Chapter 1

Just one week after being discharged from the hospital following a horrific car crash, my husband forced me onto the stage at his childhood best friend’s birthday gala.

When I begged him not to make me dance, he merely sneered with cold disgust.

"What's wrong? Aren't you supposed to love dancing more than anything? Weren't you ruthless enough to abort our baby just so you could keep your precious dancer's body?"

"Now that you're being asked to dance, you play reluctant! Elena is being generous by giving you this stage. You should be grateful instead of throwing a tantrum!"

"Do it, or don't blame me when I cut off every cent for your brother’s medical care!"

Left with no choice, I rose onto my toes, the raw, unhealed flesh grinding against cold carbon fiber.

My whole body trembled with agony, but the tempo of the music only accelerated.

My trembling frame couldn't hold out. I crashed violently onto the polished floor. The prosthetic detached, rolling away to expose the bloody, mangled stump beneath my hem.

Elena burst out laughing, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Look at how hard she tried! She literally danced her own leg right off!"

"What's her next act? Is she going to give us a live demonstration on how to snap a fake limb back on?"

Across the room, my husband’s eyes reddened. He stared at the floor, the color draining from his face in sheer disbelief.

"This... how is this possible?"

Just two weeks ago, I had been in a devastating car crash.

Under the sympathetic gaze of the ER surgeon, my final sentence was delivered.

"Ma'am, your left leg sustained severe crush trauma. The tissue has already necrosed. To prevent a lethal systemic infection, an emergency amputation is our only option."

"As for the pregnancy... we strongly advise an immediate termination. Otherwise, the trauma and medications will likely..."

It felt as though a chasm had ripped open in my chest.

I shook my head frantically, refusing to believe it.

For a fleeting second, I hated myself for surviving the impact. Why couldn't the collision have just killed me outright?

Why did God have to take my baby, yet leave me behind to endure the wreckage?

I was wheeled into the operating theater.

The blinding glare of the surgical lights beat down on my pale, tear-stained face.

As the anesthesia began to take hold, I stubbornly fought to keep my eyelids from fluttering shut.

I didn't want to wake up knowing the rest of my life would rely on a piece of plastic and steel.

I didn't want my child to vanish from this world without leaving a single trace behind.

I didn't want any of this...

When the drugs finally wore off, sharp, throbbing waves of agony tore through the severed end of my leg, dragging me back into harsh consciousness.

It felt like thousands of white-hot needles plunging deep into my bone marrow. I gasped for air, shuddering against the sheets.

Instinctively, I tried to shift my legs, only to realize with sickening clarity that the lower half of my left side was completely gone.

There was only a thick, tightly wrapped bundle of gauze where my calf should have been.

A piece of my soul had been hollowed out. I felt so utterly empty that even the pain seemed to numb into a dull ache.

Suddenly, the door to the room slammed open, rebounding off the wall with a deafening bang.

Vincent stood in the doorway, his face dark with fury.

He crossed the room in three brisk strides, towering over my bed as he practically roared:

"Chloe! Why the hell did you abort our child?!"

"Just because I stayed a little longer to keep Elena company and missed your call, you threw a tantrum and killed our baby?!"

I parted my dry, cracked lips, but no sound came out.

That phone call had been my desperate, dying plea for help.

Trapped in the crumpled metal of my car, using the very last ounce of strength in my battered body, I had crawled toward the shattered screen with only one frantic thought in my head:

*Vincent, save me... please, save our baby...*