Chapter 2

Pain was the first thing that brought me back. A searing, white-hot agony in my left leg, and a dull, throbbing hammer inside my skull. I tried to move, but a groan was the only thing that escaped my lips. I was at the bottom of the stairs, twisted at an unnatural angle. The house was quiet now. The party was over. They were all gone.

She had left me here. My wife, on our anniversary, had pushed me down the stairs and then left me bleeding on the floor to take care of a man who had faked an injury.

My phone was in my pocket. My fingers were clumsy and slick with something wet. Blood. I managed to pull it out, the screen cracked, and with trembling hands, I dialed 911. The dispatcher's calm voice was a lifeline in the suffocating silence of my own home.

"My name is Ethan Miller," I rasped. "I've fallen... my wife... she pushed me."

The ambulance arrived in a blur of flashing lights and concerned faces. As they loaded me onto a stretcher, one of the paramedics, a kind-faced woman, looked at me. "We need to contact your next of kin. Your wife, Olivia Stone, is that right?"

"Yes," I whispered, a foolish flicker of hope igniting in my chest. Maybe when she heard it was serious, she would come. Maybe she would finally realize what she'd done.

The paramedic made the call. I could hear the tinny sound of the phone ringing. Then, a man's voice answered. Not Olivia. It was Liam.

"Hello? Who is this?" Liam's voice was lazy, arrogant.

"This is EMT services. We're with your friend's husband, Ethan Miller. He's had a serious fall. We need his wife, Olivia, to come to Oceanville General Hospital."

There was a pause. I heard Liam chuckle. "A fall? He's probably just drunk and looking for attention. Don't worry about it. Olivia is busy taking care of me. My ankle is in really bad shape."

The paramedic' s face tightened. "Sir, this is not a joke. He has a severe leg injury and a possible concussion. He needs his wife."

"Look, I'll tell her," Liam said dismissively. "But she's not going anywhere. She knows who's more important." Then he hung up.

The paramedic looked at me, her eyes full of pity. A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Olivia. Hope, that stupid, stubborn thing, flared again.

"Ethan, what the hell?" her voice was sharp, annoyed. "Liam told me you called an ambulance? Are you trying to ruin my night completely? Liam's ankle is swelling up, and you're pulling this kind of stunt for attention."

The world seemed to tilt again. "Olivia," I choked out, the pain in my leg a roaring fire. "I'm hurt. I'm really hurt. You pushed me."

"I barely touched you! Stop being so dramatic," she snapped. "I have to go. Liam needs me to get him some ice. Don't call me again unless it's a real emergency."

The line went dead. The silence that followed was heavier than a tombstone. The hope in my chest died, turning to a cold, hard stone.

At the hospital, the doctor's face was grim as he looked at the x-rays. "Mr. Miller, I'm very sorry. Your tibia is fractured in two places. It's a severe break. You'll need surgery, and even then... there's a strong possibility you'll have a permanent limp."

A permanent limp. The words echoed in the sterile, white room. I thought back to two years ago, on our first anniversary. We were hiking. Olivia had slipped near a cliff edge. Without a second thought, I had thrown myself forward, pushing her to safety and taking the fall myself.

I' d broken my arm, but she had been safe. She had cried, held my good hand, and told me I was her hero. She had stayed by my side for weeks.

Where was that woman now? When had she been replaced by this cold stranger who left me broken at the bottom of the stairs? The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't new. The neglect, prioritizing Liam, it had been happening for a long time. I had just refused to see it.