My arms stung from the burns, but it didn’t matter. I went back to my room, pulled out the first-aid kit, and poured alcohol over the cotton. The sting nearly knocked the breath out of me.

But honestly… it still wasn’t as painful as watching the man I loved forget me, piece by piece.

Back then, Beckley used to make such a fuss over me. Even if I got a small paper cut, he’d panic, grab my hand, and run me to the infirmary like I was about to die. I used to laugh at how dramatic he was, but secretly, I loved it. He made me feel precious.

Now… he didn’t even notice the burns on my arm. He didn’t even ask. He just walked away with Fresca.

I closed my eyes that night, the tears I’d been holding back finally spilling over. They slid down my cheeks and landed right on my burns, stinging so badly that I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. But even that sting wasn’t half as sharp as the ache in my chest.

.....

The next two days only proved how far I’d fallen in his world. Fresca clung to him like glue. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

In the dining room, she pouted like a spoiled child, nudging his arm. “Beckley, feed me the shrimp. Please? You know it tastes better when you do it.”

I sat there quietly, pushing my food around, as Beckley actually picked up the shrimp and put it to her lips. She smiled sweetly, leaning into him as if I wasn’t even there.

Later on the couch, she snuggled into his chest while a movie played. “Hold me tighter. I get scared during the loud parts.”

And Beckley just tightened his arms around her, no hesitation at all.

Every time I walked past, Fresca would look at me with that sugary smile of hers and tilt her head. “Claire, you promised, right? You won’t mind if we’re close like this?”

My lips would curve into the faintest smile, my voice soft. “Not at all.” That became my answer to everything. I couldn’t even tell if I was lying anymore.

But the truth was my body was giving out faster than I wanted to admit.

Fresca was supposed to be my bone marrow donor. My cousin, my own blood, the one person who could help me. But she kept dangling it like a prize, like a game where I was always losing.

.....

I looked in the mirror that evening, pale and weak, and realized I might not even have the strength to stand much longer. That was when I made a decision. Before I grew too frail to move, I wanted one last picture.

A photo to use at my funeral.

So that even if my face faded from Beckley’s memory, at least he would see me once more—smiling, alive, and still me.

“Miss, you’ve got such a graceful face. What’s the picture for? ID? Graduation?”

I looked straight into the camera. My voice came out steady, but inside I was already gone. “For my funeral.”

His hands shook so badly I thought he might drop the camera. He didn’t even know what to say, and I didn’t care to explain. I just sat still, let the flash blind me, and told myself this would be the photo they’d place on my coffin.

When I went to wait for the copy, laughter rang through the front door. I froze because I knew that laugh. Beckley’s low chuckle, mixed with Fresca’s high-pitched giggle.

I turned my head and saw them walking in, arm in arm, like a happy couple on a date. Fresca’s eyes widened when she noticed me. “Claire? Why are you here?”

I tucked the photo into my pocket quickly. “Just took one for my ID.” My voice stayed calm. “What about you two?”

She leaned her head on Beckley’s shoulder, acting all soft. “A photo album is important for couples. We took some a few days ago, so we’re here to pick them up.”

Beckley glanced at me, trying to explain. “She begged for it. I only went along to humor her. Once you’re better, we can take our own album too.”

My heart tightened. I nodded and said nothing.

The staff called them over to select their pictures. I wanted to slip out, but Fresca grabbed my wrist. “Claire, help us choose. Your taste is better than mine.”

Before I could answer, she dragged me to the computer screen. And there they were.

Photo after photo of Beckley and Fresca together. Holding hands. Smiling like they belonged. In one picture, the sunset spilled behind them as they kissed. In another, Beckley hugged her from behind, both of them in matching white.

Every image stabbed at me. My throat felt tight, but Fresca’s voice rang beside me, cheerful and sharp. “Pick a good one, Claire. Which do you think makes us look the happiest?”

I wanted to speak, but before I could, a loud crash shook the studio. The shelves toppled over.

Beckley didn’t even hesitate. He lunged at Fresca, covering her with his body.

Meanwhile, the sharp corner of a metal shelf slammed against my shoulder. I screamed as pain shot through me. The edge tore through my blouse, hot blood soaking me instantly.

“Beckley, it hurts!” Fresca wailed, clutching at her arm where there was barely a scratch.

Beckley panicked, his voice tight. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you to a hospital.” He swept her into his arms like a bride and rushed toward the door.

He stopped just once, turning his head back. His eyes landed on me, trapped under the heavy shelf, blood pooling around me as I struggled to crawl out. Our gazes locked for a moment—one, two seconds—and then he looked away.

Without a word, he left with her.

I forced myself up, swaying, and dragged my own body to the hospital.

The doctor frowned as he stitched my wound. “Why didn’t you have anyone bring you here? You’re losing too much blood. This is serious.”

I bit my lip as the needle pierced my skin. “I didn’t have anyone.”

He hesitated, then said, “Strange… a young woman was here earlier with a tiny graze, but her boyfriend looked terrified for her. He demanded extra consultations.”

A bitter laugh left me before I could stop it. “That was my boyfriend too.”

The doctor froze, his eyes wide. He didn’t ask another question. He just finished stitching me in silence.

Late that night, I was in my room trying to change my own bandage when Beckley finally came back. He opened the door and froze when he saw me struggling.

His eyes went wide when he saw the wound. “Claire, how did this happen?” His voice cracked as he rushed over.

I didn’t look up. “The shelf hit me.”

His hand hovered in the air, shaking. “I… it was chaos. Fresca was crying. I thought she was hurt bad. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

I forced a small smile. “You did the right thing. She needed you.”

“No, Claire.” He grabbed my hand tightly. His grip was warm, desperate. “You don’t understand. I only treat her well because of her bone marrow. You’re the one I love. Always you. Don’t push me away.”

My eyes burned, “I know. That’s why I didn’t blame you.”

Relief washed over his face. He carefully bandaged my wound, his fingers gentle. “Rest now. I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

For a moment, with his warm hands fixing my bandage, I almost believed it was the past again. Back when he never left my side.

But then the ringtone broke the silence.

“Beckley…” Fresca’s voice was full of sobs. “I miss you. I’m scared… I can’t find you…”

Beckley’s face twisted with guilt. “I’ll come right away.”

He hung up and looked at me, torn. “She’s alone in the hospital. She’s afraid. I’ll come back after she sleeps, I swear.”

Then he left in a rush, carrying away the last warmth in my room.

I curled up on my bed like a child, hugging my knees to my chest, my breathing uneven. It was not just my chest that hurt. It was my heart. Beckley had not come home for two days straight. At first I kept checking the clock, waiting for his footsteps, but now I just stopped caring. I swallowed my meds on time, changed the dressing on my arm when I needed to, and forced myself to heal quietly in my little corner.

....

That afternoon, I sat by the window with a book on my lap. The sunlight was warm, but my eyes felt too weak to hold it for long. My phone buzzed on the table, and when I picked it up, her voice poured through the speaker.

“Hi, Claire. Guess what?” Fresca’s voice had that fake sweetness that made my stomach twist. She was enjoying herself. “Do you know Beckley risked his life for me?”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

She giggled like a little girl showing off a prize. “I only mentioned I wanted that necklace they give to the champion of the motorbike stunt show. He signed up right away, Claire. He didn’t even hesitate. You should have seen it! He drove so fast the bike nearly flipped. He almost died, all for me. And when they pushed him into the ER, do you know what he shouted?” Her voice trembled with excitement. “He called my name. Mine.”

My book slipped shut on my lap. I turned to the window. The sun outside was too bright, it stung my eyes, but I would not let her hear me break. “So he hurt himself to make you smile,” I said softly.

“Yes,” she whispered, drawing out the word. “He needs someone to take care of him now. I thought maybe you would want to come over?”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “No, Fresca. He’s yours, isn’t he? You’re the one he chose to get hurt for. Then you should be the one to take care of him.”

Her silence lasted a beat too long. Before she could say another word, I ended the call. I dropped the phone onto the couch like it was burning my hand.

The trees outside swayed in the breeze, their leaves whispering against each other. I stared at them until my eyes blurred, then picked up my phone again.

My fingers dialed a number I had memorized weeks ago.

“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.

“Hi. This is about the double grave plot, section B, number twelve. I wanted to ask if—”

The door crashed open so loud I jumped, nearly dropping the phone.

“Claire!”

I looked up, and my heart stopped. Beckley stood in the doorway, pale as death in a striped hospital gown. His chest was thickly wrapped in bandages, but I could see the blood soaking through, spreading wider with each breath. His lips were drained of color, yet his eyes… his eyes were burning like fire.

My phone slid from my hand to the floor. “Beckley, what are you doing here? You should be in the hospital!”

He staggered a step closer, clutching the doorway for balance. “Why, Claire? Why were you trying to buy a grave?”

I forced a little smile, even though my heart stopped beating for a second. “It’s not what you think. The neighbor’s dog passed away last night. They begged me to help arrange something because they didn’t know how. That’s all, Beck.” I said it so calmly that even I almost believed it.

His shoulders sagged, but his face twisted in pain. He stumbled and caught the wall. “Motor crash.”

I rushed to him and held his arm. “Don’t talk. I’ll take you right now back to hospital.”

On the ride there, his head rested against the seat, his lashes fluttering like a boy too tired to fight. I stared at him, memorizing the shape of his face, the way his lips parted when he breathed. My voice trembled so softly only the wind could hear. “This will be the last time I worry about you, Beck. After this, I’ll already be in the grave.”

....

At the hospital, I signed the papers, tucked him into a bed, fixed the blanket like a nurse. He drifted into sleep, and I stepped into the hall with my phone. My voice stayed steady. “Fresca, can you come here in the morning? I have something important to do.”

She laughed faintly, music and chatter spilling in the background. “I’m out right now, Claire. I’ll drop by tomorrow, fine? Don’t sound so serious.”

Morning came. Fresca walked in with her designer bag slung over her shoulder, her hair perfectly done. She looked more like she was stepping onto a runway than into a hospital.

I gave her a quiet smile, hiding the ache in my chest. “You came.”

She tilted her head, lips curling. “Of course. I wanted to see how you’re doing… though let’s be honest, Claire. I’ll never donate bone marrow for you. Why would I? You know I only want Beckley. I’d rather see you gone.” Her voice was loud enough that the nurses turned their heads.

“I know, cousin. You wished I would die. Then take him. Care for him yourself.”

Something in my calm tone made her eyes flash. She grabbed my arm hard, her nails digging into my skin. “Stop acting holy. You’re trying to guilt-trip me.” She shook me so violently that pain shot through me, but I bit down on my lip and refused to scream.

The noise woke Beckley.

Fresca let go of me at once and slapped her own cheek, then burst into tears. “Beckley! Claire hit me! She was jealous of me, I swear. She told me to give her my bone marrow right now while you were asleep. She forced me to agree to surgery, but when I said no, she slapped me!” She cradled her face, crying harder, her sobs shaking the room.

My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Beck, listen to me, she—”

“Enough!” Beckley ripped the IV out and stormed to me, his face pale but furious. He grabbed my arm so hard it burned, then raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The force sent me stumbling to the floor. Warm blood rushed from my nose.

His voice broke as he shouted. “Is this who you’ve become, Claire? Forcing Fresca like that? Couldn’t you wait? Why are you like this? You’re not the Claire I loved before... Ugly.”

Behind him, Fresca covered her mouth with both hands, sobbing like a little angel, but I caught the curl of her lips through the tears.

I pressed my sleeve to my bleeding nose, tears slipping down my cheeks. I didn’t argue. There was nothing left to say. I stood slowly, my knees weak, and walked out.

Before I left the doorway, I heard his voice, gentle, full of warmth I hadn’t heard in months. “Fresca, don’t cry. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I’ll punish Claire when I’m discharged.”

I smiled bitterly through my tears and wiped them away with the back of my hand.

I get home with my face still stinging and my nose still wet, and I just drop down on the couch because everything aches and I am so tired. I wrap my hand in a towel and try to slow my breathing. I am barely holding myself together when the doorbell rings.

My heart jumps. Who would come now? I stumble to the door and open it and there she is—my mother. My mother, the woman who left me when I was a baby, standing on my doorstep like she owns the moment. She looks smaller than I imagined, like time ate her edges, but when she sees me she drops her bag and runs forward and grabs me so fast I nearly topple over.

She clutches me like she has been living for this hug forever, tears running down her face. “Oh my God, my baby, my Claire, I found you.” She whispers it like a prayer. I try to stand but my knees give out and I slump onto the couch in her arms. Everything goes a little fuzzy.

She pulls back and suddenly her face is terrified. “What happened? Why are you bleeding?” she asks, voice shaking.

I press the towel to my nose and whisper, “I have aplastic anemia. I need a bone marrow donor. I—” My words break. I can’t get the whole sentence out without coughing.

She gets pale and she grabs both my hands like she’s anchoring herself. “I will give you mine,” she says fast, like she’s afraid I’ll say no. “But you have to come with me. Come to Europe. Live with me and your two brothers. Please, Claire, say yes.”

I stare at her, my chest tight. “You left me,” I say. The words are small but steady. “You left me with Grandma. You disappeared. How do I just pack up and trust you now?”

She drops her head and the sound she makes is so full of regret it stabs me. “I worked abroad to send money home,” she says. “I had an accident, I lost my memory, I started over by mistake. I only remembered last year. I have spent months trying to find you. I am so sorry it took me so long. I never stopped being your mother, Claire. I swear.”

I want to believe her. I want to swallow the relief and sprint away with her, but my chest is hollow and the betrayal is still sticky. I whisper, “Let me think. I just met you today. I have to think.”

She nods like she expected me to say that, and she leans down and kisses my forehead softly. “Call me when you’re ready,” she says. She leaves a number and a trembling smile and then she is gone.

I barely get my head down when the house fills with footsteps. Five men burst through the back gate without knocking. They grab me, they throw a blanket over my shoulders and drag me to the yard like I’m a sack. I scream and I try to fight but my limbs are weak and it rains and everything is loud and humiliating.

One of them leans close and says, “Boss says you sleep outside tonight. Punishment for hurting Miss Fresca.” They spit the words like they imagine I deserve it. I pound on the door. I beg. “Please, please let me in, I’m sick, I need my meds.” They shove me more and one of them laughs. The sky opens and I am soaked and shivering.

My phone rings. It’s Beckley. I fumble it open with numb fingers and he sounds like someone reading off bad news. “Listen,” he says, calm and flat, “your transplant was scheduled for tomorrow. But after what you did to Fresca she’s too upset to go through with it. She’s traumatized and she will not stop crying. Think about what you did, Claire.” Then the line clicks off.

Rain mixes with my tears. I curl up on the cold grass and clutch the phone to my chest like it is the last thing that keeps me breathing. My fingers move slowly and clumsily as I dial the number my mother left.

The line clicks and then her sleepy voice answers, “Hello?”

“Mom,” I whisper into the rain, my teeth chattering. “Please come. I’ll go with you. I will come to Europe and go with you anywhere. Get me out of here.”