Chapter 2

"Ethan, you should leave me. Go check on Nora."

In the sterile corridor outside the hospital's orthopedic ER.

Chloe sat in a wheelchair, gently tugging at Ethan's sleeve.

Her voice was quiet.

It was just loud enough for the passing nurses to hear, dripping with self-reproach and anxiety.

"Nora isn't answering your calls. It must be because of my ankle," Chloe murmured.

"I ruined your dinner plans."

"My ankle really doesn't hurt anymore. Some ice will do. Go find her."

Chloe lowered her head, her eyes rimmed with red, her fingers nervously twisting the thin blanket over her lap.

"I don't want a minor injury like this..."

"...to cause another fight between you and Nora. I'd feel so guilty."

Heavy rain pelting the windowpanes made a dull, depressing sound.

My soul drifted beneath the pale fluorescent lights of the corridor, silently watching them.

Just half an hour ago, I was crushed into a bloody mess of flesh and metal at the bottom of the Midtown office building.

And now, in this bizarre form...

...I was forced to watch my boyfriend dote on another woman.

Ethan stared at his phone screen. Still busy. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his tie in frustration.

He grabbed his car keys and started to get up.

But he froze when he heard Chloe's voice.

Sitting back down on the bench, he tucked the slipping blanket around Chloe's knees.

"You can't even walk. How are you going to get home?"

"The doctor said it's not broken, but a soft tissue injury is still serious."

His tone was gentle, carrying a natural protectiveness that brooked no argument.

"Nora might be stubborn, but she has common sense. She won't throw a fit over something like this."

Chloe bit her lower lip, making her voice even softer.

"But Nora hasn't been looking well lately. What if she really has an emergency?"

Ethan let out a soft laugh and shoved his phone into his pocket.

"What emergency could she possibly have?"

"She's just throwing a tantrum because I came out to help you in the middle of the night. She turned off her phone to scare me."

"Once we get your meds, I'll drop you off. I'll stop by that French patisserie on the way back and get her favorite raspberry mille-feuille."

"I know her. She'll stop sulking once she sees the dessert."

I hovered in the air, staring at his smug, confident face.

He was always like this. So sure I could never leave him.

So sure that no matter how biased he was, a little sweet treat would make me wag my tail and forgive him.

He wheeled Chloe to the pharmacy for her meds, then drove her safely back to her apartment.

Afterward, his sleek car pulled up in front of the famous French patisserie.

It was late, but there was still a long line inside.

Ethan was a man who lost his temper if a red light took longer than a minute.

Yet, he patiently stood at the very back of the line.

The cashier smiled warmly as she boxed the last signature mille-feuille and handed it to him.

"You're such a wonderful boyfriend, sir. Waiting in line so late just to buy her dessert."

Ethan took the elegant pastry box, a faint, proud smile gracing his lips.

"She's been in a bad mood lately. Just getting something sweet to cheer her up."

I watched him cradle the pastry box like it was some priceless treasure.

Once, a rare gesture like this would have made me jump with joy for a week.

But now, I only found it deeply ironic.

He had the patience to wait thirty minutes in line for a pastry.

Yet, he completely forgot that three months ago...

...my doctor had strictly banned me from eating high-sugar foods due to my severe heart failure.

He got back in his car and placed the box carefully on the passenger seat.

He even reached over to lower the car's AC temperature by two degrees.

He was terrified the cream might melt in the heat.

Having done all this, he dialed my number again.

Only the cold, mechanical voicemail greeted him.

Ethan frowned, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

"She actually turned off her phone. Her tantrums are getting worse."

He started the engine, the windshield wipers rhythmically sweeping away the rain.

My dead phone...

...was currently crushed alongside my broken fingers, buried deep in the concrete cracks beneath thirty stories of rubble.