Chapter 5

Summer's POV

The hospital smelled like disinfectant. Cold and clean and clinical.

I sat on an ER bed and watched the doctor work a pair of forceps through my forearm, pulling out slivers of ceramic one by one.

No anesthesia. The doctor said the wound was too deep. Numbing it would compromise the stitches.

The forceps dug through torn flesh and I didn't flinch once.

I just stared at the white wall.

"Hang in there, sweetheart. Almost done." The older doctor glanced at me, something like pity on his face. "Where's your boyfriend? How'd you end up going through this alone?"

I turned the corner of my mouth up.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

Just a man who's about to be my ex-husband. Might as well be a stranger.

Twelve stitches. My forearm disappeared under a thick wrapping of gauze.

I thanked the doctor and made my way out of the ER, dragging my feet. My shin had been treated too, and every step came with a limp.

I was heading to the payment window when I passed the VIP ward.

Through a half-open door, I recognized the silhouette.

Ethan was sitting beside the hospital bed, holding a small cup of warm water, carefully guiding it to Wendy's lips.

"Slow down. The doctor said you're fine, just shaken up."

His voice was so gentle it could have melted something.

Wendy was propped against the pillows, pale and soft-eyed.

"Ethan, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with all this because of me. Is Summer okay? She was right there when the rack fell."

Ethan's hand paused. Something went cold in his expression.

"Don't worry about her. She's tougher than she looks. You, on the other hand, stay away from places like that from now on."

Tougher than she looks.

I stood outside the door and listened to those four words and felt something inside me being sawed apart very slowly.

I looked down at the gauze around my arm.

Then I pushed the door open and walked in.

The room went quiet.

Ethan looked up. His expression collapsed into a tight scowl.

"What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to go take care of yourself? Why are you in here bothering us?"

He didn't ask how I was. Not once.

I didn't answer him. I walked unevenly to the bedside, reached into my bag with my good hand, and pulled out two neatly folded sheets of paper.

I held them out to him.

"What is that?"

He didn't take them. Just looked at them with barely-contained impatience.

"Divorce papers," I said evenly. "I've already signed. Take a look, and if everything's fine, sign yours."

The room went still as a held breath.

Wendy's hand flew to her mouth. But behind the shock in her eyes, there was something else, a flash of something she couldn't quite hide. Relief.

Ethan stared at me.

"Summer. What is this, another scene?"

He stood up and knocked the papers out of my hand.

"Wendy is in the hospital. You're really going to do this right now?"

The pages drifted to the floor.

I looked at the anger on his face, and found it almost funny.

I bent down slowly, one-handed, and picked them up. Then I held them out again.

"I'm completely calm, Ethan. I've been tired for a long time. I don't want to keep pretending anymore."

"You don't want me near you. You can't stand to be touched. Fine. I'm stepping aside. You can have the life you actually want. So what's the problem?"

Ethan stared at me, something dangerous in his eyes.

Then he laughed, short and sharp, and snatched the papers from my hand.

He didn't read a word of it. He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed his name in the husband's signature line.

He pressed hard. Like he wanted to go through the page.

"Take your papers and get out."

He threw them at me.

I caught them. I looked at his signature. And whatever last small light had been living somewhere in my chest went out completely.

I turned around. I walked out on my injured leg, one step at a time.

Behind me, I heard Ethan's voice, certain, almost bored.

"Don't worry about her. She just wants money. She'll be back in a few days."

But he didn't know. Some walks away are forever.