No More Coming Back, Ex-Husband

Four weeks ago, I almost died at the party organized by my husband to announce our pregnancy.

I was standing at the top of the grand staircase, two months pregnant, waiting for George to announce our news to the world. Then the chandelier fell.

I didn't even have time to scream. The last thing I felt was the crushing weight of glass and steel, and thendarkness.

When I finally floated back to consciousness, I couldn't move. My body felt heavy, like it was buried under sand. I couldn't open my eyes, but I could hear.

When I woke up, I couldn't move. I was trapped in the dark, my body heavy as lead.

But I could hear.

Why is she stabilizing?

George. My heart gave a weak flutter. He was here. He stayed.

I didn't pay you to save her, he hissed, his voice dripping with ice. I paid you to make sure she never woke up.

I froze. The beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the room.

Mr. Caldwell, the doctor stammered. Its a miracle she survived. The swelling

Its a disaster! George snapped. Do you know how inconvenient this is? The board is waiting. The insurance payout is pending. And Donna is waiting in the car.

Donna. My stepsister. My best friend. The woman who held my hand when I found out I was pregnant.

Shes expecting a widow, not a husband with a vegetable for a wife, George continued. Fix this. Put her back under. Overdose her. I dont care.

The medication the doctor hesitated. Its dangerous.

I. Dont. Care.

My world shattered. The man I loved he didnt just want me gone. He was erasing me.

And the other matter? George asked, his tone bored.

The pregnancy? The doctor sighed.

I strained to listen, my internal scream rising. My baby. Please, not my baby.

Terminated on impact, the doctor said flatly. The trauma was catastrophic. We had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. She lost the child, Mr. Caldwell. And she will never carry another.

Dead.

My baby was dead.

And I was barren.

The grief hit me harder than the chandelier ever could. I wanted to wail, to tear the room apart, but I was paralyzed.

Perfect, George laughed. A cold, cruel sound. I never wanted that brat anyway. It was just a prop to get the grandfathers trust fund. With the kid dead and her barren, shes useless.

He checked his watch.

Finish her off, Doc. Make it look like heart failure. I have a dinner reservation with Donna, and I dont intend to be late.

I need ten minutes to prepare the syringe, the doctor whispered.

Footsteps. The door clicked shut.

I was alone with my husband.

He walked to the side of the bed. I felt his hand brush a stray hair from my forehead.

You always were difficult, Eliza, he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. You should have just died on the floor. You would have saved us both the trouble.

He chuckled darkly.

But dont worry. Donna is already pregnant. Shell make a much better Mrs. Caldwell.

He patted my cheek, sharp and stinging.

Goodbye, Eliza.

He turned and walked out the door, whistling a tune.

Panic, raw and primal, flooded my veins. I had ten minutes. Ten minutes before the doctor came back with a syringe full of death.

I had to move. I had to wake up.

Move, I screamed at my fingers. Move, damn you!

I focused every ounce of my will, every shred of hatred and grief, into my right hand.

Twitch.

My index finger moved. Just a fraction.

Then my eyelids fluttered. The harsh hospital light pierced my retinas, blinding and painful.

I gasped, a dry, rasping sound that tore through my throat.

The door opened.

The doctor walked in, a syringe in his hand. He froze when he saw my eyes open.

Mrs. Caldwell? he whispered, his face draining of color.

I tried to speak, but my voice was a croak. I forced the words out, desperate and broken.

Dont kill me.

He took a step back, the syringe trembling in his hand. I I have orders. George hell ruin me.

Ill pay you, I rasped, tears streaming down my face. Double. Triple whatever he gave you. Just let me live.

He hesitated, looking at the door, then back at me. He wants you dead, Eliza. If he finds out

He wont, I begged. Say Im in a coma. Say Im vegetable. Just dont kill me. Please.

The doctor shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead. I cant. George owns this hospital. He owns me. If you live, I die.

He raised the syringe, his eyes full of pity but his hand steady.

Im sorry, Mrs. Caldwell. It will be painless.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the needle.

Bang.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall.

Step away from her.

The voice was deep, commanding, and dangerously calm.

The doctor jumped, dropping the syringe. It shattered on the floor.

I opened my eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a man in a charcoal suit, filling the frame with a presence that sucked the air out of the room.

Nico Thorne. Georges sworn enemy. The billionaire I had rejected three years ago to be with George. The man whose heart I broke to marry a monster.

M-Mr. Thorne? the doctor stammered, backing away. What are you doing here? This is a restricted

Get out, Nico said. Before I decide to use that shard of glass on you.

He scrambled past Nico and ran down the hall.

Nico kicked the door shut and locked it. He looked at the IVs, the bruises, the emptiness in my eyes where my light used to be.

Look at you, he said softly. I told you he was a snake, Eliza. You didnt listen.

I tried to turn away, shame burning through the pain. Did you come to gloat?

No.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the tear from my cheek. His touch was warm, unlike the coldness of the room.

I came to make a deal.

I stared at him. A deal?

George thinks youre going to die tonight. Hes already planning the funeral. Hes already celebrating with your sister.

The rage flared in my chest again, hot and suffocating.

What do you want? I whispered.

He smirked, a dangerous, predatory curve of his lips.

You rejected me once, Eliza. I wont let that happen again.

He held out his hand.

Marry me. Be my wife. And I will give you the world to destroy him with.

I didnt stay in the hospital. I couldn't. The sterile white walls felt like a cage, and the silence was too loud. I needed to see him. I needed to look George in the eye and see if the monster I heard in that hospital room was real.

I pulled my coat tighter around my bruised body, wincing as the fabric brushed against my stitches. The night air was biting, but it was nothing compared to the cold spreading in my chest.

When the taxi pulled up to the estate, my breath hitched.

Lights.

The entire house was ablaze with them. Cars lined the drivewayexpensive, sleek cars that belonged to our "friends." Music drifted through the open windows, a lively jazz tune that clashed violently with the grief screaming inside me.

A party?

My baby was dead. I almost died weeks ago. And he was throwing a party?

I pushed open the heavy oak doors.

Laughter hit me like a physical blow. The foyer was filled with people holding champagne flutes, their faces flushed with excitement.

"Happy Birthday, George!" someone shouted from the living room.

His birthday. Of course.

I stepped further into the light, my hospital bracelet still on my wrist, my face pale and devoid of makeup.

The chatter died instantly.

One by one, heads turned. The music seemed to screech to a halt.

George was standing by the fireplace, a glass of scotch in one hand, his other arm draped possessively around Donnas waist. She was wearing my favorite red dress.

When he saw me, the color drained from his face. His glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the marble hearth.

"Eliza?" he choked out.

The silence was deafening.

"Surprised?" I asked, my voice hoarse but steady. I walked into the room, the crowd parting for me like I was a ghost.

"Eliza!" Donna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a performance worthy of an Oscar. "Oh my god! Youre youre here!"

"What are you doing here?" George hissed, stepping away from Donna, his eyes darting around the room at the confused guests.

"Its my home, George," I said, stopping a few feet from him. "Can I not be at my own husband's birthday party?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"My god, Eliza, you look terrible," Mrs. Vansant whispered, clutching her pearls. "We heard we heard there was an accident."

"Is the baby okay?" someone else asked.

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Georges jaw tightened. He looked at me with a warning in his eyesa silent command to shut up and play the part.

"They told us you were in critical condition," George said loudly, forcing a strained smile. "That you might not make it. We were we were just preparing for the worst."

"Im very much alive," I said, locking eyes with him. "Miraculously."

Donna rushed forward, grabbing my hands. Her skin was warm, her perfume cloying. "Oh, thank god! We were so worried, Eliza! Ive been crying all evening!"

I looked down at her hands, then back at her face. "You recovered quickly enough to put on my dress, Donna."

She froze, her smile faltering. "I I didnt have anything to wear I rushed over when I heard"

"Eliza," George cut in, his voice sharp. "Youre clearly in shock. You shouldn't be here. You need rest."

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and steered me toward the stairs. "Excuse us, everyone. My wife needs to lie down."

He dragged me up the stairs and into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind us. The moment the latch clicked, his mask fell.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled, turning on me. "You were supposed to be in the hospital!"

"And let me die?" I shot back.

He paused, just for a second, his eyes narrowing. "Die? Don't be dramatic. The doctors were taking care of you."

"Is that what you call it?" I laughed, a broken, hollow sound. "I heard you, George. I heard you tell them to finish me off."

"You were hallucinating from the anesthesia," he dismissed, waving his hand. "Youre hysterical. Look at you, barging in here, ruining my birthday, embarrassing me in front of the board!"

"Embarrassing you?" I screamed. "Our baby is dead, George! Our child!"

"And whose fault is that?" he shouted, stepping into my space.

I recoiled. "What?"

"If you hadn't been so clumsy, if you hadn't been standing so close to the edge, none of this would have happened!" He pointed a finger in my face. "Do you know what you've done? Grandfather is furious! That trust fund was contingent on an heir! Now I have to explain to him why his great-grandchild is dead because his mother couldn't keep her balance!"

I stared at him, my blood turning to ice.

"Is that all you care about?" I whispered. "The money?"

"It's not just money, Eliza! It's my legacy! It's the company!" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. "I married you for this. I put up with you for this. And you failed. You had one job."

"One job," I repeated.

"Yes! To give me an heir!" He stopped and glared at me with pure contempt. "And now look at you. Broken. Useless. What good are you to me now?"

The pain in my chest was unbearable, but strangely, it cleared my head. The tears stopped. The shaking stopped.

I looked at the man I had loved for three years. The man I had defended to my family, to my friends. The man I had almost died for.

And I felt nothing.

I smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing.

"You're right, George," I said softly.

He blinked, confused by my sudden calm. "What?"

"I'm barren. We lost the child. I'm useless to you now."

I pulled off my wedding ring. It felt heavy in my hand, a shackle I hadn't realized I was wearing.

"So divorce me," I said, dropping the ring onto the nightstand. "Right now."

The ring hit the nightstand with a dull clink, spinning before settling into silence.

I waited for him to scream "Get out." I waited for him to throw my clothes onto the lawn. I was ready for it. I wanted it.

Instead, George laughed.

It was a low, dark sound that scraped against my nerves. He stepped closer, kicking the ring off the table. It skittered across the floor, lost in the shadows.

"Divorce?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "You think I would let you go that easily?"

I frowned, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Why not? You just said Im useless. I cant give you an heir. Im damaged goods. Why would you want to keep me?"

"So you can run to him?" George sneered, his face twisting into a mask of ugly jealousy.

I blinked, the room spinning slightly. "Him? Who are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Eliza!" he roared, the smell of scotch on his breath making me gag. "Do you think I wouldn't find out? Do you think Im that stupid?"

"I don't know what"

"I know you cheated on me!"

The accusation hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

"Cheated?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "I never I have never looked at another man since the day I met you."

"Liar!"

He marched to the dresser and snatched up a thick envelope. He threw it at me. It struck my chest, the corners sharp, before spilling its contents onto the bed.

Photographs. Grainy, blurry photos of me. Me having coffee. Me walking out of a building. And in every single one of them, a man was nearby. A tall, indistinct figure with his back turned or his face obscured by shadows.

I stared at the images, my mind racing.

"Who is he?" George demanded, looming over me. "Tell me his name!"

I picked up a photo, my hands shaking. "I I don't know."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not lying!" I cried, looking closer at the stranger in the picture. "Ive never seen this man in my life, George! Hes just hes just some random person walking by! I don't know who he is!"

"You expect me to believe that?" George scoffed. "You expect me to believe you don't know the man you were sleeping with? The man who fathered that bastard?"

"The baby?" My breath hitched. "Do you really expect me to believe that child wasn't yours?"

"Of course it wasn't mine!" George yelled. "If it weren't for Donna, I would be raising another man's mistake right now!"

"Donna?"

The name was a slap in the face.

"She saw the texts, Eliza. She saw the way you sneaked around. She hired the investigator because she couldn't stand seeing her sister make a fool of me."

"Shes lying!" I shouted, clutching the sheets. "There are no texts! There is no man! George, shes manipulating you! She wants you for herself!"

"Shut up!"

He grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my jaw.

"You will not leave me," he hissed, his eyes dark voids. "You don't get to walk away to some secret lover. You don't get the easy way out. Youre going to stay right here in this house, and youre going to suffer. Youre going to regret every single moment you betrayed me."

"George, please"

"George!"

The bedroom door creaked open. Donna stood there, her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes wide with fake concern.

"George, stop!" she cried, rushing into the room. "Youre hurting her! Shes still recovering!"

She grabbed his arm, pulling him back slightly, but her eyes her eyes were locked on mine, gleaming with triumph.

"Eliza, are you okay?" she cooed, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "I told George not to be so harsh I just wanted the truth to come out, I didn't want"

"Don't touch me!"

The rage inside me, hot and molten, finally erupted.

I didn't think. I didn't plan.

I shoved her.

I put all my weight, all my grief, all my hatred into my hands and pushed her hard.

"Ah!" Donna shrieked.

She stumbled back, her heels catching on the rug. She flailed dramatically, crashing into the vanity table. Perfume bottles and jewelry trays clattered to the floor with a deafening crash.

"Eliza!" George roared.

He rushed to Donna, helping her up as if she were made of glass.

"She attacked me!" Donna sobbed, burying her face in Georges shirt. "I was just trying to help! I was just trying to save your marriage!"

George looked up at me, his face contorted with pure fury.

"You are insane," he spat.

"Shes the insane one!" I yelled, pointing a shaking finger at my sister. "She faked those photos! She hired someone to stand near me! Shes been poisoning you against me for years!"

"Enough!" George bellowed.

He stood up, shielding Donna behind him.

"You want to act like an animal? Fine. Ill treat you like one."

He walked to the door and ripped the key from the lock.

"Youre not leaving this room," he said coldly. "Not until I say so."

"George, no!"

He slammed the door in my face.

Click.

The lock turned.

I threw myself against the wood, pounding on it with my fists.

"Let me out! George! Open the door!"

Silence.

Then, from the other side, I heard Donnas voice, low and sweet.

"Don't worry, darling. I'll take care of you. Let her rot in there."

Footsteps faded down the hall.

I slid down the door, burying my face in my hands. I was trapped. My baby was dead. My husband was a monster. And my sister was the devil. They had stripped me of everythingmy child, my dignity, my freedom.

But as the tears fell, something else began to rise in the darkness of my heart.

If they wanted a villain, I would give them one.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. My stomach churned, but the thought of food made me nauseous.

The lock clicked again.

I didn't move from my spot on the floor. I watched as the door opened and Donna slipped inside, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water.

"Eliza?" she whispered, her voice dripping with that sickening, sugary concern. "You must be hungry. I brought you something."

"Get out," I rasped, not looking at her.

"Please, Eliza," she sighed, setting the tray on the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirtmy skirt. "I just want us to be happy. I want to help you accept the reality of the situation."

"The reality?" I looked up, my eyes burning. "The reality is that youre sleeping with my husband."

"Were in love," she said simply, as if discussing the weather. "George and I we connect. He needs someone who understands him. Someone who can give him what he needs."

"You mean a son?" I spat. "You mean the heir I couldn't give him because he almost killed me?"

"Shh," she soothed, reaching out. "Don't be like that. You should just be honest with yourself. You were never right for him. You were always too fragile."

"I was his wife!"

"And you cheated on him," she said, her eyes wide and innocent.

"You know that's a lie! You faked those photos! You hired someone!"

"Does it matter?" Donna shrugged, the mask finally slipping. A slow, cruel smirk spread across her lips. "He believes me. Thats all that counts."

"You whore," I whispered, the venom in my voice surprising even me.

Donnas smirk widened. She stood up and walked over to me, looking down like I was a stain on the carpet.

"Call me whatever you want, Eliza. But the truth is, he wants me now. Youre barren. Youre empty. A broken vessel with nothing to offer. Why would he keep a car that cant run when he has a brand new model right here?"

She placed a hand on her stomach, a gesture that made my blood boil.

I forced myself to breathe. In and out. I wouldn't let her see me break. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of my tears.

I stood up, wincing as my stitches pulled, and faced her.

"You might be right," I said, my voice deadly calm. "He might want you. He might sleep with you. But look at where we are, Donna."

"What?" she frowned.

"He locked me in here because he won't let me go," I said, stepping closer until I was inches from her face. "He said it himself. He won't divorce me. Which means, as long as I breathe, I am Mrs. George Caldwell. I am the wife."

I poked her chest hard.

"And you? Youre just the mistress. Youre the dirty little secret he keeps on the side. Youre the placeholder until he gets bored. And trust me, Donna, he always gets bored."

Donnas face flushed red. Her composure cracked.

"You think a piece of paper makes you special?" she hissed. "He hates you!"

"He hates that he can't control me," I shot back. "And he hates that he still needs me for something. Otherwise, I'd be dead already."

Donna glared at me, her hands balling into fists. Then, she spun around and marched to the door.

"Enjoy your soup, Mrs. Caldwell," she sneered. "I'm going back to bed. With your husband."

She slammed the door. The key turned in the lock.

The night dragged on, a sleepless blur of shadows and pain. But when the sun finally broke through the heavy curtains, the lock turned again.

George walked in.

"Good morning, Eliza," he said, placing a fresh cup of coffee on the bedside table as if he hadn't held me prisoner for the last twelve hours.

I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chin. "George?"

"I trust you've calmed down," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "You were quite hysterical yesterday. It was concerning."

"I I was upset," I said carefully, testing the waters.

"Understandable. Losing the baby its hard on a womans mind," he said dismissively. He checked his watch. "Look, Grandfathers 80th birthday dinner is tomorrow night. Its a milestone. We need to make an appearance, and we need to bring a gift."

He looked at me, his eyes hard.

"Im going into the city to pick something out at the auction house. Youre coming with me."

"I am?"

"Yes. We need to present a united front. No more rumors." He paused, his expression darkening. "Donna is coming too."

My fingers clenched under the sheets. "Donna?"

"She has an eye for these things. And frankly, Eliza, after the way you treated her last night, you owe her an apology."

I stared at him. "You want me to apologize to the woman who is sleeping with you?"

"I want you to apologize to my sister-in-law for physically assaulting her!" George snapped, his mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "If you can't do that, if you can't be civil, then maybe you really do belong in a psych ward."

He waited, challenging me. He expected me to fight. He expected the tears, the screaming, the "it's not fair."

But the Eliza who fought for fairness died in that hospital bed.

I took a deep breath. I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt unnatural, like stretching plastic, but I held it.

"Youre right, George," I said softy.

He blinked, taken aback. "I am?"

"Yes. I was out of my mind with grief. I shouldn't have pushed her. Shes family." I looked down, feigning shame. "Id love to come. I want to make it right."

George studied me for a long moment, searching for the crack in my armor. When he didn't find one, he smileda smug, victorious smile.

"Good girl," he said, patting my head like a dog. "I knew youd see reason."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone.

"Get dressed. We leave in an hour. And Eliza? Don't make me regret giving this back."

He tossed the phone onto the bed and walked out, leaving the door unlocked.

I waited until his footsteps faded before I grabbed the phone. My hands were trembling, not with fear, but with adrenaline.

I turned it on. Dozens of missed calls from my mother, from friends I no longer trusted. I ignored them all.

There was only one message that mattered.

It was from a number saved simply as Nico.

I opened the text.

Ill see you soon, future wife. Be ready for me.

I stood in the shadows of a marble pillar, invisible in my red dress, while George and Donna paraded through the center of the room.

"Oh, George, look at this one!" Donna squealed, pointing a manicured finger at a sapphire necklace that cost more than my fathers house. "It matches my eyes perfectly."

"Then its yours," George said, his voice smooth as silk. He raised his paddle without even looking at the price.

I watched as the auctioneer slammed the gavel. Sold.

I was the wife. I was the one standing there with the ring on my finger. Yet, I was treated like the hired help, holding Donnas coat while she draped herself over my husband. People whispered behind their programs, their eyes darting from Donnas triumph to my humiliation.

I felt bile rise in my throat and slipped away toward the restrooms, needing a moment to breathe.

As I turned the corner near the private viewing alcove, I heard them.

"Why did you bring her?" Donnas voice was a harsh whisper. "Its embarrassing, George. Everyone is staring. We should just end her. Or divorce her. Why drag this out?"

I froze, pressing my back against the cold wall.

"The doctor failed for some reasons, but I realized not yet," George replied, his tone dark and amused. "Divorce is messy right now with the merger. Besides..." I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of him pulling her close. "I enjoy torturing her. Did you see her face when I bought you the necklace? It was priceless."

"Youre terrible," Donna giggled.

"Im practical. And Im yours."

Then came the wet, sickening sound of them kissing.

The evening was a blur of misery. We arrived at the Caldwell estate for his grandfathers 80th birthday. The air in the grand dining room was stifling, heavy with the scent of roast duck and judgment.

"So," Grandfather Caldwell boomed from the head of the table, his bushy white eyebrows drawn together. He didn't look at George; he looked straight at me. "Another year, and still no heir."

The room went silent. The clinking of silverware stopped.

"Grandfather," I started, my voice small. "I..."

"I heard about the hospital," the old man interrupted, slamming his wine glass down. "Careless. Absolutely careless. You had one job, Eliza. To carry the Caldwell line. And you lost it."

"It wasn't my fault," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes despite my resolve.

"It is always the mother's responsibility!" he shouted. "You are weak! A weak vessel produces nothing but dust!"

"Grandfather, please," George interjected, placing a protective hand over mine on the table. It felt like a branding iron. "Don't be so hard on her. Eliza is... fragile. She did her best. Its not her fault she isn't strong enough to carry a Caldwell child."

He looked at me with sad, pitying eyesa performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Shes trying to recover," George added, sighing. "We just have to accept that she might never be able to give us what we need."

The table murmured in sympathyfor him.

I sat there, frozen, letting them paint me as the broken, barren victim. I didn't fight back. I didn't scream. I just stared at the candle flame flickering in the center of the table, imagining it burning the whole house down.

The drive home was quiet. The rain had started to fall, slicking the winding roads with a dangerous sheen.

I sat in the back seat. George was driving, with Donna in the passenger seat. She was humming softly, playing with the sapphire necklace around her neck.

"George, slow down," I said, noticing the speedometer creeping up. "The roads are wet."

"Relax, Eliza," he scoffed, watching me in the rearview mirror. "I know how to drive my own car."

"But"

"I said relax!"

He turned his head to glare at me.

That was the moment the world ended.

A horn blastedloud, deafening, terrified.

George whipped his head back around, but it was too late.

Twin beams of blinding light filled the windshield. A massive truck was skidding across the center line, jackknifing on the wet asphalt.

"George!" Donna screamed.

He slammed on the brakes. The tires locked. The car spun.

CRASH.

The sound was like the earth splitting open. Metal screamed against metal. Glass shattered into a million diamonds. The world tumbled over and over, a kaleidoscope of darkness and pain.

Then, sudden, violent stillness.

I was hanging upside down. The seatbelt cut into my chest like a knife. My head throbbed with a blinding rhythm, and warm liquid trickled into my eyes.

"Ugh..."

I tried to move, but my legs were pinned. The door was crushed inward.

"George?" I croaked.

Smoke began to fill the cabin, acrid and choking.

"Donna! Donna, are you okay?" Georges voice was panicked, coming from the front.

"My stomach!" Donna shrieked. "George, it hurts! The baby! Oh god, the baby!"

I saw George scramble out of the driver's side window, cutting his hand on the broken glass. He fell onto the wet road, then scrambled to the passenger side. He ripped the door open.

"I've got you," he panted, pulling Donna out. She was clutching her stomach, wailing.

"George..." I whispered, reaching a hand out toward the gap between the seats. "Help me... I'm stuck..."

George looked back.

His face was illuminated by the headlights of the truck. He saw me. He saw the blood on my face. He saw the smoke curling around my legs.

He hesitated.

"George, please," I begged. "The car... its going to catch fire."

He looked at Donna, who was sobbing about her babyhis baby. Then he looked at me.

"I..." He took a step back, supporting Donna. "I have to get her to the hospital. Shes bleeding, Eliza!"

"What about me?" I cried, the smoke stinging my lungs.

"I'll come back for you!" he yelled over the sound of the rain. "Just wait! I'll come back!"

He turned around.

He didn't look back. He helped Donna toward the truck driver who was running over, leaving me trapped in the twisted metal.

"George!" I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the night.

The smoke got thicker. Orange flames licked at the hood of the car. The heat began to rise.

I watched their silhouettes disappear into the darkness.

He left me. He actually left me to die.

My hand fell limp. The pain faded, replaced by a cold, heavy numbness.

So this is my end?