My wife was a transmigrator. The System sent her into this book world to win over the Male Lead, but instead, she fell in love with me at first sight—his teammate, his brother.

After we got together, the System engineered a car accident to tear us apart.

I was burned. Disfigured. Strapped to a catheter bag. The doctors said I'd never stand again.

Even so, my wife still loved me.

So the System bankrupted her.

Without money, she took care of me herself.

During the worst stretch, she survived on a single bread roll over three days while hooking me up to nutrient IV bags that cost three thousand dollars a pop.

It broke my heart. I tried to kill myself.

After they brought me back, she held me so tight she could barely breathe through her sobs.

"Patrick Sawyer, I can't live without you. If you die, I won't go on either."

For her sake, I threw myself into rehab. The progress was almost nonexistent.

Still, I believed I'd get better someday.

Until the day Kenneth Heath came to visit me, and I accidentally took a few too many pills.

Summer Fisher snapped. She grabbed a bottle of medication and shoved it into my mouth.

"I already told you there's nothing between me and him anymore. Why do you keep doing this?"

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have lost everything. You want to die so badly? Fine. Then go ahead and die!"

She forced the entire bottle down my throat and slammed the door on her way out.

Then her System appeared before me. It said she'd already fallen in love with the Male Lead. It asked if I was willing to die so the two of them could be together.

I thought about it.

"Yes," I said.

...

The System froze for a few seconds before speaking again. "I wasn't actually asking you to die. You must have noticed by now—Summer only stays with you out of obligation. If you're willing, I can send you to another world. Give you a new body."

"Stop," I said. "Just give me a way out."

The moment the words left my mouth, a fruit knife appeared in my hand.

I was about to plunge it into my chest when the bedroom door swung open.

Summer had come back.

She pried my mouth open first, digging out the pills one by one.

I hid the knife before she could see it.

Then she brought a basin of water and brushed my teeth, washed my face, wiped down my body.

Before, she would have kissed me between each motion, murmuring that she was sorry for yelling, that she'd been awful to me today.

But this time, after she finished everything, she turned off the light, lay down on the cot beside my bed with her back to me, and took out her phone. She didn't say a single word.

In the dark, I turned my head to look at her.

"Summer."

The instant I called her name, a voice came through her phone:

"Summer, today I—"

She killed the volume fast, but not fast enough.

The message was from Kenneth Heath. The Male Lead of this world. The man the System had sent Summer to win over.

I didn't know what world Summer came from, but the very first time I met her, she confessed to me.

She told me she was from another world. That she'd been sent here to pursue Kenneth. But she liked me too much, so she wanted to give up on Kenneth and come after me instead.

At the time, I thought she was joking.

It wasn't until Summer and I were actually together—married—that her System appeared inside my mind.

It told me that if I gave Summer up, it would grant me a happy marriage, a thriving career, and a long life.

I refused without hesitation. The next second, I was in a car wreck, and I woke up looking like this.

Remembering what the System had said earlier, I couldn't stop myself. "Summer, have you fallen in love with Kenneth?"

The room went quiet for a few seconds. Then Summer sat up abruptly.

Just as I thought she was about to say something, she took her phone and walked out of the bedroom.

The door didn't block sound. I heard Kenneth's voice on the other end of the line: "Summer, my friends all want to meet you. Can you come over?"

Summer murmured something under her breath before she left, too low for me to catch.

When she walked back in, she was already fully dressed.

"Patrick, something came up at the office. Go ahead and sleep."

The excuse was pathetic.

Ever since the System had bankrupted her, nearly every door had been slammed in Summer's face. To make money, she'd taken a job doing manual labor on a construction site—a girl, hauling concrete and rebar. That kind of work only required twelve hours during the day. No overtime. On top of that, I needed to be turned every two hours through the night, so Summer had never once gone out after dark.

By the time I came back to my senses, I had no idea how long she'd been gone.

I pulled the knife from under my pillow.

It was System-issued, after all. The blade looked razor-sharp—should slice through my artery in seconds.

When I'd first had the accident, I woke up to a spinal cord injury diagnosis. Nothing below my neck worked except my hands. After three years of grueling rehabilitation, I could barely sit up on my own and wheel myself around in the chair.

I'd been planning to surprise Summer on her birthday with that. Show her how far I'd come. Didn't matter now.

Dying in bed would be messy. Summer would have to clean it up for hours.

I forced myself upright, dragged my body into the wheelchair, and rolled into the bathroom.

Then I took out the knife, pressed it to my wrist, and cut.

The bathroom light snapped on.

Summer's face was white as bone.

"Patrick, what are you doing?"

Before I could react, the knife was ripped from my hand.

The next second, her palm cracked across my face.

"You lunatic! What did I ever do to you—what did I do to deserve this?"

Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass, but her eyes were burning red.

She erupted. Everything in the bathroom—bottles, jars, the mirror shelf—she smashed it all to pieces, hurling things until there was nothing left to break.

When the fury finally drained out of her, she came to stand in front of me. She crouched down, eye level, and looked straight at me.

"Why?"

There was perfume on her. The same scent Kenneth had been wearing when he'd visited me earlier that day. Identical.

I thought about it for a moment, then spoke. "Did you go see Kenneth?"

Summer froze. A long silence stretched between us before she finally admitted it. "Is that what this is about?"

"Patrick, can you please stop with the jealousy? I already told you there's nothing between us. I went to see him because—"

"Summer." I cut her off. "Let me die. I want it to be over."

Her face went rigid.

A few seconds passed. Then she said okay.

Just as I thought she'd finally agreed—that she, too, saw this life for the torture it was—she snatched the knife off the floor, shoved it back into my hand, and pressed my fist against her chest, right over her heart.

"You want to die? I'll grant your wish. But only if you kill me first."

Terror flooded through me. I tried to pull my hand back.

"Summer, let go."

"You're not the only one suffering, Patrick. You think taking care of you isn't hard?" Her grip was terrifyingly strong. I could feel the tip of the blade breaking skin. "You want to die? Fine. We die together."

Something warm and wet seeped over my fingers.

My entire heart seized like a fist had closed around it.

Seconds later, I broke. Sobs tore out of me, ugly and uncontrollable. "I was wrong, Summer. I won't do it. I won't die. I won't."

The knife clattered to the floor. Blood soaked through the front of Summer's shirt.

A few minutes passed. The wildness slowly left her eyes. She reached out and stroked my head, and then, out of nowhere, said something that had nothing to do with anything:

"Patrick, will you stay with me for one more birthday?"

Summer's birthday was three days away.

After that night, she went through the entire apartment and removed every sharp object she could find. Even the plates and bowls were swapped out for plastic ones.

She still took care of me, same as before. But she barely spoke to me anymore. Most of the time, she just sat there with her phone, typing away.

The routine stayed the same. Days at work, nights with me.

What changed was where she spent her days. Before, she'd actually been going to work. Now she was with Kenneth.

His social media had been busy the past few days. New posts kept appearing. Summer handing him a water bottle courtside while he practiced. Summer and Kenneth at an amusement park. The two of them checking in at a couples' restaurant, heads tilted together.

In every photo, Summer's lips curved into that familiar smile, the one that brought out her dimples.

I stared at those photos for a long time. I couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled at me like that.

The night before my birthday, Summer came home late.

She'd had too much to drink. Kenneth brought her back.

The bedroom door was open, so I could see everything in the living room.

I watched Kenneth ease her coat off her shoulders. He wrung out a warm towel and wiped her face, careful, gentle.

Summer kept mumbling the whole time. "Nobody better mess with my Kenneth. I can drink for him. I can take all of it."

Kenneth laughed softly. "Alright, alright. All of Kenneth's drinks are yours. Kenneth's yours too."

She murmured something back, too slurred to make out.

It must have been something sweet, because Kenneth's smile widened.

After he'd gotten her settled on the couch, Kenneth walked into my room.

He saw I was awake and froze for a second. Then he glanced back at Summer on the sofa, and understanding flickered across his face. He knew I'd seen everything.

"Patrick, don't get the wrong idea. I've got a game tomorrow. You know how the guys on the team are. They always throw these hype-up parties the night before a match. Summer was worried I'd be off my game tomorrow, so she took my drinks for me."

Kenneth and I had grown up together. Brothers since childhood.

We learned basketball together, made the state team together, got signed to the same club. I knew exactly which game he was talking about. The state championship. A good finish there meant a shot at the national team. If you were lucky, one of the top international clubs might come calling.

If it hadn't been for the accident three years ago, I would have been standing on that court tomorrow too.

Kenneth didn't seem to realize he'd just twisted the knife.

He switched off the light and lay down on the cot beside my bed, the one Summer usually slept on.

"Patrick, Summer drank too much tonight, so let me take care of you. If you need anything, just call."

I gave a quiet "mm."

I thought the night would end there. Then Kenneth spoke again.

"Patrick. Have you ever thought about dying?"

My breath caught.

He kept going. "You already know, right? Summer was supposed to be with me. If she were with me, everything in her life would fall into place. She'd succeed at whatever she tried. She wouldn't have to live like this."

"Do you even know what she does at the construction site? She's a deep-water salvage diver."

My heart dropped.

Deep-water salvage. One of the most dangerous jobs on earth. You descended into flooded shafts to retrieve broken drill bits, except the shafts weren't filled with water. They were filled with mud. The only thing keeping you alive was a single oxygen line.

One slip. One person above you with bad intentions. And you never came back up.

Summer. Doing that.

When I didn't respond, Kenneth's voice hardened.

"Patrick, listen to me. Summer told me she loves me. But because of you, she can't be with me. So can you just do the right thing and die? Stop dragging her down."

The System had said the same thing to me once before.

Even hearing it a second time, the pain tore through me all over again.

I knew how exhausted Summer was, taking care of me.

I knew she'd be better off without me.

Most of all, I knew she didn't love me anymore.

So when Kenneth said he could get me sleeping pills, I nodded through my tears.