The bitterness of the pills coated her tongue, spreading like poison.
Margarita's vision blurred, her senses wavering. Through Wade’s twisted, rage-filled face, a ghost of the past emerged—an image of the man who once loved her.
"Our Margarita will become the most powerful doctor!"
She had been drowning in exhaustion back then, burdened by thick medical books, on the verge of giving up.
And yet, Wade had always been there. Encouraging her. Believing in her. Whispering promises of success when she doubted herself.
He never understood the complex medical terms, but he still sat beside her, tracing her profile with his gaze until she turned red. Then he’d chuckle and look away, pretending he hadn’t been staring.
But now… that warm, familiar smile had turned into something cold and unrecognizable.
Wade’s eyes burned with disgust, and his voice was like a blade slicing through her heart.
"Margarita, it's truly my shame to have ever loved you."
Margarita’s eyes flew open, her face already soaked with tears.
She lay alone in a hospital ward, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors the only sound in the sterile, empty room.
A nurse entered, speaking in a hushed voice. "You’ve had your stomach pumped. You’re stable now."
Margarita barely registered the words. It didn’t matter.
Because she could no longer feel her legs.
She clutched the nurse’s hand, her voice hoarse, almost pleading. "Can you… tell them I’m in a wheelchair because of the medicine’s side effects?"
The nurse hesitated, conflicted.
Margarita’s lips trembled in a faint, bitter smile. "It’s fine. They’re doctors. They won’t question it."
After a long pause, the nurse finally nodded. Perhaps it was sympathy. Or maybe it was guilt, knowing that Margarita had once been a bright, promising senior.
But Wade wasn’t interested in waiting for her recovery.
Without mercy, he dragged her to the graveyard, forcing her before Christine’s tombstone.
"Apologize," he ordered coldly. "Kneel and bow to her."
Margarita sat motionless in the wheelchair, her hands trembling.
Wade’s gaze swept over her legs, listening to the nurse’s explanation. A sneer curled on his lips, his voice dripping with mockery.
"You deserve it. If you ask me, you got off easy by staying alive."
Then, without warning, he yanked her from the wheelchair.
Margarita crashed onto the icy ground, her elbow slamming against the unforgiving stone. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, pain tearing through her body.
But Wade didn’t care.
He gripped the back of her head and forced it down—again and again—until the taste of blood filled her mouth.
"Christine, did you see that? The murderer who killed you is here to atone for her sins."
Wade's hand traced the cold tombstone, his touch almost reverent. His eyes were gentle as he gazed at the carved name, but when he turned to Margarita, all warmth disappeared—only ice remained.
Margarita's forehead was pressed against the dirt. In her heart, she whispered to the one beneath the stone.
"Christine, don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret safe."
"I’ll see you soon in heaven. Have you reincarnated yet? If not, wait for me, okay?"
"Next time, let’s be sisters. And I’ll be the older one. I’ll teach you not to fall for men twenty years older than you, not to love someone who already has a family."
"Ah, I know you’ll be mad at me for saying that. But Christine… was he really worth dying for?"
A small smile touched Margarita’s lips.
For a moment, she imagined Christine turning away, pouting in irritation, just like she used to.
But Wade saw that smile—and his fury ignited.
His face twisted with rage. In a flash, his hand shot out, grabbing Margarita by the collar and yanking her up.
"You're still laughing? You dare to laugh?!" His voice shook with fury. "Margarita, do you even have a heart? Christine is dead, and you can still smile?"
His grip tightened, his breathing ragged. "Do you have any idea how much she suffered? How I watched her life slip away, second by second, powerless to stop it? And you—her murderer—you laugh?"
Disgust burned in his eyes. "Do you think sitting in a wheelchair will make me pity you? That I’ll forgive you?"
A bitter sneer curled his lips. "Margarita, you’re dreaming. You can never atone for what you’ve done. Not in this life."
His fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to look at him. His hatred was suffocating. "Do you know how much I loathe you? I wish I could make you suffer the way Christine did. Why didn’t you just die yesterday?"
Margarita was dying.
Tears welled in her eyes, silent and heavy. She no longer had the strength to hide her sorrow.
But Wade didn’t see it. Or maybe he refused to. His gaze was empty of anything but contempt.
With a sharp shove, he pushed her wheelchair aside, leaving her stranded at the edge of the road.
Margarita watched as he walked back to the grave, taking Casey’s hand. Together, they stood before Christine’s tombstone, whispering sweet promises. Their voices were soft, their expressions gentle.
"Christine, don’t worry. We’ll be happy," Wade murmured, introducing Casey as if she were his future, his salvation.
Margarita felt something inside her break.
When everything was over, Wade turned to her with nothing but indifference.
"Stay here." His tone was distant. "When you’ve finally reflected on yourself, you can go back."
Then he took Casey’s hand and left.
He didn’t look back.
Margarita sat alone in the graveyard, the wind howling through the endless rows of tombstones. The cold seeped into her bones.
Her wheelchair wasn’t electric. She had to push it forward, inch by inch.
But fate was cruel.
The wheel snagged on a jagged stone.
There was a sharp snap.
The chair tipped.
Margarita fell.
Her body hit the frozen ground, rolling helplessly down a slope until she slammed into a stone pillar. Pain exploded through her, but no one was there to hear her cry.
No one was there at all.
Curled up beside the pillar, her breath came in short, uneven gasps. A numbing despair settled over her, heavier than the night itself.
It felt as if the whole world had abandoned her.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out, grasping at nothing.
"Wade... I'm really... dying..."
Her whisper was so faint, so fragile, that even the wind refused to carry it.
No one answered.
No one cared.
