The stomach pumping nearly killed me.

I sank into the hospital bed, numb and motionless. My eyes were empty as I stared at the ceiling.

Derek stood by my bedside, breathing hard as he tried to steady himself. Blood still dripped from the raw wound on his hand, where I had bitten him.

It looked like he was the one who had just come back from the edge of death.

"Patricia, is this really how you treat your life? Like some kind of joke?" he said.

He reached out like he wanted to touch me, but midway, something made him pull back. He looked strangely hurt, like I had wronged him somehow.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask what game he was playing this time, his whole demeanor shifted. He shoved his hands into his pockets. That cocky, infuriating look was back on his face.

He scoffed. "I mean it. What the hell were you thinking when you downed those pills? You really think pulling a stunt like that is gonna make Maynard look at you differently? I'm telling you right now—all you're doing is making him hate you more."

He kept talking, ranting like always. He was completely oblivious to what I was doing.

My hand crept toward the paring knife on the nightstand.

Before he could notice, I grabbed it and slashed my wrist. Blood dripped onto the white sheets.

Derek lunged, grabbing the blade with his bare hand. It sliced deep into his palm.

"Let go!" I ordered.

He winced, and his teeth were clenched in pain. Yet, he didn't release the blade. "You let go first."

Blood oozed from his hand. The knife was digging deeper—close to hitting tendons—but he still didn't let go.

I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to die.

In the end, I loosened my grip.

He yanked the knife away and kicked it across the room.

After my second attempt to end everything, he finally understood. I wasn't trying to get attention. I genuinely wanted to die.

"Stop treating your life like it's disposable. There are billions of men out there. Why destroy yourself over him?"

He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his tone. "Maybe... maybe if you looked around, you'd see that someone's been waiting for you this whole time."

Once his hand was bandaged, he drove me back to the house.

Somewhere along the way, Derek mentioned what had really happened on the cruise. There had been enough lifeboats for everyone on that cruise.

But Maynard thought that I sabotaged the last lifeboat. He blamed me because Darlene had not made it onboard.

"Just apologize to Darlene. Once she forgives you, Maynard will calm down. Then, figure out a clean way to end the marriage."

I didn't answer. I turned my head and stared out the window.

I knew the truth.

I had seen Darlene sneak into the storage room during the chaos. She was the one who had tampered with the last lifeboat.

And now she was twisting everything and blaming me.

All over again, she painted herself as the delicate, innocent victim. And Maynard—he never once questioned it.

Every one of Darlene's clumsy lies became another excuse for Maynard to abandon me.

I remembered the first time I met Maynard.

Back then, I was young and naive. One night, cornered in an alley by the school bully and out of options, Maynard showed up with a group of his friends and pulled me out of trouble.

That was the moment I fell for him—this handsome, wealthy man who seemed untouchable. I was willing to give him everything, no matter the cost.

When Darlene left the country to pursue her career, I was the one who stayed. I sat by his side as he drowned himself in bottle after bottle of liquor. By morning, the floor was littered with empty glasses.

He loved watching Darlene dance, so I slipped on ballet shoes and forced myself to learn, even when my legs were bruised and aching. I kept going, convinced I just needed to be better for him to notice me.

But when I finally worked up the courage to show him and stood proud before him, he barely looked at me.

"Don't imitate what you'll never be," he said coldly before walking away.

I found out later that Maynard had stomach issues and was often out late at night for business dinners. So, I started cooking for him. I would have soup ready to sober him up when he got home. I would always try new recipes, staying up until the middle of the night just to make sure he had something warm to eat.

Maybe my devotion gave him a twisted sense of superiority, because little by little, he started to tolerate me.

That night, Maynard was drunk. Things got out of hand between us, and I ended up pregnant.

Under pressure from his family, Maynard married me.

From that moment on, whatever affection he had for me disappeared completely. He thought I had trapped him on purpose, that I had gotten pregnant just to tie him down.

It was laughable.

I endured the pain that night, thinking we might finally have a future together.

Looking back, I was only fooling myself. Everything I did—all those sacrifices—meant nothing to him.

I pushed open the front door of the villa.

Darlene was leaning lazily against Maynard's shoulder. She looked smug as he massaged her neck with practiced ease.

Waldo was curled up next to her, sweetly calling her "Ms. Thompson".

The whole room was glowing with sickening, rosy warmth.

The spots where my photos used to hang were now filled with a framed portrait of the three of them. They looked like a perfect little family—like Darlene was Maynard's wife and Waldo's mom.

I pretended not to notice and headed straight toward my room.

But Maynard blocked my path, towering over me with that suffocating authority of his.

"Patricia, Darlene told me everything. She saw you sneak into the storage room and sabotage the last lifeboat. You want to throw a tantrum, fine. But to go as far as hurting Darlene? I'm so disappointed in you."

I turned my head to the side and let out a cold laugh. "You actually believe her?"

Maynard's face darkened. "Darlene doesn't lie. She's not like you—spiteful and manipulative."

The cruise ship had already sunk. There was no evidence left, nothing but Darlene's word. Yet Maynard took her side without question.

As Maynard spoke, Darlene quickly stepped in. She clutched his sleeve like she was afraid I might say something to expose her.

With that innocent, wounded look she always wore, she murmured, "Maynard, don't be so harsh on Patricia. After all, she's your wife. It's only natural that she'd be jealous of how well you treat me…"

A sharp sound echoed through the room.

A red handprint bloomed across her face.

If I hadn't just gotten out of the hospital and been so drained of strength, I would have slapped her clean across the room.

Everyone froze.

Maynard stared at me wide-eyed. But his shock quickly gave way to fury.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed me to the floor. His fists and feet followed like a storm. He hit me over and over.

I didn't fight back. I wanted him to kill me. I wanted it to end right there.

"Go on. That's all you've got? Or did your side piece already drain every ounce of strength from you?" I spat between shallow breaths.

It was like something snapped in Maynard. He hit even harder, driving his fist straight into my lower stomach with brutal force.

I was left battered and bruised. Every inch of me ached from the assault.

Lying there, I realized maybe I should have chosen a quicker way to die.

Another punch flew toward my face—but this one never landed.

Derek caught Maynard's arm in mid-air, then punched him square in the jaw.

Maynard crashed to the ground.

Before he could react, Derek had him pinned.

I was covered in bruises; not a single patch of skin was left unscathed. My organs felt like they were twisting inside me. I was so close to dying, but Derek had to ruin it.

He straddled Maynard, pinning him to the floor. Rage was radiating from him. "She's dying! Do you even realize that? You were about to beat her to death!"

Maynard struggled beneath him. "She deserved it! She went after Darlene first."

Derek snapped, "Are you blind? She's provoking you on purpose. Patricia is suffering from severe depression. She's suicidal!"

"Suicidal?" Maynard scoffed.

"She wouldn't dare. She fought tooth and nail to steal the title of 'Mrs. Hansen'. Now she wants to throw it all away? I don't buy it."

Waldo stood off to the side, wailing through his tears. "Mom's mean! She hit Ms. Thompson. I don't want her to be my mom anymore!"

My head was pounding from all the noise. It felt like it was about to split open. While they argued, I quietly made my way to the rooftop.

The house was only four stories tall. Falling from that height might not kill me, but there was a rusted metal pitchfork in the lawn. If I landed just right, it would pierce straight through me.

I took a deep breath, letting the wind rustle my hair.

I used to be terrified of heights. But now, there was no fear left—only a desperate longing for peace.

I stepped forward and leapt.

But just as my feet left the edge, a pair of arms yanked me backward, pulling me hard against the rooftop.

I turned around and there he was again—Derek.

The same man who had stopped me from dying, over and over.

He collapsed onto the ground, pale and gasping for air. It was as if pulling me back had drained whatever strength he had left.

"Why is it always you?" I snapped, frowning. "Mind your own damn business. My death would be better for everyone."

Derek's jaw clenched tightly. His hand shot up, and he nearly slapped me across the face. But at the last second, he pulled back and slammed his fist into the floor instead.

The wound on his palm, still bandaged from before, burst open again. Blood soaked through the gauze, but he didn't even flinch.

"You're going to throw your life away over that bastard? Why not just divorce him and be done with it?

"Patricia, can you have some self-respect? What about the people who actually love you? What are they supposed to do if you're gone?"

Derek grabbed my shoulders. His eyes were full of wounded frustration as he looked at me.

His voice softened, lips pressed into a tight line, and then he leaned his forehead against my shoulder.

I could feel the slight tremor in his body.

Was he afraid?

After a beat, Derek spoke again. His voice was barely above a whisper. "What the hell am I supposed to do? Why can't you just look at me?"

Derek's heartfelt confession was overheard by none other than Maynard, who had just come upstairs.

His face twisted with rage, and the veins in his neck were bulging. Without warning, he swung and punched Derek hard across the face.

Maynard shouted, "You bastard! I treated you like family. Do you even realize who you're after? That's my wife!"

Derek completely lost it. He didn't care about their so-called friendship anymore and lunged straight at Maynard.

The two of them crashed to the floor, locked in a brutal fight. Derek's eyes burned with fury as he swung his fists at Maynard without holding back.

"I was the one who fell for her first. Patricia was the one who found me when I collapsed on that freezing street during my heart attack. She got me to the hospital.

"She saved my life. So, why the hell do you get to treat the woman I love like garbage? If you don't love her, why keep pretending to care?

"You're disgusting."

Maynard grabbed Derek by the throat. His voice was hoarse with fury. "You think I'm disgusting? You're the one chasing after another man's wife. How's that not disgusting?

"And you think you can go up against me? You really believe I won't lay a hand on you?"

They kept fighting, kicking, and shouting. Neither was willing to back down.

Waldo burst into tears nearby, terrified.

My head throbbed from the noise. I just wanted peace.

Was it really so hard to die in silence?

"Shut up! All of you!"

My voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. Both men froze with their fists still raised. Waldo quieted, reduced to sniffles.

I walked up to Derek, and a flicker of unease crossed his eyes as he looked at me.

I looked at him calmly. My eyes were devoid of emotion. "Derek, if your idea of love is pushing me around and making my life hell, then that's not love. It's pathetic.

"If I'd known this was how you'd turn out, I would've left you to die in that freezing street.

"You and Maynard? You're both equally disgusting. Now, get out of my sight. I don't ever want to see you again."

My words cut deep into Derek. Tears streamed silently down his face as he murmured, "I… I don't know how to love someone the right way. I just want you to stay alive.

"If walking away means you'll be better off, then I'll go."

After he left, only Maynard and Waldo were left on the rooftop with me.

"Alright, the show's over. Come down before you traumatize the kid," Maynard said coldly.

He reached out a hand to pull me back from the edge.

But then the housekeeper came running up with a shout. "Mr. Hansen! Something's wrong! Ms. Thompson just fainted!"

Maynard yanked his hand back immediately.

"I'm coming!" He bolted off without a second thought. Once again, he chose her over me.

Waldo followed at first, then abruptly turned back. He glared up at me, and his tone was sharp. "You're mean! You made Dad fight, and now Ms. Thompson fainted. I don't want you to be my mom anymore."

I looked at the child I had carried for nine months and brought into this world through hours of agony. This was the child I had loved with everything I had.

And under Darlene's influence, he had turned on me.

I let out a slow breath. If I were going to die, I might as well give him a parting gift.

I said with a faint smile, "How about this? I know a way to make Ms. Thompson your mom. Would you like that?"

"Really?" he asked, blinking those big, hopeful eyes at me.

I nodded. "Really. But you've got to watch closely."

I took Waldo's hand and walked with him toward the edge of the rooftop. He followed with innocent trust, oblivious to what was about to happen. His heart was full of hope that Darlene would finally be his new mother.

Carrying the weight of Waldo's hatred for me, and under the innocent, hopeful gaze in his eyes, I leapt off the rooftop.

In that instant, his eyes went wide with shock. He stumbled forward, tripping over himself in a desperate attempt to catch me, but he was too late.

He rushed to the edge and looked down just in time to see blood blooming around my body like a twisted firework. The green lawn below was painted red.

That was my final gift to him.