Chapter 4

My spirit body thrummed with a useless anger.

Eleanor, poor Eleanor. So easily tricked by that snake.

I watched her sink onto a bench, her shoulders slumped.

Tears streamed down her face.

She was the only one who cared. The only one.

A memory hit me, sharp and painful.

Isabella, years ago, before the money changed her, or before I saw who she really was.

She was sick. Her kidneys were failing.

She needed a transplant. Her family, for all their wealth, couldn' t find a match quickly.

I didn' t hesitate. I got tested.

I was a match.

The surgery was hard on me. I was a pianist, my body, my hands, they were my life.

But I did it. For her. For Izzy.

She recovered. She was vibrant again.

She thanked me, then. Kissed my scars. Said she owed me her life.

Lies. All lies.

Another memory. Darker.

My hands.

My beautiful, strong hands.

I was supposed to play at Carnegie Hall. My big break.

A week before, some men came to our apartment.

They were looking for Julian. He owed them a lot of money. Gambling debts, a failed business deal.

Julian wasn' t there. He was always conveniently absent when trouble came.

Isabella was there.

The men were angry. They said Julian had used our address. They said someone had to pay.

They saw my piano. They saw my hands.

One of them smiled. A cruel, ugly smile.

"Maybe the pretty boy pianist can pay with his talent," he said.

They grabbed me. Isabella screamed, but she didn' t try to stop them. Not really.

She just watched, her eyes wide.

They held my hands on the closed piano lid.

And then they brought a hammer down.

Once. Twice.

The sound of bones breaking. My bones.

The pain was... indescribable.

I screamed.

They laughed and left.

Isabella rushed to me then, crying.

"Oh, Ethan! Your hands! Your beautiful hands!"

She held me, sobbed into my shoulder.

She said she was sorry. She said she didn' t know what to do.

But she knew Julian had brought those men into our lives.

She knew his recklessness was a disease.

My career was over. Just like that.

The doctors said I' d never play professionally again. Too much damage. Too many shattered pieces.

I learned to play again, a little. Simple things. For myself.

But the fire, the gift... it was gone. Broken with my fingers.

Julian. It always came back to Julian.

And Isabella... she let it happen. She always let Julian happen.

Now, watching Eleanor weep, I understood.

Isabella didn' t just forget me with her fake amnesia.

She was erasing me. Erasing every sacrifice, every good thing.

Because Julian wanted her to.

And I, her husband, her kidney donor, the man whose dreams she watched get smashed, I was just an inconvenience.

My spirit ached with a grief deeper than death.