I'll Finish What You Left Unfinished

The night my best friend debuted at the Met, Nolan locked me in our room. He was terrified the livestream would trigger another breakdown.

Hearing the roaring applause from the tablet, I bit my lip until blood came.

Five years ago, the car crashed. I shielded him, but he shoved me aside to protect Rebecca. I had been safe. That push slammed me into a steel rebar that pierced both thighs. At nineteen, I became paralyzed from the pelvis down.

Five years of relentless phantom pain followed. A waking nightmare. Today, as the agony flared, I begged Nolan for relief.

Still watching Rebecca onscreen, he sneered, "Hurts? Go die. Five years and you still whine. Do I look like a fool?" He threw potassium chloride at me and pinned my wrists. "Tonight is Rebecca's comeback. Must you ruin it with self-pity?"

"Try it," I said. "Push that, and I'm gone in minutes."

His phone rang. It was Rebecca. His glare melted as he stepped out to answer.

I looked at the syringe. With my own hands, I ended what little hope remained and pressed the needle into my vein.

He never meant to kill me.

But I was truly finished with living.

The moment the potassium chloride entered my bloodstream, I didn't feel immediate pain.

Just a suffocating tightness in my chest, like an invisible hand slowly crushing my heart from the inside out.

The syringe was completely empty. Not a single drop left.

I calmly pulled the needle out, twisted the safety cap back on, and dropped it into the medical sharps container.

Inch by inch, I dragged my torso across the floor into the master bathroom.

Outside the door, I could hear Nolan laughing on FaceTime with Rebecca.

He praised her flawless routine. She playfully demanded he treat her to a late-night supper to celebrate.

"You guys go ahead. I'll pass."

"She is... she's having a bad day."

His voice was drenched in exhaustion.

After the crash five years ago, Nolan turned down a prestigious fellowship. His mentor screamed at him over the phone for forty minutes, calling him a waste of brilliant surgical talent.

Nolan didn't argue back. He hung up and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in the hospital hallway.

Then he sold his downtown condo, moved us into a cramped two-thousand-a-month apartment, and took endless graveyard shifts in the ER just to cover my medical bills.

My vision started to tunnel.

Using the last ounce of my strength, I fumbled through my wheelchair bag and pulled out a watch.

A gift I always meant to give him, but never found the right moment.

With a trembling hand, I scrawled three words on the bathroom mirror using my lipstick.

'Not your fault.'

The watch slipped from my grip, clattering against the tiles and rolling into a dark corner.

My consciousness began to detach.

The stained bathroom ceiling morphed into the starry dome of the Metropolitan Theater.

I was standing in the center of the stage again.

Wearing that diamond-studded contemporary ballet costume with the flowing silk ribbons. My legs were long, powerful. I pushed off the tips of my toes and launched into a flawless triple pirouette.

My final thought was terrifyingly clear.

Nolan wouldn't have to work night shifts for my nerve meds anymore.

His hands would stop trembling.

Rebecca could finally stand by his side without guilt.

Everyone was finally free.

When my awareness reformed, I was floating near the bathroom ceiling.

I looked down at myself.

Slumped against the edge of the bathtub. Skin an ashen gray, lips tinted a deep purple.

My arms were locked mid-air, forever frozen in a graceful ballet pose.

The empty pant legs of my sweatpants draped pathetically over the tiles like discarded props.

The front doorbell rang.

I drifted out of the bathroom, passing right through the solid wood of the bedroom door.

In the living room, Rebecca was walking in arm-in-arm with Nolan's mother, beaming with pride.

She was still wearing her silver stage costume, her makeup immaculate. She practically reeked of fresh roses and standing ovations.

Eleanor patted Rebecca's hand, absolutely gushing.

"You were spectacular tonight! Three standing ovations! Even the arts critics were raving about you."

Rebecca offered a perfectly modest smile.

"I just followed the choreographer's vision. The instructors really guided me."

Choreographer's vision?

Those choreography notes for that specific solo were written by me. I spent three agonizing months staying up late in my wheelchair to perfect them.

Arthur, Nolan's father, walked in behind them carrying an expensive bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan.

The whole family happily crowded into the kitchen to prep a celebration dinner.

Nolan took charge of chopping the vegetables.

Rebecca naturally stepped up right beside him to help. They moved in perfect sync. When she handed him the salt, her fingers brushed against his. Neither of them pulled away.

Nolan paused his chopping.

"Rebecca, that final suspended leap with the ribbons tonight was beautiful. The power for that movement comes from the shoulder blades, not the wrists, right?"

Rebecca froze for a split second, then smiled and nodded.

Floating near the ceiling, a phantom ache throbbed where my heart used to be.

The secret behind that specific leap was something I taught all my students back in the day.

Only Nolan remembered.

Eleanor walked out of the kitchen carrying a fruit platter. She glanced at our closed bedroom door and scowled.

"Where is Avery? It's the biggest night of Rebecca's career, and she can't even come out to say congratulations?"

Nolan's knife stopped moving.

"We had a bit of an argument this afternoon. She's resting."

Eleanor slammed the platter onto the dining table.

"Throwing a tantrum again? It's been five years! She screams about leg pain every single day. She doesn't even have legs anymore, what is there to hurt?"

"You are a brilliant attending surgeon, and she's dragging you down so hard you can barely step into an operating room!"

I wanted to speak.

I wanted to say, I wasn't throwing a tantrum. I was dead.

But the moment the words left my lips, they dissolved into nothingness.

Arthur sighed, leaning back into the sofa with his whiskey glass.

"She used to be so glorious on stage. Remember when we sat in the front row for her opening night? Those were the days."

"Who could have known... honestly, it might have been a mercy if she had just passed away in that crash."

Rebecca poured a cup of tea and handed it to Nolan, her voice soft and soothing.

"Don't let Eleanor's words get to you. She just cares about you."

"Avery's condition... it really is a heavy burden on everyone."

She paused, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"When was the last time you actually smiled?"

Nolan stared at the cutting board. He swallowed hard but said nothing.

Rebecca reached out and placed her hand over his.

Nolan didn't pull away.

Looking at them standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the warm, yellow light of the kitchen, an overwhelming sourness flooded my soul. But I smiled anyway.

I could never give him this kind of warm, normal domestic life again.

The celebration dinner officially began.

In the center of the table sat a custom cake decorated with a sugar-sculpted ballerina wrapped in white ribbons.

I wanted to get a closer look at the little figure. Just as my ghostly fingers reached out, Rebecca cheerfully sliced right through it.

She scooped the figurine onto her plate and bit off one of its sugar ribbon arms.

"This is gorgeous. This pose is from my absolute favorite solo piece."

Nolan's eyes locked onto the broken ribbon arm on her plate. His lips trembled slightly.

Rebecca noticed his shift in mood.

"What's wrong? Is it too sweet?"

Nolan looked down.

"It's nothing."

He picked up the broken piece of sugar ribbon, placed it on his own saucer, and left it untouched.

I was stunned.

Did he remember something?

Before I could process it, Eleanor pulled a thick document from her designer purse and slapped it onto the dining table.

"I already got Avery's signature."

I recognized that signature.

It was my handwriting, but I never signed a divorce paper.

Then it hit me. Two months ago, my own mother visited me and asked me to sign some paperwork, claiming it was for transferring the deed to our old family house.

That document had been a divorce settlement.

Nolan picked up the papers, flipping through them page by page.

Under the asset division section, it explicitly stated that I willingly forfeited all joint marital assets and future medical alimony.

Rebecca spoke up right on cue, her tone gentle and persuasive.

"Nolan, signing this doesn't mean you're abandoning her."

"I can use all my performance bonuses to cover her physical therapy from now on."

"I just want you to start living your life again. Johns Hopkins still has that fellowship spot open for you."

Arthur set his whiskey down. He looked at Nolan's visibly shaking hands.

"You know exactly what a surgeon's hands mean. If you keep living under this stress, you won't even be able to hold a suture needle."

Nolan's hand hovered over the table, gripping a pen.

He stared at that crooked, shaky signature for a long, long time.

Suddenly, he spoke. His voice was incredibly quiet.

"When she signed this, did she know what it was?"

The room went dead silent.

Eleanor's expression shifted nervously. Rebecca immediately tried to smooth things over.

"Avery wants what's best for you too. She doesn't want to be a burden anymore, right, Eleanor?"

Eleanor nodded vigorously.

"She knows her own situation better than anyone."

Nolan held the pen. The tip hovered over the signature line for three agonizing seconds.

Floating right above his head, my nonexistent heart clenched again.

Finally, he put the pen down.

"Let me think about it."

Eleanor's face darkened. She looked ready to explode, but Rebecca gently held her arm, giving her a warning look.

After dinner, Nolan walked his parents to the door.

Before stepping out, Eleanor turned back and hissed in a low voice.

"She is going to drag you into an early grave."

Nolan said nothing and gently closed the door.

He cleared the dining table alone. He folded the divorce settlement neatly and locked it deep inside a drawer in the TV console.

When the living room fell completely silent, Nolan stood perfectly still for a long time.

He walked into the kitchen and packed a thermal lunchbox. Crab-roe tofu, steamed bass, and a small bowl of sweet silver ear mushroom soup he had simmered himself.

He carried the tray to the bedroom door and knocked three times.

"Avery, are you asleep?"

Silence.

He assumed I was still giving him the silent treatment.

He pressed his forehead against the wooden door. His voice was incredibly soft.

"I'm sorry. I lost control of my temper this afternoon."

"That potassium chloride... I was out of my mind to do that. When I tossed that syringe at you, my hands were shaking so badly."

A long, heavy silence.

He lightly thumped his fist against the wood.

"When I drove past the theater today, the billboards were covered with Rebecca's face. But all I could think about was that it should have been you up there."

He sniffled.

"I was reading a paper in the medical journal recently. It's about transcranial magnetic stimulation for phantom limb pain. The success rate is over sixty-seven percent."

"I already contacted a specialized team in Boston."

He pulled out his phone, scrolled to some screenshots, bent down, and slid them under the crack of the door.

"Take a look. I've studied the science behind it, the tech is solid. If you're just willing to try..."

His voice broke. He sounded like he was on the verge of crying.

"Can you please just give me a little more time?"

The bedroom answered with a deathly stillness.

His phone alarm buzzed. It was a reminder for an emergency appendectomy he was covering for a colleague tonight.

The extra overtime pay would cover my nerve block treatments for next week.

He stood up, resting his head against the door one last time.

"I'll bring you your favorite raspberry tart tomorrow morning."

On his way to the front door, he stopped by the TV console, yanked the drawer open, and pulled out the divorce papers.

My soul held its breath.

He stared at it for a few seconds, then ripped it to shreds and threw the pieces into the trash can.

Ten minutes after Nolan left, the front door clicked unlocked.

Rebecca walked in using her spare key.

She marched straight to the bedroom door and slapped it hard three times.

"Avery, I know you're awake. Are you playing the victim game again?"

No answer.

She crouched down and pulled the printed medical screenshots out from under the door.

She glanced at them, let out a mocking snort, crumpled the papers into a ball, and tossed them into the trash.

Then she picked up the thermal lunchbox Nolan had packed and dumped the expensive seafood and soup straight into the garbage disposal.

She noticed the torn divorce papers in the trash bin. Meticulously, she fished out the pieces, taped them back together, and laid the restored document flat on the coffee table.

Leaning against the bedroom door, her voice turned venomous and quiet.

"Do you know what his physical exam showed last month?"

"Resting tremors in both hands. Suspected early-onset Parkinson's."

"A brilliant surgeon, and his hands are shaking. He's only thirty-three."

"This is all because of you."

My soul felt like it was being strangled.

Parkinson's?

He never told me.

"You refuse to eat, you refuse to talk, you threaten to kill yourself over every little thing. You think you're the most tragic person on earth, don't you?"

"Do you ever think about how much he suffers?"

"People like you are the most selfish. You always live the longest."

After delivering her poison, she curled up on the living room sofa, scrolling through her phone while waiting for Nolan to return.

At two in the morning, the front door opened. Nolan walked in carrying a small pastry box.

Seeing Rebecca asleep on the couch, he paused, then quietly draped a blanket over her shoulders.

Rebecca woke up, rubbing her eyes. She noticed the pastry box in his hand.

"Is that for me?"

Nolan shifted the box slightly behind his back.

"No. It's for Avery."

He walked toward the bedroom. Noticing the medical printouts were gone from under the door, he assumed I had pulled them inside to read. A faint look of relief washed over his face.

"Baby, I brought you a raspberry tart. It's still warm. Do you want a bite?"

Still no movement inside.

He let out a bitter chuckle.

"Alright, get some rest. I'll leave it right here by the door. Come grab it when you're hungry."

Rebecca watched this with cold eyes. She pushed the taped-up divorce papers across the coffee table.

"Why did you tear it up? Are you planning to torture yourself for the rest of your life?"

Nolan glanced at her. His voice was low, bone-tired.

"I told you. I am never divorzing Avery. Not in this lifetime."

Rebecca's eyes instantly went red.

She stood up abruptly, lunged at him, and pressed her lips forcefully against his.

Nolan stumbled backward, but she locked her arms around his neck, refusing to let go.

He tried to pry her off, but she was relentless. Frustrated, she intentionally stomped her heel right onto the pastry box sitting on the floor.

As his attention splintered, she took advantage to deepen the kiss.

Floating in mid-air, watching this unfold, my phantom heart twisted in agony.

Nolan clamped his jaw shut tight, took a sharp breath, and shoved her away with brutal force.

He didn't spare a single second to care about Rebecca's hurt feelings. He immediately dropped to his knees, carefully wiping the dust off the crushed pastry box, his face etched with guilt.

Rebecca staggered back. A flash of bitter resentment crossed her face before she quickly morphed it back into a mask of pure grievance.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the spare key to the master bedroom.

"You don't believe me? Fine."

"Go ask her yourself. Ask her what she really wants! Let's see who is the one dragging this out!"

She shoved the key into the lock and twisted it sharply. The door clicked open.

A suffocating, sickly-sweet odor, like rusted iron soaked in warm water, billowed out, mixing with the damp humidity of the bathroom. It hit them like a physical blow.

Nolan's pupils shrank to pinpricks. The crushed pastry box slipped from his hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

He violently shoved Rebecca out of the way and bolted into the room.

The bed was empty.

The balcony was empty.

He kicked the bathroom door open. His shoe splashed into a sticky, half-dried puddle.

He looked down. It was a pale yellow fluid, streaked with the unmistakable dark stains of bodily decay.