I stayed in my room all day, listening to the noise outside. Amber had the TV blasted so loud the walls shook, walking around in heels on the hardwood, laughing and talking to herself like she owned the place. She even opened Manuel’s expensive red wine to drink with fried chicken. Every single thing she did would’ve made him furious in the past. I remembered the cold stares, the clipped words, the way he’d stop me if I even breathed wrong. And now, I heard him quietly tell her, “Eat slowly. Nobody’s going to take anything from you. Relax, I’ve got it.”

I didn’t leave until dinner. When I got to the table, it was already set with plates of food, and Amber was sitting next to Manuel, grinning like the queen of the house. “Manuel, look at this, I can’t believe you remembered all my favorites! The fried chicken just the way I like it, and this wine, perfect pairing, you’re so amazing.”

“Yes,” he said softly, “I remembered everything you like, down to the smallest detail. I want tonight to be perfect for you. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks and I want to make sure you’re comfortable, okay?”

Amber’s eyes sparkled and she turned toward me, calling, “Sister, come on, don’t just stand there, join us! There’s plenty for everyone. Manuel’s been so thoughtful setting all this up. Don’t you want some too?”

I walked to the other end of the table quietly, feeling like I had wandered into someone else’s life by accident.

I picked up a piece of food, tried to take a bite, and felt my throat itch. I frowned and tried another dish, but the burning, prickling feeling only got worse.

“Sister, what’s wrong?” Amber exclaimed suddenly. “Why are your hands all red? Are you allergic to something? You’re scratching and I can see the rash spreading—oh my God, do you need help?”

I looked down. My arms were covered in angry red rashes. My chest felt tight, my breaths coming fast, and I tried to speak but nothing came out. I barely managed to point to my bag where the emergency meds were.

Amber jumped up, almost knocking her chair over, and ran toward my bag, but she stumbled and spilled a bowl of scalding soup right onto my arms. “Ah! Oh my God!” she screamed. The burning pain shot through me, and tears ran down my face before I even realized it.

I saw Manuel moving quickly, but not toward me. He was holding Amber, checking her hands like she was the most precious thing in the world. “Did you burn yourself? Fuck! I told you to be careful! How could you be so careless?”

My vision blurred. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was him carrying her away.

...

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The nurse was changing my IV drip. “Your allergy was so severe you could have died. You also have second-degree burns. And no one has come to see you in four days. Why hasn’t anyone come for you? Does your family not know?”

I opened my mouth, but then heard whispers outside.

“I heard President Davenport booked the entire floor?”

“Yes, all because Miss Moore got burned. He’s spoiling her so much, if I’d come a little later her wounds might have healed by now. Can you believe it?”

“She’s so lucky. I wouldn’t even know what to do if I had someone do all this for me.”

I closed my eyes slowly. “I… I have no family.”

The nurse hesitated for a second and then quietly left.

The ward had been quiet for a while when my phone buzzed. I fumbled to answer it, and a frail but strong voice came through.

“Rora it’s me, Grandpa.”

I froze. The Davenport patriarch, the only elder in my diary who’d ever been kind to me, was on the line.

“Rora I know what’s been happening lately,” he said, his voice tight with worry. “You’ve been through too much. Now that Manuel has married you, he has to treat you right. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one mistreats you.”

I felt a tingle in my nose and my chest ached in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I almost cried. “No need, Grandpa, I’m fine.”

“You’re heartbreaking Rora” he said, sighing. “You’re supposed to be this young lady from a rich family, and yet look at you. Abducted as a child, ignored by your own parents, while they spoiled their adopted daughter instead. And Manuel…” His voice faltered for a second, thick with frustration and sorrow. “You’ve done everything for him. Learned every massage technique he liked, hunted down rare tea sets from cities away, stayed up for days when he was hospitalized, handled his mother’s funeral on your own. And he treats you like you’re nothing. He’ll regret it, I swear.”

I stared blankly at the white ceiling. None of it made sense anymore. I didn’t remember any of it. But hearing him describe it, the way he had been cold, the way I’d given everything, my chest ached like someone was squeezing it.

“Alright, Grandpa’s checking out now,” he said finally. “Remember, if you need anything, just call me. I’ll be there.”

The call ended, and moments later the ward door opened. Manuel appeared, every bit as immaculate as always, sharp suit, cold eyes, and that faint air of superiority.

“You had an allergic reaction, tried to kill yourself, and then went running to my grandfather for comfort,” he said, voice low and mocking. “Besides threatening suicide and calling Grandpa, do you have any other tricks up your sleeve to get my attention?”

I wanted to explain, but his eyes made me shrink. I whispered, “I didn’t mean to commit suicide… I just forgot I’m allergic to peanuts.”

“Forgot you’re allergic to peanuts?” he sneered, stepping closer. “Why don’t you just tell me you forgot who you even are?”

I didn’t answer. I had forgotten. Forgotten the desperate, humble Aurora who’d loved him so much she’d thrown herself at him in every possible way. Forgotten the nights I cried myself to sleep, begging for even a glance, a word, a smile. Forgotten the bone-deep love I’d carried for him that had poisoned my life.

But I stayed quiet.

Grandpa’s call seemed to force him to stay, at least for a little while, to “take care” of me. Take care, he said. That word felt like a joke. He ignored the IV backflow, barely reacted when I scalded my hand in the bath, and when I hit the call button gasping for air, he was only concerned with asking his assistant, “Has Amber’s burn been dressed yet? Send over the best scar cream if not.”

Even though I didn’t love him anymore, I felt that suffocating weight pressing down anyway. How did I survive all those years? How did I endure this? Loving him so much, giving everything, and getting nothing in return, day after day, night after night.

Outside, the tree leaves drifted past the window. And I remembered the last line I wrote in my diary: *If one day I stop loving you, it’s because my heart has died.*

Looking back now, I realized that Aurora, the one who wrote those words, probably died a long time ago, in a thousand nights of being ignored and abandoned.

The ward was empty the day I got discharged. I knew Manuel had gone to see Amber again. In all the six years of our marriage, he’d spent maybe a handful of days by my side. I didn’t expect anything different anymore. I just waited quietly, letting the immigration paperwork take its course.

Amber’s Insta Stories kept blowing up my feed while I waited—Bay Hotel sunsets on some private island. And there he was in every single photo, smiling at her with that gentle look I used to dream of, the one I never got. The latest post showed him at the foot of a snow-capped mountain, tying her scarf around her neck, his fingers long and careful, his eyes soft. She leaned against him, laughing, smiling like the world was hers. The caption read, “He said he’d show me the world.”

I just walked past it like I was watching strangers. I asked myself, did I ever look like that in someone’s eyes? Did he ever look at me like that?

...

Three days later, the immigration office finally called. My passport and visa were ready. I went straight to the law firm to pick up the divorce agreement and the statement to sever parent-child ties. Everything I needed to leave this place forever was in my bag. I folded the papers carefully, shoved them into the deepest compartment, zipped my jacket tight, and felt a strange weight lift off me.

Then my phone lit up. Amber.

“Hey sister, can we talk?”

“What are we talking about?” I typed back.

“You’ve held the title of Mrs. Davenport for six years, shouldn’t you hand it back to me?”

I smiled coldly. “It’s already been returned.”

I dropped my phone in my bag and walked out without looking back.

The front door opened, but the motion-sensor light didn’t come on. I frowned and groped for the switch, when a sharp pain exploded in the back of my head. I barely heard Amber’s voice talking to a man before everything went black.

I woke up to a screaming wind on my face. My eyes snapped open, and I realized I was hanging over a cliff. The rope cut into my wrists, my legs dangling above nothing. I turned my head and saw Amber not far from me, pale and trembling.

“Awake?” A man stood to the side, cigarette hanging from his lips, and sneered. “Don’t worry, your guy will be here soon.”

I swallowed, trying not to scream. My hands shook so much, I thought the rope might slip.

Then the roar of engines came. Black SUVs skidded to a stop at the cliff edge. Manuel stepped out, black trench coat, eyes hard, and the kind of presence that made everything else feel small.

“Here’s the fucking money, release them.”

The kidnapper grinned, “As expected of President Davenport, so direct.” He checked the cash, waved his men aside, “I’ve given you the person, I’ll leave the rest to you, Mr. Davenport.” Then they vanished.

I hung there, heart hammering, rocks crumbling beneath us. “Manuel! Please! I’m so scared!” Amber’s voice cracked, tears streaking her face. “Save me!”

The bodyguard checked the ropes, face tight. “Mr. Davenport, these ropes won’t hold for long. We can only get one person at a time.”

Without hesitation, he stepped toward Amber. I clenched my fists, hanging there, wondering if I’d be next, if anyone would care if I fell.

At that moment, I saw my parents pull up in their car. They jumped out, voices loud, panic in their tone.

“Amber!”

“Save Amber first! Hurry up! She can’t handle this kind of stress!” my mom screamed, her voice sharp and panicked as if I didn’t even exist.

My dad rushed forward too. “Careful with the rope! Pull slowly! Don’t let her slip!”

Amber sobbed, her whole body shaking. “Mom! Dad! Manuel! I’m scared! Please don’t let me fall!”

“I’ve got you,” Manuel said immediately. “Look at me, Amber. Just keep looking at me. Don’t look down. We’re pulling you up right now.”

“I can’t hold on anymore!” Amber cried. “My hands hurt. Manuel, please hurry…”

“Just a few more seconds,” he murmured gently. “You’re safe. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Pull harder!” my mom kept shouting. “Don’t stop! My poor baby, hold on!”

Not one of them said my name. Not once.

I was still hanging there beside her, the rope biting deep into my wrists. My arms were shaking so badly I could barely feel my fingers anymore. Did they forget I was here too?

The rope above me creaked.

A sharp snapping sound suddenly tore through the wind.

“Wait!” one of the bodyguards shouted.

Too late.

The rope jerked violently and dropped.

I fell.

Rocks broke loose beneath my feet and tumbled down the cliff as the wind roared past my ears. My stomach flipped as the ground disappeared beneath me. So this was it? Was this really how my life ended?