While He Saved Her, I Died in the Dark

The elevator cable snapped. The sudden weightlessness slammed me hard against the metal wall.

Suffocating from my failing heart, I gasped for air. Instinctively, I dialed my boyfriend, Ethans, number.

Busy. Then, he hung up.

A second later, a photo popped up on my Snapchat: Chloe sprained her ankle. Im at the ER getting her checked out.

In the five years we lived together, my weak heart sent me to the ER fifty-six times.

Every single time I called him in a panic, his response was always the same:

"Chloe needs me right now. I'll help her out first, then come find you."

But he never showed up. Not once.

I went to the ER fifty-six times alone. And fifty-six times, he was by Chloes side.

Even on the day I got my terminal cardiac arrest warning, I was hit by a delivery truck at an intersection.

When I called him, Chloe was the one who picked up.

"Nora, I'm so sorry, my arm is acting up again," she had cooed.

"Ethan is busy cutting up my steak right now. His hands are full, so he cant take your call."

Now, sparks flew as the elevator plummeted from the thirtieth floor toward the basement.

"Ding." A message from Ethan popped up on my phone:

"Chloe is fine now."

"Are you still working late at the office? Ill come pick you up."

I clutched my agonizing chest, my tears finally spilling over.

Five years. He was finally offering to pick me up.

But with a deafening crash, the elevator slammed through the concrete basement floor.

He had no idea. This free-falling elevator...

...had buried my tomorrow forever. He would never pick me up again.

And I didn't need him to anymore.

"Ethan, you should leave me. Go check on Nora."

In the sterile corridor outside the hospital's orthopedic ER.

Chloe sat in a wheelchair, gently tugging at Ethan's sleeve.

Her voice was quiet.

It was just loud enough for the passing nurses to hear, dripping with self-reproach and anxiety.

"Nora isn't answering your calls. It must be because of my ankle," Chloe murmured.

"I ruined your dinner plans."

"My ankle really doesn't hurt anymore. Some ice will do. Go find her."

Chloe lowered her head, her eyes rimmed with red, her fingers nervously twisting the thin blanket over her lap.

"I don't want a minor injury like this..."

"...to cause another fight between you and Nora. I'd feel so guilty."

Heavy rain pelting the windowpanes made a dull, depressing sound.

My soul drifted beneath the pale fluorescent lights of the corridor, silently watching them.

Just half an hour ago, I was crushed into a bloody mess of flesh and metal at the bottom of the Midtown office building.

And now, in this bizarre form...

...I was forced to watch my boyfriend dote on another woman.

Ethan stared at his phone screen. Still busy. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his tie in frustration.

He grabbed his car keys and started to get up.

But he froze when he heard Chloe's voice.

Sitting back down on the bench, he tucked the slipping blanket around Chloe's knees.

"You can't even walk. How are you going to get home?"

"The doctor said it's not broken, but a soft tissue injury is still serious."

His tone was gentle, carrying a natural protectiveness that brooked no argument.

"Nora might be stubborn, but she has common sense. She won't throw a fit over something like this."

Chloe bit her lower lip, making her voice even softer.

"But Nora hasn't been looking well lately. What if she really has an emergency?"

Ethan let out a soft laugh and shoved his phone into his pocket.

"What emergency could she possibly have?"

"She's just throwing a tantrum because I came out to help you in the middle of the night. She turned off her phone to scare me."

"Once we get your meds, I'll drop you off. I'll stop by that French patisserie on the way back and get her favorite raspberry mille-feuille."

"I know her. She'll stop sulking once she sees the dessert."

I hovered in the air, staring at his smug, confident face.

He was always like this. So sure I could never leave him.

So sure that no matter how biased he was, a little sweet treat would make me wag my tail and forgive him.

He wheeled Chloe to the pharmacy for her meds, then drove her safely back to her apartment.

Afterward, his sleek car pulled up in front of the famous French patisserie.

It was late, but there was still a long line inside.

Ethan was a man who lost his temper if a red light took longer than a minute.

Yet, he patiently stood at the very back of the line.

The cashier smiled warmly as she boxed the last signature mille-feuille and handed it to him.

"You're such a wonderful boyfriend, sir. Waiting in line so late just to buy her dessert."

Ethan took the elegant pastry box, a faint, proud smile gracing his lips.

"She's been in a bad mood lately. Just getting something sweet to cheer her up."

I watched him cradle the pastry box like it was some priceless treasure.

Once, a rare gesture like this would have made me jump with joy for a week.

But now, I only found it deeply ironic.

He had the patience to wait thirty minutes in line for a pastry.

Yet, he completely forgot that three months ago...

...my doctor had strictly banned me from eating high-sugar foods due to my severe heart failure.

He got back in his car and placed the box carefully on the passenger seat.

He even reached over to lower the car's AC temperature by two degrees.

He was terrified the cream might melt in the heat.

Having done all this, he dialed my number again.

Only the cold, mechanical voicemail greeted him.

Ethan frowned, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

"She actually turned off her phone. Her tantrums are getting worse."

He started the engine, the windshield wipers rhythmically sweeping away the rain.

My dead phone...

...was currently crushed alongside my broken fingers, buried deep in the concrete cracks beneath thirty stories of rubble.

The smart lock beeped, and Ethan pushed open the door to our dark, quiet apartment.

There were no lights on, and none of the usual warm aroma of dinner waiting for him.

He stood at the entryway, staring at my flats neatly lined up by the shoe rack, looking utterly baffled.

He had assumed that, as always...

...no matter how angry I was, I would leave a reading lamp on by the couch to welcome him home.

"Nora?"

He called out tentatively. Only the sound of the rain outside answered him.

Ethan changed into his slippers and flipped on the living room lights.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a long voice note from Chloe.

"Ethan, did Nora get home? You guys aren't fighting, right?"

"It's all my fault. I'm so clumsy for slipping on the stairs and making you run to the hospital in the middle of the night."

"If Nora is still mad, I can come over tomorrow and apologize to her in person."

"Even if she slaps me or yells at me, I just want you two to be happy."

Ethan unbuttoned his collar with one hand and sat down on the couch.

He pressed the voice message button, his tone filled with weary reassurance.

"She's not home. Probably staying at a friend's place."

"She's just insecure and loves going off the grid to get attention."

"Don't worry about it. Just keep icing your ankle."

"Tomorrow is our fifth anniversary. I booked a restaurant. She'll show up."

I stood right by the coffee table, watching him finish the voice note and set the elegant pastry box down.

The bottom of the box pressed directly onto a face-down hospital document.

It was the "Critical Heart Failure Warning" I had received yesterday afternoon, which I hadn't had the chance to show him yet.

He didn't even wonder what the paper was.

He casually pushed it aside to make room for his car keys.

Ethan stood up, tossed his tie aside, and walked into the bathroom.

In front of the vanity mirror sat my usual toiletries.

He turned on the faucet, his eyes drifting lazily across the marble counter.

In the corner lay an empty, discarded bottle of my emergency heart medication.

Ethan paused.

He picked up the empty bottle, glanced at the worn label, and shook his head.

With a flick of his wrist, he swept it into the trash can under the sink.

"Always trying to scare me with her meds. She needs a new trick."

He muttered his low grumble, but it wasn't malicious.

He was simply exhausted by what he assumed was a desperate plea for attention.

My translucent fingers drifted through the plastic bottle in the trash.

Yesterday morning, he had been in a rush to drive Chloe to a job interview.

My chest had been painfully tight, and I tried to hold him back, only for him to shove my hand away.

"Chloe's interview is extremely important! Stop causing drama right now, will you?"

In the commotion, I had knocked over my water glass.

My last three emergency pills spilled into the sink, washing down the drain before I could grab them.

After his shower, Ethan dried his hair and walked into the bedroom.

He lay down on our king-sized bed, taking his usual spot on the left.

He unlocked his phone, opened our chat, and typed:

"I'm picking you up from work tomorrow. Stop playing games. I bought you a gift."

After hitting send, he tossed his phone onto the nightstand.

He closed his eyes, his breathing soon becoming steady and deep.

He fell fast asleep without a single worry, utterly convinced that when the sun rose tomorrow, everything would go right back to normal, just like it always did.

The next evening, for the first time ever, Ethan left his executive office early.

He wore the dark, custom-tailored suit that I had painstakingly ironed for him two nights ago, ignoring my racing heart.

He adjusted his cufflinks in the elevator mirror, a smile playing on his lips as he drove toward the high-end jewelry boutique downtown.

"Mr. Vance, the custom diamond ring you ordered last month is ready."

Wearing white gloves, the store manager respectfully presented him with a sleek velvet box.

Ethan opened it. Resting inside was a flawlessly cut pink diamond.

"Your girlfriend is going to be thrilled with this fifth-anniversary gift."

The manager added with a polite smile.

Ethan stared at the ring, a confident smirk touching his lips.

He walked out of the store, got into his car, and instinctively dialed my number to see if I was still mad.

Once again, the only response was: "The user you have dialed is currently unavailable."

The smile faded slightly from his face, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Still acting up."

Grumbling under his breath, he started the engine, intending to drive straight to my office and corner me.

Right then, Chloes caller ID flashed on his screen.

The moment Ethan pressed answer, a deafening crash of shattering glass echoed through the speaker.

Following it was Chloe's stifled, agonizing cry and sharp gasps for air.

"Ethan... help me."

Ethan's face went pale. He sat bolt upright.

"Chloe? Whats wrong? What happened!"

"I... I accidentally knocked over the boiling kettle. My legs... they're covered in blisters."

Her voice grew fainter, sounding incredibly vulnerable yet trying to remain brave.

"I'm sorry, Ethan. I forgot today is your fifth anniversary. Go find Nora."

"I can call 911 myself. It's really fine."

Ethan glanced at the velvet ring box on the passenger seat and blurted out:

"Don't move! Burns are serious. Stay right there, I'm coming with first-aid ointment right now!"

"But Nora will be furious."

Chloe sobbed softly on the other end.

"Ethan, I don't want to be the reason you two fight."

"She didn't come home last night. If you don't spend tonight with her..."

This calculated, fragile show of selflessness instantly obliterated the last shred of Ethan's logic.

He spun the steering wheel wildly, making an illegal U-turn across the double yellow lines.

The car sped like an arrow toward Chloe's neighborhood.

"I'll explain it to her! She's not that petty!"

"This is an emergency. She knows how to prioritize."

My soul sat in the backseat, watching his tense profile.

I watched him, once again, abandon me without a second thought, all because of another woman's delicate "thoughtfulness."

He actually believed his endless favoritism was a sign of "trusting my maturity."

Stopping at a red light, he grabbed his phone and shot me a quick message on Snapchat:

"Chloe got badly burned by boiling water. She's alone and severely hurt."

"I'm going to help patch her up first, then I'll meet you at the restaurant."

"Give me half an hour. I'll make it up to you with the ring tonight."

He hit send and tossed the phone back onto the console.

He was absolutely certain that as long as he had this multi-million-dollar ring...

...it wouldn't matter how late he was, or whom he was late for.

I would be sitting in the corner of that restaurant, waiting for him without a single complaint.

At 8:40 PM, soft cello music echoed through the upscale French restaurant.

Ethan burst through the entrance, slightly out of breath, his dark suit jacket draped over his arm.

On the cuff of his white shirt...

...was a faint water stain from cleaning up Chloe's floor.

The host greeted him politely and led him to a prime window seat.

"Mr. Vance, your table has been kept for you. Shall we start serving the dishes?"

Ethan looked at the empty, candlelit table. My chair was vacant.

A sudden wave of unease hit him, but it was quickly overridden by sheer irritation.

He tossed his jacket onto the back of the chair and pulled the velvet box from his pocket.

With a sharp "thud", he slammed the custom ring box onto the table.

"Serve what? She isn't even here! Am I supposed to eat with a ghost?"

Startled by his sudden outburst, the host quickly bowed and backed away.

Ethan angrily unbuttoned two more buttons on his shirt, his chest heaving.

"I rushed over as fast as I could! Chloe was practically skinned by that boiling water!"

"Was I supposed to leave her home alone to rot?"

He gestured to the trembling server, his voice harsh.

"Bring me some ice water. Now."

I drifted opposite him, quietly watching him stab the pristine white tablecloth with his silver fork in frustration.

I watched him unleash his petty anger over my absence.

He felt wronged.

He thought that since he was giving me a priceless diamond ring, I had no right to punish him with this silent treatment.

The ice water arrived, condensation pooling at the base of the glass.

Ethan took a huge gulp, grabbed his phone, and held down the microphone button.

"Nora, I'm giving you exactly ten more minutes."

"If you're going to hold our anniversary hostage and act this immature, I'm done with you!"

He released his thumb, and the voice message sent.

The little bubble sat lonely at the bottom of the chat.

There was no instant "Typing..." indicator popping up.

Only dead silence.

Thirty seconds later...

...the phone on the table vibrated violently. The ringtone shattered the quiet restaurant atmosphere.

Thinking I had finally caved, Ethan checked the screenbut it was an unknown landline.

The caller ID read: NYPD Precinct.

His finger hovered for a second before he frowned and answered.

"Who is this?"

His voice still carried traces of lingering irritation.

A serious, professional male voice replied on the other end.

"Is this Ethan Vance?"

"Yes."

"This is the precinct. There was a fatal elevator crash at the Midtown office building last night. While clearing the scene, we recovered a female body."

Ethan's grip on his water glass tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.

"The victim's phone was completely crushed, but we managed to recover the SIM card. Your number was the only emergency contact listed."

"Please come to the Forensic Medical Center immediately to identify the body."