I swallowed the pain that split through my chest and bones and walked into the room with the soup in my hands.

Logan sat on the bed in a blue-and-white striped hospital gown. An IV drip hung from the back of his hand. The heart monitor beside him beeped steadily.

He looked like a man on the edge of death.

His gaze fell on the report still peeking from my bag.

"What’s that?"

I panicked and snatched it back, stuffing it deep into the bottom of my tote.

"Just a receipt. It’s nothing important."

The questions I had planned to ask him at the door caught in my throat.

James was right.

I didn’t deserve Logan.

Three years ago, I was running a small corner store on a quiet street.

One night, Logan showed up right before closing. He grabbed a beer, sat at the bar near the window and drank with his head down like the world had ended. Probably some kind of heartbreak.

No one wants to chase away a handsome, broken man. I was no exception.

That night, for the first time, I didn’t lock the door on time. I just sat quietly with him until sunrise.

At first, I thought it was just a chance encounter.

But he kept coming back.

Night after night, Logan would stop by, pick out a drink and always leave extra cash on the counter. Over time, we became familiar. I’d set aside his favorite juice, a chocolate bar, sometimes even mix a drink behind the bar. He’d laugh and tell me I was funny.

Then one night, a group of drunk men smashed up the store.

Logan stood there, eyes serious.

"Besides this place, I’ve got nowhere else to go."

"So why don’t you take me home?"

So I did.

He moved into my tiny apartment without hesitation.

Eventually, we fell in love. Or so I thought.

The store picked up business and I was able to move into a better place. But the bed stayed small. Barely wide enough for one and a half people.

Logan said it made him feel safe. That he could sleep better if the bed was narrow and warm.

That was the first time I ever felt like I had a home in this floating city.

But he was right about one thing.

I really was foolish.

Foolish enough to think that a piece of starlight had chosen to shine only for me.

My hand moved mechanically, stirring the soup. Logan accepted it without question and began sipping as if everything was normal.

I sat quietly in the visitor’s chair and let my gaze trace the familiar lines of his face.

He noticed and smiled.

"You look like you’re about to cry. Can’t stand to be away from me, huh? Want to glue yourself to me twenty-four hours a day?"

I smiled too.

"Yeah. I’m staring now because I won’t get many chances later."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it quickly. Something changed in his expression, just for a second, then he looked up.

"Emily, I suddenly want that coconut milk from the market on the west side of town. Could you go pick it up for me?"

His acting was poor.

Still, I nodded.

"Sure."

Not long after I left the room, Logan stepped out too.

He had changed into a casual suit. He looked sharp, confident and nothing like a man with a terminal illness. Strangers turned to watch him pass.

I hid around the corner, heart racing.

I knew where he was going. I knew who he was about to meet.

The one James had called the first love.

Grace.

Her name wasn’t unfamiliar to me.

She was the name Logan had once whispered in his sleep, in his drunken rambling. It had been a long time since I heard it, but I never forgot.

They met just across from the hospital, in a stylish café that sat diagonally across the street. The place was packed, but somehow, their table stood untouched, set apart.

Grace arrived in a white summer dress, her black curls cascading neatly over one shoulder. She looked every bit the daughter of a wealthy family. Her heels clicked across the tiled floor as she approached. Then, without hesitation, she raised her handbag and struck Logan across the face with it.

"How could you lower yourself like this?"

"Even if you want to provoke me, at least have some dignity."

If you'd like me to continue with the next segment in the same tone, I’m ready. Or I can begin compiling all the polished sections into a single story document. Let me know your preference.

"If James hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known you were actually with someone like that!”

Logan had just been hit and turned his head slightly, but a trace of a smile crept onto his lips.

“Grace, you still say you don’t care about me?”

Grace froze, her eyes reddening with anger.

“Logan, you’re absolutely unbelievable!”

She stepped forward again, raising her hand for another slap.

But her wrist was caught easily by Logan and pulled into his arms.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, resting his chin on her delicate shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“Don’t be mad, I’ll handle everything.”

Grace struggled gently for a moment but didn’t pull away.

The two of them looked like they belonged in some romantic TV drama.

I still went to the west side of the city to buy the little carton of coconut milk and by the time I got back to the rental house, it was already late.

Logan hadn’t brought a key and stood outside waiting for me.

When he saw me, he paused.

“I went to the apartment before I realized you moved back here again.”

I nodded and unlocked the door.

“The lease ran out. I came back here.”

The place was old and worn, with dim lighting, dirty stair rails and dust everywhere.

It wasn’t like the apartment that cost three grand a month.

“I’m being discharged today. I shouldn’t keep dragging you down.”

Logan wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“The doctor said there’s only about a month left. I don’t want treatment anymore.”

I looked down.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be cured. He’d had enough fun and was ready to cut ties. Ready to step into his new life with Grace.

I gave a faint smile.

“Alright.”

“Logan, let’s go visit the cemetery.”

The cemeteries in the city were mostly in the southern suburbs.

I’d searched for days and finally found a spot.

It had mountains at its back, water in front, a southern exposure and was lush and green. It looked peaceful.

I kind of liked it.

I signed the contract and put down a deposit of twenty thousand.

“Emily...” Logan pursed his lips, about to say something, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced at the caller ID and quickly hid his expression.

“Emily, a friend needs to see me. I’ll go meet them.”

I nodded without asking questions.

Turning back toward the headstone, I knelt and took out a tissue, wiping off the dust little by little.

My parents died young. I had no relatives, no close friends.

And the only love I ever had… was never truly mine.

I was deep in thought when my phone buzzed.

It was a photo from an unknown number.

A shot of two hands intertwined. No message.

But the hand in the photo—I recognized it instantly.

That hand with its strong fingers, the one I’d held almost every day.

The back of the hand was broad. The palm was always warm.

So Logan had gone to see Grace.

I thought I could accept it. I thought I could smile through it.

But the moment I saw that photo, the breath caught in my chest. My heart felt like it had been carved open.

It reminded me that everything—the last three years—had been nothing but a lie.

The love was fake.

The next few days, Logan went out every day. At night, he came back and curled up with me on our small bed.

I stopped eating.

I was getting lighter and lighter.

Not long ago, I still weighed eighty pounds.

Now I was down to seventy-five.

Logan held me close and frowned.

“How did you get so thin?”

I answered vaguely.

“I’ve been cutting back. Trying to lose weight.”

“You’re too skinny. Don’t lose any more. You’re easier to hold when you’re soft.”

Logan spoke casually, his breath behind my ear gradually settling.

I couldn’t sleep. My stomach ached and my heart twisted with pain.

Lately, Grace had been sending me photos from different numbers.

They started with simple shots of her holding hands with someone.

Then came a kissing photo, Logan’s profile barely visible as if he were some cherished treasure being kissed.

After that, Grace appeared half-undressed, holding Logan in a mirror selfie. His broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Later still, the photos were just a pile of tangled clothes. The message was obvious.

A wave of nausea rolled through me.

I rushed to the bathroom and vomited violently into the toilet.

There had only been a few spoonfuls of porridge for dinner. My stomach was empty. All I could throw up was yellow bile.

My throat burned painfully.

"Emily, what’s wrong?" Logan wandered in sleepily. "Is your stomach upset?"

The light was dim and his loose shirt hung long over him.

He handed me a cup of warm water. I rinsed my mouth and answered hoarsely.

"I think I ate something bad. I’m fine."

"You didn’t eat much again today? Don’t starve yourself because of me." His frown deepened, worried. "If you’re like this, I really don’t feel good about leaving you alone."

He moved over and gently rubbed my back.

I wiped my lips and smiled bitterly to myself.

Another performance.

My stomach twisted again. I couldn’t hold it back and started retching over the toilet once more.

Logan’s expression grew more serious. He grabbed a coat and headed toward the door.

"I’m going to get you some medicine."

The door creaked shut behind him.

I was alone in the room.

The soundproofing in the old building was poor. While I was still vomiting, I could vaguely hear his voice on the phone downstairs through the window.

"James, Emily just started vomiting in the middle of the night. What do you think is going on?"

"Damn, she didn’t use protection three months ago, right? Don’t tell me she’s actually pregnant."

"Of course I can’t let her keep it. How would I explain that to Grace? No way someone like her is going to carry the heir to the Walker family."