Chapter 4

The sharp, chemical stench of hospital disinfectant burned my nose.

I opened my eyes slowly, greeted by blinding white walls.

"Am I... alive?"

I muttered under my breath, only to be cut off by a voice beside the bed.

"Don't talk nonsense!"

"You're way too young to be throwing your life away!"

I turned my head and met the frantic, worried gaze of my landlady, Mrs. Gable.

My sluggish brain slowly pieced reality together.

It was the first of the month.

She had come by to collect the rent.

"I knocked for ages, but you didn't answer," Mrs. Gable said, her voice trembling with lingering terror. "I got worried something happened, so I used the spare key."

"The whole bottle of pills was practically empty! The ER doctor said five more minutes and you wouldn't have made it..."

She rambled on, but for once, I didn't mind the noise.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gable."

I lifted my pale face, forcing a weak smile. "I didn't actually want to die."

I was just so exhausted.

I just wanted to finally sleep.

Mrs. Gable fell silent. After a long pause, she asked gently, "Did that boyfriend of yours do this to you?"

Yesterday, when she found me unresponsive, she immediately called Noah.

Noah's reaction was pure indifference:

"Don't fall for it."

"She's just putting on a show to force me to come home."

Mrs. Gable looked at the empty pill bottle, then at my lifeless, pale face.

"She's really dying—"

"Enough," Noah snapped, cutting her off. "Did she put you up to this? Did she pay you to lie to me?"

"Faking a suicide just to get me to fly back? She's getting more childish by the day."

Mrs. Gable tried to argue, but a woman's giggling voice carried through the receiver.

"Noah, just play along with your girlfriend. Don't leave her hanging all by herself."

Then the line went dead.

In an instant, everything made sense.

While I was flatlining in the ICU, he was in bed with another woman.

With my best friend.

I listened to her recount the call in absolute silence.

He didn't even care about the child carrying his own blood, so why would he care about me?

When your heart completely dies, the humiliation doesn't even hurt anymore.

I checked my phone. During the ten hours I was unconscious, Noah hadn't sent a single message.

The only update was a fresh photo on his Instagram: his hand slipping a diamond ring onto Chloe's finger.

The caption read:

[To the love of my life.]

I let out a hollow laugh. It was beyond absurd.

Back at the foster home, to defend Noah from the bullies, I had my clothes shredded, my bed soaked with ice water, and my knees kicked until they were black and blue.

Noah, who had never thrown a punch in his life, fought back for the very first time.

Bruised and bleeding, he wrapped his arms around me and swore that no one would ever hurt me again.

And now?

Hearing that I was on the brink of death didn't faze him in the slightest. He was halfway across the world, playing house with my best friend.

This was the boy I spent over a decade protecting.

I left a single comment under his post:

[Congratulations.]

Then I blocked and deleted him everywhere.

I went back to the apartment, tossed the empty pill bottle into the trash, and packed my bags.

Just as I grabbed my suitcase to leave, the Bluetooth speaker crackled to life again.

"Story number three. Still dedicated to my dearest girlfriend."

"Maya, will you marry me..."

Noah's voice was as soft and melodious as ever.

I covered my ears, pulled my luggage behind me, and walked away without looking back.