That day, Lily was fired from the dance studio.
All the jewelry she had taken for free from Sterling-owned stores was reported as theft, and she was charg
ed with extortion.
She went back to her old gig: livestreaming.
Her streams had thousands of viewers, but no one dared to send her a single gift.
For months, John drifted through life in a fog, a hollow ache in his chest, as if he’d lost something vital. So- metimes, in the middle of the night, he’d wake up, his throat dry, and call out.
“Nora, get me a glass of water.”
Then he’d reach for the other side of the bed and feel the cold, empty sheets.
4/13
13:17
Chapter 2
A stone would settle in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
13.17
One day, he was visiting the family estate and passed by the study. He heard his grandparents arguing.
A wave of fear and helplessness washed over him.
“My dear,” his grandmother was saying, “I could tell that body was a fake. Look at what this has done t
John! He’s a mess! Shouldn’t we tell him? Besides, the whole thing about Nora causing his mother’s deat
was a misunderstanding. He’s been wrong about her all these years. Those two poor children…”
“Stop it,” his grandfather cut in. “Let it be. I never liked Nora anyway. She acts all meek and obedient, but sh has no sense of family. A married woman, still out dancing in public. So improper. A woman like that isn’t fi
to be a Sterling. It’s a good thing she didn’t take Leo, or I’d really have a problem with her!”
Our families had been friends for generations.
John and I were childhood sweethearts. We’d promised to get married as soon as we were of age.
But then, a plane crash. My parents, gone. My sister, consumed by depression, took her own life, followin
them into the sea.
Witnessing my family die, one by one, I developed severe PTSD and relied on medication to function.
On the anniversary of their deaths, my condition flared up. I ran to the sea.
Someone jumped in to save me. John’s mother, thinking it was her own son in the water, jumped in afte
them.
I was saved. She drowned.
Fourteen-year-old John, on his way home from school, saw me by the shore, shaking his mother’s lifeles:
body, sobbing.
“Auntie Carol, wake up…”
From that day on, he was convinced I had killed her. He hated me. His own father had died in a car crast when he was young, and he had poured all his love onto his mother. And now, she was gone because of me.
John developed an avoidant attachment personality disorder.
He was constantly testing my love.
For nine years, he’d run through a Rolodex of women-actresses, artists, even a dance teacher he’d carried
on with right in front of me at the studio.
Only my unwavering presence seemed to make him feel loved.
And every time I thought about how his mother’s death had broken him, guilt would wash over me.
I made excuses for him, treated him like a patient, forgetting that I was a patient, too.
Chapter 2
On April Fool’s Day, he had staged his own death just to test me.
He knew. He knew the sea was my deepest trauma.
So many nights, I’d dreamt of drowning, waking up with tears streaming down my face.
Everyone I loved had died in that sea.
13:17
Hearing the news about his plane, my PTSD had taken over. I couldn’t control myself. I ran into the water.
And John and his friends had stood on the shore, watching, thinking I was dying for him.
The truth was, I hadn’t loved him for a long time.
As the truth of all those years crashed down on him, John’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white.
‘How could this be? I was wrong about her all this time. I thought she was trying to kill herself… I never knew
she had PTSD. What have I done…?”
His grandmother’s words echoed in his head.
The body was a fake. Nora might not be dead. I have to see…
John drove to the cemetery. From a distance, he saw a familiar figure standing in front of my grave.
