Chapter 1

My husband, Ethan Vance, suffered from severe panic disorder.

Whenever his phone rang, he would experience uncontrollable heart palpitations and tremors.

Because of this, his phone was permanently on silent.

I had been with him for five years, and in every single moment I desperately needed him, he was unreachable.

When I was sick and called him, the phone only ever went straight to voicemail.

On our anniversary, I waited at the restaurant until closing time, but I couldn't get hold of him no matter how hard I tried.

He even missed my father's funeral, claiming he hadn't felt his phone vibrate and forgot the time.

In the beginning, I had screamed, cried, and fought.

But then he would bring out his medical diagnosis, kneeling on the floor in sheer agony, weeping and begging for my forgiveness.

My heart broke for his pain.

So, I forced myself to get used to his constant absence.

Until today. I was five months pregnant, on my way to a routine prenatal checkup, when a car brutally T-boned my taxi.

Covered in blood, I called Ethan 126 times. Every single call went unanswered.

Meanwhile, Chloe Miller—my best friend and the driver who had caused the crash—stumbled out of her car in a panic. She pulled out her phone and made a single call.

In less than ten minutes, Ethan arrived at the scene.

At that exact moment, the harsh truth shattered my world: Ethan hadn't muted his phone. He had only muted me.