospital stay, the woman in the next bed asked, "Why hasn't your family come by, sweetie?"

"They're busy," I answered.

"No matter how busy they are, they should still come see you. Your leg is in really bad shape." She sighed and gave me a bowl of the chicken soup her family had brought.

It was hot and tasty, but I couldn't handle more than three sips. It wasn't because I was full, but because my stomach wouldn't stop cramping. The doctor had told me that the stress reaction after being burned could mess with my digestion.

The comments said that the chicken soup only tasted good because it had the flavor of home. They claimed Mom's chicken soup would taste even better and that I should go home.

Mom had never made chicken soup for me. She only made it for Emily. She said Emily was too skinny and needed nourishment. I'd been skinny for 20 years, yet she'd never once said that about me.

On the fifth day, Elliott showed up. He stood in the doorway of the hospital room, wearing a dark blue overcoat I'd helped him pick out, holding a bouquet of lilies.

The comments said he'd spent the past five days looking for me, that he'd lost weight, that he'd missed me so much he hadn't been able to sleep.

He walked in and set the flowers on my bedside table. His eyes drifted to my leg, and he frowned. "Why is it bandaged like it's so serious?"

"Leave," I said.

"Daphne…"

"I'll have my lawyer contact you about breaking off the engagement."

Elliott's expression turned ugly. "I came all the way here to see you. What more do you want? Do you know how hard it was for me to take half a day off?"

"Elliott, are you allergic to lilies?" I asked.

He was caught off guard by that question. "What?"

"I am. To lily pollen. I've told you for the past three years not to give me lilies for my birthday, and not once have you remembered."

His lips parted, but no words came out.

The comments said that he was just clueless and wasn't good at remembering the little details. Deep down, he still cared about me. They said all men were careless like that and that I shouldn't expect too much.

"Just go," I said.

Elliott stayed where he was, standing there for a long time. Then, he turned and walked away. When he reached the door, he stopped, keeping his back to me.

"Daphne, just so you know, your family isn't going to return the 300,000 dollars in wedding gifts that I gave," he said.

"I'll pay you back," I answered.

"And how are you going to do that?"

"I'll pay it back little by little. It's none of your business."

He left. His leather shoes clicked on the tile in the hallway, growing fainter and fainter.

I picked up the lilies from the bedside table, hobbled to the nurses' station, and set them on the counter. "These are for you guys."

The nurses thanked me and said the flowers were beautiful.

…

A week later, I requested to be discharged. My leg hadn't healed yet, but I'd run out of money. My credit card was already about a thousand dollars over the limit.

I walked out of the hospital alone, leaning on a crutch. I took a cab to the train station and bought a basic coach ticket to Domina. The journey would take 24 hours.

The comments said I had lost my mind.

I hadn't. I just didn't want to be forced to obey anymore.

The train was scheduled to leave at 4:00 pm. I arrived early and sat in a corner of the waiting area. Everything I owned was stuffed into a backpack on my lap. My leg still throbbed with pain, and blood was slowly seeping through the gauze.

The comments kept flying past.

[Mom's at the station! She's looking for the female lead!]

[Elliott is here, too!]

[So is Emily. She cried the whole way!]

I read the words, but I didn't even look up.

The announcement sounded. The train to Domina had started boarding.

I stood up, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and limped toward the gate.

The comments went wild.

[Daphne, turn around! They're right behind you!]

I didn't. I went through the ticket check, walked past the gate, and limped onto the platform. I found my seat by the window, sat down, and hugged my backpack to my chest.

Outside the window was the platform. A group of people ran up—Mom, Emily, and Elliott.

The comments exploded.

[They made it! They really made it!]

[Daphne, get off the train! They know they messed up, and they're sorry!]

Mom spotted me. Her eyes were red as she ran up to the window and pounded on the glass. "Daph, get off the train! Hurry!"

Emily was being pulled along by Elliott, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. As she stepped forward, Elliott stopped and stood a little behind them, looking at me.

The train whistled.

I looked at the three of them through the window. And then…