Since I was mute and blind, so I could only use all my strength to cling to the cliff wall, shaking my head and sobbing, silently begging Harold to spare me.
Instead, he kicked the back of my hand hard, forcing me to loosen my grip. The sharp rocks pierced my palms, sending searing pain through me. I let out a muffled scream as fresh blood mixed with the tears flowing from my eyes, which had not yet fully healed after the transplant.
Harold glanced around anxiously, afraid that nearby climbers might hear my cries. Without hesitation, he crouched down and began prying my fingers off the rock, one by one.
The touch of his palm against my fingers made me tremble. These were the same hands that had once held mine countless times, the same hands that had guided me through hardships, both big and small.
I had believed that as long as we were of one heart, we could overcome anything and live happily together. But now, those same warm hands were pushing me toward my death.
At last, my grip failed and I plummeted from the cliff.
My body crashed against the jagged rock face, the sharp edges tearing into my skin my eyes, my nose, my cheeks.
But at that moment, the pain faded. All I could feel was the terrifying, endless weightlessness consuming me.
Then, I hit the freezing, bottomless lake below.
The impact knocked me unconscious instantly and icy water rushed into my lungs through my nose and mouth. The suffocating cold jolted me awake and a desperate will to survive surged through me. But I knew that I couldn’t just accept my fate. I couldn’t let myself die.
With the last of my strength, I struggled to swim toward the shore. But before I could reach it, darkness swallowed me whole. Was this the end for me?
