From Blame to Beloved

I'm going to die soon.

That thought wasn't sad, just a simple fact as I called a late-night radio show, dedicating a song to my husband, Liam.

Liam Hayes, the man who saw me only as a constant reminder of the car crash five years ago, the one that put his ex-girlfriend, Chloe, in a coma and left me severely injured.

He blamed me, never outright, but in every cold glance, every clipped word, every night he spent at her hospital bedside instead of home with me, his wife.

When Chloe miraculously woke, he seized the opportunity, serving me divorce papers right there, in her hospital room, in front of her triumphant face, sealing my fate.

And Chloe's cruel revenge didn't stop there; she was setting my mother's home ablaze when she died in a police chase, and Liam, consumed by grief, still chose to believe her lies, accusing me of murder.

Even from my hospital bed, dying from a mysterious illness that was a direct result of that initial crash, my love for him was so absolute I took the blame, confessing to a crime I didn't commit, just to protect my mother and salvage the last shred of his peace.

But now, years later, a miracle returns Liam to the day before our wedding, haunted by the future he unknowingly destroyed, armed with the truth, and a burning desire for a second chance.

I'm going to die soon.

The thought wasn't sad, just a simple fact, like the way the clock on the wall ticked forward without stopping. Tonight was New Year's Eve, and the sounds of fireworks and celebrations echoed from the city below, but they felt a world away from my quiet, cold apartment.

I held my phone, my thumb hovering over the number for the city' s most popular late-night radio show. My heart beat a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. It was a stupid, sentimental thing to do, but it was on my list.

After a few rings, a cheerful voice answered. "95.5 FM, you're on the air with DJ Jazzy! What's your name, caller?"

"Ava," I said, my own voice sounding thin and unfamiliar.

"Ava! Happy New Year! Got a special someone you want to give a shout-out to?"

"Yes," I said, my throat tight. "My husband, Liam Hayes. I want to dedicate a song to him."

"Ah, a romantic! I love it. What's the song, Ava?"

"'Unconditionally'," I said quietly. "By Katy Perry."

"A classic! Great choice. Anything you want to say to Liam? I'm sure he's listening."

I knew he wasn't. He was at the hospital. He was always at the hospital. "Just... that I love him. That's all."

"Short, sweet, and to the point! You got it, Ava. Here's 'Unconditionally' for Liam, from his loving wife."

The song started to play, the hopeful lyrics filling the silence of my living room. I ended the call and stared out the window at the glittering cityscape. Five years ago, on a night just like this one, a car crash had put my stepsister, Chloe, into a coma. I was in the passenger seat and was severely injured myself, but everyone, including Liam, only remembered that Chloe was the one who didn't walk away.

She was his ex-girlfriend, the great love of his life. And he blamed me for the accident.

He had never said it outright, but it was in every cold glance, every clipped word, every night he spent at her bedside instead of home with me, his wife.

My phone buzzed on the table. It was him. My breath caught in my chest. Maybe he heard the radio after all.

I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Liam?"

"Ava, did you call the office?" His tone was sharp, impatient. There was beeping in the background. The familiar sound of a heart monitor.

"No," I said, the small flicker of hope dying instantly. "I was just... I called a radio station."

There was a long pause. I could picture him perfectly, standing in the hallway outside Chloe' s room, his brow furrowed in annoyance. He was probably running a hand through his dark hair, wishing I would just disappear.

"A radio station?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. "What are you, a teenager? Don't you have better things to do?"

"It's New Year's Eve," I whispered.

"I'm aware," he snapped. "I'm at the hospital. Chloe is agitated. The doctors think she might be trying to wake up. I don't have time for your games."

Before I could say anything else, he hung up.

The dial tone buzzed in my ear. I slowly lowered the phone. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I gripped the edge of the dining table to steady myself. The mysterious illness that the doctors couldn't diagnose was getting worse. The fainting spells were more frequent, the pain more persistent.

I looked at my laptop, still open on the table. A document was pulled up, its title stark and official: "Last Will and Testament of Ava Maxwell."

Beneath it, another blank document was open. I sat down, my hands trembling slightly as I typed the first words.

"My dearest Liam,"

It was a letter to be delivered only after I was gone. A last attempt to explain, to apologize, to love him in the only way I had left. It was another item on my list. A list of things to do before I died.

Liam didn't come home that night. He didn't come home the next day either.

When he finally walked through the door two days into the new year, he looked exhausted. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his expensive suit was rumpled. He tossed his keys onto the console table without looking at me.

"You need to sign some papers," he said, his voice flat. He avoided my gaze, heading straight for the kitchen.

I followed him, my hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. "What papers?"

He pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and drank half of it in one go. "The board is meeting tomorrow. They need your signature to approve the new R&D budget. Your father left you those shares, so you're still technically a required signatory."

"Of course," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'll sign them."

He finally looked at me, his eyes cold and assessing. "Are you sick? You look pale."

It was the first time in months he had commented on my appearance. For a foolish second, my heart leaped.

"I'm just a little tired," I lied.

A sudden, wracking cough seized me. I turned away, pressing a hand to my mouth as my body shook. When I pulled my hand away, I didn't dare look at my palm. I knew what I would see.

Liam just watched, his expression unchanged. "See a doctor if you're sick. Don't let it drag on."

He wasn't concerned. It was a command, an inconvenience he wanted dealt with.

"I will," I promised.

He nodded, already turning away, his duty done. "I'm just here to pick up a few things for Chloe. The hospital room is so sterile. I thought I'd bring some of her old stuff from storage."

"Okay," I said, my voice small. "I'll get the papers."

I walked to the study, my legs feeling like lead. The company, Maxwell Corp, was my father's legacy. He had left me a significant portion of it, a fact that had always been a source of tension between Liam and his mother. They thought it should have gone to him, the brilliant tech CEO who had married into the family.

I found the documents on my desk where his assistant had couriered them. As I signed my name, my hand felt weak. I saw another paper underneath it, a brochure from a law firm specializing in estate planning. I had been researching how to transfer all my shares to him, quickly and quietly, without a fuss. It was another task on my checklist.

When I returned to the living room, Liam was on his phone, his back to me.

"Yes, I'm on my way back now," he was saying, his voice suddenly warm, gentle. It was a voice he never used with me. "Did you eat anything? You have to try. For me."

A painful knot formed in my stomach. He was talking to Chloe.

He ended the call and turned, taking the signed papers from my hand without a word of thanks. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the bookshelf. "She always loved those porcelain dolls your mother gave her. I'll take those."

He walked over and began carefully taking them down, one by one. Our wedding photo was on the same shelf, a framed picture of two smiling strangers. He didn't even glance at it.

I just stood there, a ghost in my own home, watching him pack away pieces of a life that had never belonged to me. He was erasing me long before I was even gone.

As he was about to leave, his arms full of a box of Chloe's things, his phone rang again. It was the hospital.

I saw his entire body go rigid. "What? Is she okay?"

He listened, his face transforming from alarm to sheer, unadulterated joy.

"She's awake? She's really awake?" He let out a choked laugh, a sound of pure relief. "I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes."

He rushed out the door without a backward glance, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence, the hole in my life growing wider and deeper. Chloe was awake. The real storm was about to begin.