He never realized I’d already written the ending.
Within hours, Marissa sent me a screenshot: Ethan had tried to pose as me on the recorded verification line. He failed the security code. Then he tried again. And again.
When the nurse came back into my room, she found me sitting up straighter than I had in days, eyes sharp despite the bruises lining my arms.
“Sweetheart,” she asked gently, “are you all right?”
I glanced at my phone—Ethan calling over and over—and said quietly, “I’m more than all right.”
Because while he was unraveling, I was finally steady.
Two weeks later, I was discharged with a walker, a folder full of medical instructions, and a protective order that required Ethan to stay at least fifty yards away.
He didn’t handle that well.
He showed up at my sister Rachel’s house anyway, pounding on the door like he could force his way back into control. Rachel called me, her voice tight. “He’s here. He says he just wants to talk.”
“Don’t open it,” I told her. “Put him on speaker.”
The second he heard my voice, his tone turned soft and pleading. “Lily, I’m sorry. I was scared. I thought I was losing you.”
His ability to switch personalities almost impressed me.
“You left me first,” I replied calmly. “And you tried to take advantage of someone who could barely stand.”
His voice sharpened. “So this is it? You’re going to destroy me?”
“I’m not destroying you,” I said evenly. “You did that yourself.”
