Chapter 5

On the day Ethan was discharged, Thomas told me to step back from the garage and focus entirely on taking care of him.

Carter Auto was the family’s lifeblood.

Thomas had built the business from scratch with a single toolbox thirty years ago.

Ethan was their star technician; they had planned to transition the garage into a high-end custom modification shop this year.

Now, Ethan sat in a wheelchair, unable to even tighten a lug nut.

Back at the house, Evelyn prepared a lavish dinner.

Nobody had an appetite.

When Ethan tried to pick up a piece of chicken, his hand trembled, and the meat slipped onto the tablecloth.

Evelyn immediately moved to help him.

He slammed his fork down on the wood: "I can feed myself!"

The room fell deathly silent.

Just then, the doorbell chimed.

Chloe stood on the porch holding a large fruit basket.

"Thomas, Evelyn, I came to check on Ethan."

Evelyn shot Ethan a sideways glance.

Ethan’s eyes lit up for a fleeting second before sinking back into a bitter darkness.

"Come in, then."

Chloe walked over, knelt beside his wheelchair, and looked up at him with a soft, practiced smile.

"Ethan, our preschool is hosting a parent-child sports festival next month. The kids prepared a dance routine. If you're free... would you like to come watch?"

Evelyn scowled: "What business does a man in a wheelchair have at a sports festival?"

Chloe bit her lip.

"I just thought getting some fresh air would lift his spirits."

Ethan stared down at her face, and after a heavy pause, rasped: "Okay. I'll go."

I quietly cleared the plates, offering no opinion.

In our past life, Ethan loved nothing more than watching Chloe sing and dance surrounded by little kids.

He used to say Chloe was born to be adored by everyone.

He used to say that her glowing in the sunshine with children was the most beautiful sight in the world.

It was good for him to go see it.

He needed to see what his precious white angel really looked like when faced with the reality of his shattered body.

On the morning of the sports festival, Ethan insisted that I dress him in an expensive button-down shirt.

He even made me style his hair with pomade.

When I pushed his wheelchair toward the preschool gates, several parents waiting outside glanced over, their whispers drifting on the wind.

"Isn't that Miss Chloe's friend?"

"Yeah, the one who ended up paralyzed after saving her at the reservoir."

"What a shame. Such a good-looking guy."

"Wait, isn't Miss Chloe dating the new gym teacher now?"

Ethan’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheelchair armrests.

I stood behind him, silent as a shadow.

Out on the turf, Chloe was wearing a sporty tracksuit, her ponytail bouncing as she laughed and guided the children through warm-ups.

Under the bright morning sun, she was undeniably radiant.

Light, carefree, and glowing—as if the tragedy at the dam had never happened.

Standing beside her was a tall, athletic man.

He wore a matching tracksuit, broad-shouldered and straight-backed, bending down to tie a little girl's shoelace with easy grace.

Chloe turned and whispered something in his ear, and they both burst into laughter.

The faint smile on Ethan’s face froze solid.

When the performance ended, he commanded in a dry, hoarse voice: "Push me over there."

I wheeled him through the milling crowd until we stopped right in front of Chloe.

When she saw Ethan, her smile faltered.

"Ethan! You made it!"

The man beside her turned around.

Ethan glared at him like a venomous snake.

"Who is this?"

Chloe quickly spoke up: "This is Liam, our new physical education instructor."

Liam extended a hand politely: "Nice to meet you."

Ethan didn't reach out.

His eyes tracked down, staring fixedly at Liam’s legs.

Two long, perfectly straight, sturdy legs standing effortlessly on the grass.

"Do you two work together all day?" Ethan’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Chloe’s expression tightened: "Ethan, we're just coworkers."

"Coworkers," he repeated, letting out a dry, raspy laugh.

That laugh sounded like crushed glass grinding against bone.

He didn't utter a single syllable on the ride home.

As I pushed his chair down the sidewalk, we passed a large storefront window.

The glass reflected his slouched, helpless silhouette trapped in the metal frame.

He violently jerked his head away, refusing to look.

***