Chapter 3

Liam retreated from the bedroom door, his movements stiff and robotic. He sank onto the living room sofa, his body finally giving out. The pain was a dull, constant throb, a physical echo of the emotional devastation. He heard the bedroom door open.

Chloe walked out, stopping short when she saw him. Her expression wasn't one of shock or guilt, but of pure annoyance. "Liam. What are you doing here? I thought you were... gone."

"I came to get my things," he said, his voice flat.

Mark appeared behind her, buttoning his shirt. He had the decency to look momentarily surprised, but it was quickly replaced by a smug grin. "Liam! Hey, buddy. We were worried about you. Glad to see you're okay. Well, relatively speaking." The false concern in his voice was an insult.

"I'll just be a minute," Liam said, pushing himself to his feet.

"You look terrible," Chloe said, her eyes scanning him with cold appraisal. "You should sit down. I'll get you some water." She moved to the kitchen, her actions perfunctory, devoid of any real care. It was the kind of courtesy one might show a stranger, not a fiancé who had just returned from the dead.

Mark lounged against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Tough break, man. But you'll bounce back. You're a survivor." The word 'survivor' dripped with sarcasm.

Chloe returned with a glass of water. Liam' s hand trembled so badly as he reached for it that water sloshed over the side. The simple act of holding the glass required all of his concentration. He took a sip, the cool liquid a small relief for his parched throat, but his stomach churned with nausea. He felt Mark' s eyes on him, enjoying his weakness.

Suddenly, a car outside backfired, the sharp crack echoing through the open window. Liam flinched violently, dropping the glass. It shattered on the floor, water and shards of glass spraying across the wood. He instinctively curled in on himself, his breathing ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sound, so sudden and loud, had transported him back to the basement, to the sound of a gun being cocked.

"For God's sake, Liam!" Chloe snapped, her voice sharp with irritation. "It was just a car. Pull yourself together! You're a mess." She looked at the broken glass on the floor with disgust, as if it were another one of his failings. "I'll get a broom."

Her impatience was the final confirmation. There was no sympathy, no understanding of the trauma he had endured. To her, his pain was just an inconvenience, an ugly scene disrupting her new, perfect life with Mark. He watched her walk away, and felt nothing but a vast, empty void where his love for her used to be.

He didn't wait for her to come back. He walked numbly towards his old office, the room that had once been his sanctuary, where he' d spent countless nights sketching out his dreams. Now it just felt like another part of a life that no longer belonged to him. The room was cold and impersonal.

On his desk, laid out perfectly, were the blueprints for the house he had been designing for them. A modern, open-concept home on a piece of land they had bought together, overlooking the ocean. It was supposed to be their forever home, the place where they would raise a family. Every line, every measurement, was a testament to a future that had been a lie.

A wave of cold fury washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the pain and the fear. He grabbed the top sheet of the blueprints, his hands shaking not from weakness, but from rage. With a raw cry that was torn from the depths of his soul, he ripped the thick paper in half. Then again, and again, and again, until the detailed plans for their future were nothing but a pile of jagged scraps on the floor. It wasn't enough, but it was a start.