I saw it—the terror draining from his face, replaced by the faintest curl at the corner of his lips.

Katherine clutched Ferdinand's hand like a lifeline, running alongside the stretcher as they carried him out.

Not once did she look back.

The ambulance sirens wailed into the distance until silence swallowed everything.

All that remained was the drip... drip... drip of fuel leaking from the mangled gas tank.

The stench of gasoline grew thicker with every breath.

I was pinned in the wreckage, my right leg completely numb. The only sensation left was warmth—blood, pulsing out in steady waves.

Captain Mercer crouched nearby, his eyes heavy with guilt. "Hang in there, buddy. Second unit's on its way." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. The family insisted—"

I tried to smile. Managed only a wet cough that sprayed blood across my chin.

"It's fine... I don't blame you."

The fire risk was climbing by the second. Emergency crews pushed the crowd back to a safe perimeter.

And I stayed. Alone. Watching the sky bleed from orange to black.

By the time the second rescue team arrived, the pain had stopped.

Not a good sign.

My body felt weightless, like I was drifting somewhere above myself. Only my right leg remained—a dead anchor dragging me down.

"Move! Get the hydraulic cutters! He's in hypovolemic shock!"

"Watch the leg! The tissue's already necrotic!"

Voices crashed over me in waves, near and far, near and far.

They pulled me from the wreckage like a ragdoll.

Under the harsh beam of the rescue lights, I caught a glimpse of my right leg.

Below the knee, the flesh had turned a sickly purple-black, hanging limp and wrong. Bone jutted through the shredded fabric of my pants—pale splinters smeared with clotted blood and grime.

The ambulance tore through the streets.

Mia Caldwell worked frantically beside me, one hand squeezing the blood bag, the other jabbing at her phone.

"Pick up. Pick up!"

Her eyes were wet, voice cracking.

First call. No answer.

Second call. Line busy.

Third call—

It connected.

Relief flooded her face. She pressed the phone to her ear and shouted, "Are you Emmet Dickerson's next of kin? The patient has a comminuted fracture of the right leg with arterial rupture. Massive tissue necrosis. Sepsis risk is imminent. We need authorization for emergency amputation now!"

"If you don't sign, he will die!"

The ambulance went quiet.

Katherine's voice cut through the speaker—dripping with impatience and something close to contempt.

"Amputation? Really? Is this the best scam your hospital can come up with?"

"The rescue team already told me—it's just a surface wound. Looks scary because of the blood, that's all."

"If you think I'm falling for this so I'll run back to take care of him? Forget it."

Mia froze. She stared at the phone like it had grown teeth.

"Ma'am—I'm calling from City General ER! Do you think we joke about this? The patient is right in front of me. His leg is black!"

A beat of silence on the other end.

Then Ferdinand's voice floated through—soft, trembling, perfectly pitiful.

"Katie... my head's spinning... Do you think it's a concussion?"

Katherine's tone transformed instantly. Honey-sweet. Dripping with tenderness.

"Don't worry, Ferdy. The doctors will take care of you. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Then her voice hardened again, sharp as a blade:

"Emmet, there's a limit to how pathetic you can be. Don't think bribing some nurse will make me believe your little act."

"Ferdy needs me right now. If you really need to amputate, then sign the damn form yourself."

"Be a man for once and stop with these disgusting pity plays."

Click.

The line went dead.

Mia's hands shook so hard the phone nearly slipped from her grip.

She slammed it against the emergency kit, tears streaming down her face.

"What kind of wife is this?! She's more like an enemy!"

Mia turned to look at me, tears streaming down her face.

"Sir... please... don't lose hope..."

I forced my eyes open and managed a weak smile.

"I'm not."

At the hospital, they rushed me through the emergency corridor straight to the operating room.

The surgeon held up the consent form, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Where's the family? We need a family member to sign!"

Mia wiped her eyes, her voice cracking.

"His family refused to answer. They said... they said he should sign it himself."

The surgeon froze for a moment.

He looked at my ashen face and let out a heavy sigh.

"Son, are you lucid? Do you understand what's happening?"

I nodded.

"Pen... give me the pen."

My right hand trembled as I reached out, still caked with dried blood.

In the space marked "Patient's Own Signature," I scrawled my name in shaky, uneven strokes.

Each stroke felt like carving into my own flesh.

Each line severed another thread binding me to Katherine.

When I finished, my hand dropped lifelessly to my side.

"Doctor. Do it."

"Cut it clean."

I closed my eyes. A single tear slid down my temple.

The surgical lights blazed to life above me.

The anesthesia spread through my veins—cold, so cold it burned.

As consciousness faded, I drifted into a dream.

I saw our wedding day. Katherine in her pristine white gown, cradling my face in her hands.

"Emmet, I'll protect you from now on. You'll always come first in my life. Always."

The scene shifted. Now she held scissors, her face set in stone as she severed my lifeline without a flicker of hesitation.

When I woke, silence pressed in from every direction.

No beds available in the ICU.

They'd wheeled me back to a general ward.

Dawn light filtered through the window.

Instinctively, I reached down to touch my right leg.

My hand found nothing.

Just flat emptiness. A bandaged stump where my leg used to be.

The nurse had left my phone on the bedside table.

One message. From Katherine. Sent last night.

"Ferdy got such a scare, he's doing psychological counseling and staying for concussion observation. Take a cab home yourself. Don't be dramatic."

"The apartment's a mess. Clean it up when you get back."

I checked the timestamp.

Eight hours.

Eight hours since my amputation surgery ended.

She was in this very hospital.

With that man who didn't have a scratch on him.

I didn't reply.

Powered off the phone.

Tossed it into the drawer.

On the second day after surgery, Katherine finally appeared.

She carried an elegant insulated container, wearing a designer coat that probably cost more than my hospital bill. Her hair was immaculately styled, not a strand out of place.

You'd never guess she'd been anywhere near a car accident.

I lay in the corner bed, watching her push through the door.

I felt nothing.

She walked straight past me.

To the bed beside mine.

Where Ferdinand lay.

For "observation" of his so-called concussion and "psychological trauma," he'd been admitted to my room.

"Ferdy, you must be starving! I got up early to make you black chicken soup—it's the most nourishing thing."

Katherine's voice dripped with tenderness I no longer recognized.

She opened the container.

The rich aroma flooded the room instantly.

Ferdinand reclined against his pillows, his complexion rosy, his eyes bright and alert.

The moment he saw Katherine, he arranged his features into a mask of fragility.

He pressed a hand to his chest and forced out two pathetic coughs.

"Katie, you're too good to me... but I don't have much appetite. I keep thinking about yesterday..."

His gaze drifted toward my corner.

He feigned surprise, as if only just noticing me.

"Oh! Emmet's here too?"

"Katie, why didn't you say so? Quick—give the soup to him. He lost so much blood yesterday. He needs it way more than I do."

Only then did Katherine turn around.

She spotted me huddled beneath the blankets. Her brow furrowed instantly, and the tenderness drained from her face, leaving it cold as marble.

"For him?" She scoffed. "What a waste."

She walked to my bedside and looked down at me, her gaze dripping with contempt.

"Emmet, are you still keeping up this act?"

"You actually bribed a doctor to hook you up to an IV just to make me feel guilty? Do you have any idea how strained medical resources are right now?"

I stared back at her, expressionless. Silent.

My silence only infuriated her more. She took it as defiance—me giving her the cold shoulder.

"Say something! Cat got your tongue?"

Her voice rose sharply, drawing stares from the patient in the next bed.

"The rescue squad said yesterday you were fine. So why are you still lying around this hospital?"

"What, you expect me to wait on you hand and foot? When did you become so manipulative, Emmet?"

Ferdinand chimed in from beside her, his voice dripping with false sympathy.

"Katie, don't be too hard on him. He's probably just in a lot of pain..."

"You should've heard how he was screaming back there. Poor guy must've been terrified."

Pouring gasoline on a fire.

Katherine's anger flared white-hot.

She grabbed the corner of my blanket and yanked. "Get up! Stop playing dead!"

"Apologize to Ferdy. Now."

I clamped down on the blanket with everything I had.

Not just because I couldn't bear for her to see what was left of my body.

But because I refused to expose my wound in front of him.

It was all I had left. My last scrap of dignity.

"I won't apologize."

The words scraped out of my throat, raw and hoarse—the first I'd spoken since the surgery.

Katherine's eyes went wide with disbelief. "What did you just say? You won't apologize?"

"Yesterday you were covered in blood, howling like a banshee—you traumatized Ferdy! He had nightmares all night because of you!"

"You're supposed to be a man, and you made a complete fool of yourself fighting a sick person for a rescue spot. You don't think you owe him an apology?"

"You know Ferdy has claustrophobia! Would it have killed you to let him go first?"

"You're lying here perfectly fine while Ferdy is psychologically scarred because of you! Are you even a man?"

Every word was a blade, twisting deeper into my chest.

Perfectly fine?

I'm perfectly fine?

I looked at her face, contorted with rage, and something in me cracked.

A laugh almost escaped—bitter, hollow.

This was the woman I'd loved for seven years.

Forcing her freshly amputated husband to apologize. For a snake in sheep's clothing.

I said nothing. Just gripped the blanket like a lifeline.

My eyes drifted to the ceiling. Empty. Hollow.

The veins on the back of my hand bulged. Blood crept backward up the IV line.

Katherine saw that neither threats nor reason would move me.

Her patience shattered.

"Fine. Emmet. You want to play it this way?"

She drew a sharp breath and delivered her ultimatum.

"I'm going to count to three."

"If you don't get up and apologize, we're getting a divorce."

"And I mean it."

The ward fell deathly silent.

Slowly, I turned my head. Met her eyes.

And let two words fall from my lips, quiet as a feather drifting to the ground:

"Then divorce."

The silence stretched, suffocating.

Katherine stared at me, stunned. She hadn't expected me to agree—not like this. Not so easily.

The shock lasted only a heartbeat before fury consumed her.

"Oh, impressive, Emmet. Look at you, growing a spine!"

She laughed—sharp, incredulous—and jabbed a finger at my face.

"So now you're using divorce to threaten me?"

"You think this little stunt will make me feel sorry for you? Make me feel guilty?"