Cracks in the Glass

When Jeanne woke, the house was still empty. On her phone was a message from Darren. 'Baby, things are crazy at the hospital today. My day off has been canceled. Don't be mad, okay? No matter how busy I am tomorrow, I'll spend the whole day with you. I got you a surprise—wait for me.'

Below it, timestamped an hour earlier, was a photo from Alyssa—of her and Darren smiling by a hot spring pool, the kind of bright, blissful smile that stung to look at.

Jeanne's fingertips burned as she gripped her phone. For a second, she nearly called him to ask whether he was busy performing surgeries—or busy keeping his mistress company. But remembering her plan, she forced herself to breathe and typed a short reply. 'Okay.'

If he wasn't coming home, all the better—it gave her time to pack.

She boxed up the clothes Darren had bought for her, planning to donate them to charity. She fed the framed photos on the wall into the shredder, one after another. She carried the hundred wish cards she had written for him—tiny, colorful pieces of hope—to the balcony and burned them to ash. She didn't dare throw out too much, afraid Darren might notice something was off when he returned.

The next day, he finally came home. The moment he saw her, he dropped the cake in his hand and strode over with open arms. "I'm exhausted, Jeanne. Come here—need a recharge hug."

Jeanne instinctively stepped back, letting his arms fall empty. He quirked a brow, amused. "Still mad? Don't be. Come on, I'll show you your surprise."

Before she could answer, he had already taken her hand and pulled her toward the car.

They drove straight to the training track. Jeanne was confused when Darren tugged her out of the car and turned her toward what waited ahead.

"Do you like it?" he asked, pointing to it.

A sleek, modified race car gleamed before her—its body covered in sparkling pink diamonds that shimmered under the sun, dazzling to the eye. Jeanne blinked, momentarily stunned.

Around them, the club's coaches were watching, their voices filled with awe.

"I heard this custom job cost nearly a hundred million. That's devotion."

"Money's nothing—you don't know the half of it. Mr. Walsh stuck every one of those gems on by hand. Nearly ruined his eyesight over it."

"Come on, Jeanne, give it a spin! Let us have a turn after you. The boss really spoils you."

Their laughter and teasing filled the air. Jeanne's brief surprise slowly faded, her chest tightening. She forced a smile, though her eyes stung. Everyone called him a loving husband, but who among them knew which wife he really loved? His passion burned hot and bright—but it never shone for her alone.

Days of pent-up emotion finally found an outlet. Jeanne climbed into the driver's seat, slammed her foot down on the accelerator, and shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string. Lap after lap, she poured every ounce of pain, anger, and humiliation into the roar of the engine.

Darren stood at the track's edge, hands in his pockets, watching her with a soft smile. His gaze never left her. On the 40th lap, he raised his hands and made a heart. Caught off guard, Jeanne's grip slipped. The car jolted and scraped against the guardrail with a loud clang.

Pain shot through her foot before she even processed what had happened. Darren was already sprinting toward her, pulling the door open, and sweeping her into his arms.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, frowning as he carefully lifted her injured foot. Dabbing a cotton swab in antiseptic, he treated the scrape as gently as if she were made of glass. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you drive that long."

His movements were tender, his eyes full of worry so deep it almost looked real. But all Jeanne felt was a wave of coldness spreading through her. 'So love can be acted out this perfectly.'

She stared absently at him, almost reaching out to touch his hair. But Darren caught her hand and, lowering his head, leaned in to kiss her….

…

The lounge door flew open.

Without even looking up, Darren grabbed a water bottle off the table and hurled it toward the doorway. "Get out!"

Jeanne turned her head—and froze.

His expression changed the moment he saw who the intruder was. "Alyssa? Why are you here?"

Alyssa stood there, her hand clutching her reddened forehead, lips trembling, eyes downcast. Mud speckled her clothes; she looked pitifully disheveled. "I… I hit the brakes too late during practice," she murmured. "Came to grab the first-aid kit."

Darren's face flickered with irritation, then guilt. He said nothing at first. Instead, he peeled a bandage open and pressed it gently over Jeanne's toe.

"Stay put, don't move. Your foot's injured." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "I'll check on her injuries. I'll be right outside. Call me if you need anything."

With that, he grabbed the first-aid kit and walked out.

The room fell silent—so silent Jeanne could hear the faint whistling of wind outside the window.

Minutes passed. She finally pushed the door open. The hallway was empty—so much for "right outside." The disappointment flickered briefly before she smothered it.

'Should've seen it coming, no?' she thought.

Leaning on the wall, she limped toward the race car. She truly did love that car—and with rain clouds gathering overhead, she wanted to drive it into the garage. But as she neared it, she froze.

The car was rocking ever so slightly, and faint, muffled voices slipped out through the gap in the half-closed window…

The Promise Broken

Their overlapping reflections wavered on the car window, the glass left open by a finger's width.

Darren pinned Alyssa against the driver's seat, his fingertips brushing across her forehead. "Still hurts?"

Alyssa tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his, her eyes gleaming with a coaxing smile. "No. I shouldn't have come to bother you and your wife. I deserved that hit."

He frowned and gave her cheek a light, teasing bite. "Nonsense. You're both my darlings."

At that, he squeezed her waist, his tone turning rough. "Still got the nerve to joke, huh? Guess that knock wasn't hard enough."

Before she could answer, he caught her jaw in one hand and gripped her waist with the other, kissing her hard. Alyssa struggled for a moment, then pushed him away, her voice edged with jealousy. "This is the car you gave her. I don't want to do this here… Besides, Jeanne's still waiting for you in the lounge. You said you'd be back in a few minutes."

Darren caught her wrist and pressed it above her head. His other hand slid down the curve of her waist as his voice dropped low and hoarse. "Still thinking about someone else? Don't worry, a few minutes is all I need to deal with you."

It didn't take long before Alyssa's breath turned soft and uneven, her arms twining weakly around his shoulders. The sound of their bodies and muffled gasps drifted out into the night air.

Jeanne stood frozen where she was, her blood running cold. Her knees nearly buckled, and it felt as though someone had carved open her chest with a blunt knife—so sharp and deep that her vision went dark.

She suddenly remembered the day the racing club had been founded. Darren had waited for her praise like a child hoping for candy, but she'd been too overwhelmed, crying instead of speaking.

In the end, he had pulled her into the backseat of a race car, his breath hot as he tugged at her clothes. She had wanted him too—but even then, she'd clenched her teeth and pushed him away. "Darren, racing is sacred to me. I want to keep it pure."

He had gone still at her words. She thought he'd be angry, but instead, he straightened their clothes and sat upright, a solemn spark in his eyes. "I swear, from now on, it's my dream too. For the rest of my life, I'll treat racing with reverence. I'll never defile a racecar."

He'd whispered the suggestive words against her ear, and they had burned into her skin. It was that promise that convinced her he was the one she'd spend her life with. But now, he was desecrating that very vow—with another woman—in her car.

Jeanne's legs gave out beneath her, and the car key slipped from her trembling hand, clattering onto the ground. She snapped back to herself, ready to run, but the couple inside hadn't even noticed. A broken laugh tore from her throat, twisted and soundless. She bit down on her knuckles to stifle the sob rising inside her.

That was when the rain began to fall. The narrow crack in the window clicked shut. Jeanne looked one last time at the car, its body rocking faintly, then bent down to pick up the key and hurled it into the nearby drain.

Inside, Alyssa happened to glance up. Through the rearview mirror, she caught sight of Jeanne's departing figure—and smiled, smug and satisfied.

The rain came and went quickly.

…

When Darren pushed open the lounge door, Jeanne was still sitting exactly as before. He let out a sigh of relief, tugged at his collar, and crouched in front of her. "Jeanne, come on. Let's go home."

She lowered her head and caught a glimpse of the fresh red mark on his neck. Strangely, she didn't feel a thing.

She didn't let him carry her. Leaning against the wall, she limped toward the car. But when she opened the passenger door, she froze—Alyssa was sitting in the driver's seat. Darren hurried over, trying to explain. "Alyssa signed up for a small race. I thought she could practice a little on this stretch of road. Could you help guide her, Jeanne?"

Jeanne hesitated, then nodded. As much as she disliked Alyssa, she still respected anyone who truly loved racing. However, if she had known Alyssa didn't even have a basic driver's license, she would never have opened that door.

The car suddenly lurched forward, veering off course. Jeanne's heart leaped into her throat. She reached for the steering wheel, but Alyssa shoved her away hard.

"Let go if you don't want to die!" Jeanne's eyes burned red as she shouted, but Alyssa didn't loosen her grip. Her foot stayed crushed down on the gas pedal.

A thunderous crash came at the same moment Darren's voice rang out behind them. "Jeanne!"

The Moment Her Heart Died

Jeanne fought through the stabbing pain in her leg, forcing herself to answer the voice that had called her name. "Darren… I'm here…"

But no one replied.

She jerked her eyes open. Blood blurred her vision, painting the world in red. The car interior was empty—completely still. She was alone. The man who had just shouted her name hadn't saved her.

As her consciousness sank, Jeanne slipped into a dream. She dreamed of that year when Darren had chased her all the way to Los Cielos.

Her racing club had refused to release her from her contract, and he—eyes bloodshot—had challenged them to a race. If he won, he would take her away. He had just earned his professional racing license for her at the time, and that was the first time he had ever driven a race car. Yet he dared to take on the twisting mountain road.

Jeanne had sat in the passenger seat, guiding him through the turns, but disaster struck anyway. He misjudged a drift; the car skidded, broke through the guardrail, and tumbled down the cliff.

In the chaos, he had thrown himself over her, shielding her with his body. Blood poured from his head, but he never loosened his grip. At the last moment, he had summoned the last of his strength to lift her onto a jagged outcrop of rock above the wreck. His voice had been hoarse as he shouted, "Hold on tight!"

Then, the car's twisted frame dragged him down, half his body dangling off the edge, seconds away from falling to his death.

When rescuers finally pulled them up, he had lain weakly in her arms, his mind foggy, yet still worried about her future. "Jeanne… they only want you to make money. I just want you safe… No matter how dangerous it gets, I'll protect you. Come with me, okay?"

She had been about to say yes—until the image faded to black and she was yanked back to the present.

This time, he hadn't protected her.

…

Jeanne's lashes trembled as she opened her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek and soaked into the pillow. The man at her bedside immediately straightened up, eyes bright. "Jeanne, you're awake!"

The nurse, changing her bandages, smiled, too. "Finally! Dr. Walsh has been sitting here for a whole day and night. His eyes are bloodshot. Makes me wish I were his sister just to get that kind of care."

Still dazed, Jeanne blinked. "His sister?"

"Yeah! Aren't you Dr. Walsh's sister?" The nurse chatted as she packed up her supplies. "His wife, Alyssa, came by this morning to see you—poor thing cried her eyes out and told me to call her the moment you woke up."

A sharp crack split the air. Darren's glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The nurse flinched and went silent, scurrying away to fetch the janitor.

The noise snapped Jeanne completely awake. Fragments of memory crashed back into place—the sight of Darren walking away with Alyssa in his arms, her own desperate hand reaching out for help, and the hollow despair when he turned away.

She looked up at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, impossible to hide. Her lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in her voice. "Explain."

Darren froze for a second before grabbing her hand, words tumbling out in a rush. "They've got it all wrong! It's a misunderstanding. They must've seen us together and assumed you were my sister—"

"Alright. I believe you." Jeanne cut him off, her tone flat and emotionless, causing Darren's following words to die in his throat.

'No. This isn't right. Jeanne isn't supposed to be like this. She should be crying, screaming, demanding to know why I saved Alyssa first. She should be angry that I let others mistake our relationship. But she isn't—she was calm. Too calm. Like still water after death,' Darren thought.

Fear crawled up Darren's spine. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Jeanne had already closed her eyes. "I'm tired."

Guilt clawed at him, leaving nowhere to hide. "Jeanne, it's my fault. I shouldn't have let Alyssa drive. I already scolded her. If you're angry, hit me, yell at me—just don't hold it in."

Jeanne pulled her hand from his grasp. When she opened her eyes again, all light had vanished from them. "I really am tired."

'Something's terribly wrong.' Panic flooded Darren's chest, a black hole of loss threatening to swallow him whole. But before he could find the words for an apology, the attending doctor came in to check on Jeanne, calling him out of the room.

The moment Darren turned away, Jeanne's eyes reddened. But no matter how much it hurt, not a single tear would fall. Her heart had already died the instant he walked out that door.

She wiped the dryness from her eyes and only wanted to sleep—to rest, and then leave this man behind for good. But just as she drifted off, noise from the next bed cut through the quiet.

"Stop crying!" a woman scolded sharply. "The racer next to you just broke her leg—she can't compete ever again. She's not crying, and here you are, wailing over a sprained ankle?!"

"I don't want my leg broken! I don't want to!"

The boy's cries filled the ward, piercing through the walls—and into Jeanne's ears.

'Broken leg?!'

A deafening roar went off inside her head, like something had exploded.