Chapter 2

When I pushed open the door, Brandon was, as usual, pale and frail, huddled in the corner of the bed, his eyes devoid of any life.

"The nurse told me you went to bother Dr. Miller again. I'm a cripple, there's no need to waste medical resources."

He always used to say such disheartening things.

On the surface, I'd pretend to be strong and try to cheer him up, but in reality, I'd hide in the bathroom, crying countless times.

My hand clenched around the small silver cross I held. My gaze drifted to the trash can.

A sickening, sweet odor hit me instantly. Inside, unmistakably, were several freshly used, utterly disgusting condoms.

So, Brandon had been putting on an act for me all along.

Five years ago, his company failed, leaving him deeply in debt. Creditors hounded him, pushing him to the brink of 'suicide' by jumping off a building.

No matter how I pleaded, even getting down on my knees, he remained utterly unmoved.

He supposedly plummeted from the fifteenth floor, landing in a pile of mud, which left him permanently paralyzed.

I, too, suffered from extreme shock and lost our seven-month-old baby.

That period was the most helpless and darkest time of my life.

During the day, trying to secure orders, I'd force myself to tolerate disgusting, lecherous old men, drinking with them at business dinners.

After work, I’d rush to the hospital, trying to talk Brandon out of his constant suicidal urges.

Everyone told me to give up.

"He blew all his money himself; it has nothing to do with you. You're young, find someone else and marry them quickly."

"A man who threatens suicide every other day is useless to keep around. Let him go."

Even Brandon's parents tried to persuade me to leave him.

"He's lost all his fight. Living like this is just torture for him. Don't push him any further."

But I refused. I gritted my teeth and held on, reaching this point.

The company, on the verge of bankruptcy, I brought back from the brink.

Whenever I had time, I'd sit by Brandon's bedside, connecting him with renowned orthopedic specialists from all over the world.

The silver cross in my hand was something I'd prayed for him in church.

Yet, before I could even offer it, it was met with scorn.

"More of this useless junk, trying to guilt-trip me."

In the last few days, his temper had grown increasingly volatile. He snatched the cross from my hand and threw it out the window.

Afterward, he hung his head, covering his face with his hands, tears streaming down like a wounded animal whimpering.

"Eleanor, if you really love me, just give me a bottle of sleeping pills. I'm tired. I want to sleep forever."

I swallowed the bitter mockery rising within me.

His feigned despair was a stark contrast to the man who had been fiercely kissing Skylar against the wall.

It made me frown. "I won't let you die."