I didn’t answer. I had forgotten. Forgotten the desperate, humble Aurora who’d loved him so much she’d thrown herself at him in every possible way. Forgotten the nights I cried myself to sleep, begging for even a glance, a word, a smile. Forgotten the bone-deep love I’d carried for him that had poisoned my life.
But I stayed quiet.
Grandpa’s call seemed to force him to stay, at least for a little while, to “take care” of me. Take care, he said. That word felt like a joke. He ignored the IV backflow, barely reacted when I scalded my hand in the bath, and when I hit the call button gasping for air, he was only concerned with asking his assistant, “Has Amber’s burn been dressed yet? Send over the best scar cream if not.”
Even though I didn’t love him anymore, I felt that suffocating weight pressing down anyway. How did I survive all those years? How did I endure this? Loving him so much, giving everything, and getting nothing in return, day after day, night after night.
Outside, the tree leaves drifted past the window. And I remembered the last line I wrote in my diary: *If one day I stop loving you, it’s because my heart has died.*
Looking back now, I realized that Aurora, the one who wrote those words, probably died a long time ago, in a thousand nights of being ignored and abandoned.
The ward was empty the day I got discharged. I knew Manuel had gone to see Amber again. In all the six years of our marriage, he’d spent maybe a handful of days by my side. I didn’t expect anything different anymore. I just waited quietly, letting the immigration paperwork take its course.
Amber’s Insta Stories kept blowing up my feed while I waited—Bay Hotel sunsets on some private island. And there he was in every single photo, smiling at her with that gentle look I used to dream of, the one I never got. The latest post showed him at the foot of a snow-capped mountain, tying her scarf around her neck, his fingers long and careful, his eyes soft. She leaned against him, laughing, smiling like the world was hers. The caption read, “He said he’d show me the world.”
I just walked past it like I was watching strangers. I asked myself, did I ever look like that in someone’s eyes? Did he ever look at me like that?
...
Three days later, the immigration office finally called. My passport and visa were ready. I went straight to the law firm to pick up the divorce agreement and the statement to sever parent-child ties. Everything I needed to leave this place forever was in my bag. I folded the papers carefully, shoved them into the deepest compartment, zipped my jacket tight, and felt a strange weight lift off me.
Then my phone lit up. Amber.
“Hey sister, can we talk?”
“What are we talking about?” I typed back.
“You’ve held the title of Mrs. Davenport for six years, shouldn’t you hand it back to me?”
I smiled coldly. “It’s already been returned.”
I dropped my phone in my bag and walked out without looking back.
The front door opened, but the motion-sensor light didn’t come on. I frowned and groped for the switch, when a sharp pain exploded in the back of my head. I barely heard Amber’s voice talking to a man before everything went black.
I woke up to a screaming wind on my face. My eyes snapped open, and I realized I was hanging over a cliff. The rope cut into my wrists, my legs dangling above nothing. I turned my head and saw Amber not far from me, pale and trembling.
“Awake?” A man stood to the side, cigarette hanging from his lips, and sneered. “Don’t worry, your guy will be here soon.”
I swallowed, trying not to scream. My hands shook so much, I thought the rope might slip.
Then the roar of engines came. Black SUVs skidded to a stop at the cliff edge. Manuel stepped out, black trench coat, eyes hard, and the kind of presence that made everything else feel small.
“Here’s the fucking money, release them.”
The kidnapper grinned, “As expected of President Davenport, so direct.” He checked the cash, waved his men aside, “I’ve given you the person, I’ll leave the rest to you, Mr. Davenport.” Then they vanished.
I hung there, heart hammering, rocks crumbling beneath us. “Manuel! Please! I’m so scared!” Amber’s voice cracked, tears streaking her face. “Save me!”
The bodyguard checked the ropes, face tight. “Mr. Davenport, these ropes won’t hold for long. We can only get one person at a time.”
Without hesitation, he stepped toward Amber. I clenched my fists, hanging there, wondering if I’d be next, if anyone would care if I fell.
At that moment, I saw my parents pull up in their car. They jumped out, voices loud, panic in their tone.
“Amber!”
“Save Amber first! Hurry up! She can’t handle this kind of stress!” my mom screamed, her voice sharp and panicked as if I didn’t even exist.
My dad rushed forward too. “Careful with the rope! Pull slowly! Don’t let her slip!”
Amber sobbed, her whole body shaking. “Mom! Dad! Manuel! I’m scared! Please don’t let me fall!”
“I’ve got you,” Manuel said immediately. “Look at me, Amber. Just keep looking at me. Don’t look down. We’re pulling you up right now.”
“I can’t hold on anymore!” Amber cried. “My hands hurt. Manuel, please hurry…”
“Just a few more seconds,” he murmured gently. “You’re safe. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Pull harder!” my mom kept shouting. “Don’t stop! My poor baby, hold on!”
Not one of them said my name. Not once.
I was still hanging there beside her, the rope biting deep into my wrists. My arms were shaking so badly I could barely feel my fingers anymore. Did they forget I was here too?
The rope above me creaked.
A sharp snapping sound suddenly tore through the wind.
“Wait!” one of the bodyguards shouted.
Too late.
The rope jerked violently and dropped.
I fell.
Rocks broke loose beneath my feet and tumbled down the cliff as the wind roared past my ears. My stomach flipped as the ground disappeared beneath me. So this was it? Was this really how my life ended?
