Remington Morris got drunk and started a fight on my eighteenth birthday.

I stepped in to save him and took three stab wounds for the trouble.

Two knives hit my lower abdomen; the third shattered my spine.

I spent a week in an ICU coma before finally waking up.

But the damage was done. I would never stand again. Instead, I'd spend the rest of my life tethered to a catheter bag.

The day I was discharged, I tried desperately to push Remington away.

But he just knelt in front of me, eyes bloodshot, and swore to take care of me forever.

"Pris, this is on me," he said. "I'm never leaving you."

He stayed by my side for five years.

Everyone told me how lucky I was to have someone as devoted as Remington.

But then, the bag leaked again, ruining his brand-new sheets.

That was it. He snapped, then dragged me off the bed and started strangling me with the soiled linens, his face twisted in a total breakdown.

"Why didn't those knives just kill you?

"Your life is over—do you have to destroy mine, too? How much longer are you going to torture me?"

I didn't struggle. I just looked at him, calm, actually hoping he would squeeze harder.

If he did, I wouldn't have to keep living without dignity.

I wouldn't have to be the obstacle standing between him and his happiness anymore.

***

As I began to suffocate, tears streamed down my face—just a physical reaction I couldn't control.

Below the waist, warm fluid released again, accompanied by that humiliating smell.

This had been my reality since leaving the hospital—losing control, soiling the sheets over and over, then sobbing in shame until I lost my voice.

In the past, Remington would wipe away my tears and whisper that it was okay.

He always said I saved his life, so he could never resent me.

But now, as he pulled the sheets tighter around my neck, his eyes held nothing but hate.

The truth was, I didn't plan on living much longer anyway.

I used to be a proud person, but now I couldn't even stand up.

Three months ago, I started hoarding pills.

I hid every sleeping pill the doctor prescribed.

In a few more days, I'd have a hundred of them.

I'd already made up my mind—I would swallow them all and give Remington a surprise.

I just didn't realize he was so impatient for me to die.

The doorbell rang, shattering the moment.

Remington snapped out of it instantly. He let go, panicked, and pulled me into a hug, sobbing.

"Pris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!

"I'm just under so much pressure. Please don't blame me."

I wanted to tell him I didn't.

After all, I wanted to die, too.

But my neck felt broken. When I opened my mouth, I coughed up a spray of blood.

I tried to raise my hand to wipe it away—I didn't want him to see it and feel worse—but my arm wouldn't obey.

It just hung uselessly at my side.

Luckily, Remington didn't look at me again.

He lifted me up, tossed me carelessly onto the bed, and threw the duvet over me.

Then he turned and hurried out, making sure to pull the door shut behind him.

The visitor was Aviana Braxton, his new assistant.

She was cheerful, optimistic, and had a stubborn streak.

She reminded me exactly of myself before the injury.

The door wasn't fully shut. Remington glanced cautiously in my direction before pulling Aviana toward his own room.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

He really didn't need to be so secretive.

I wouldn't have minded him meeting someone new. More than anyone, I wanted him to give up on me and chase the life he wanted.

He had no idea that his refusal to let go made my living feel worse than death.

He definitely didn't know how much I had hoped, just moments ago, that he wouldn't stop.

I let out a silent sigh.

We had been so close to the end.

For some reason, breathing was getting difficult.

Exhausted, I closed my eyes, ready to drift off.

The next second, the door was shoved open.

I struggled to open my eyes, just wanting to let Remington know I was okay.

But the person walking in wasn't him—it was Aviana.

She was holding a mug of scalding water, throwing a sickly sweet smile over her shoulder at him.

"Mr. Morris, go handle those dirty sheets. I'll take good care of Ms. Crawford for you."

Remington's voice floated in from the hallway, thick with exhaustion.

There was a warning in it, faint but distinct.

"Priscilla, Avi is going to watch you for a bit. Behave yourself. Don't go after her like last time."

A bitter smile touched my lips.

I was useless now.

I just lay there, too weak to move, let alone attack anyone.

The idea that I could go after Aviana was a joke.

She was the one hunting me.

Every time she volunteered to "help" Remington, she abused me.

She'd splash water in my face or shove food up my nose.

Once, she used my IV needle to jab me until my skin was a map of tiny, bleeding punctures.

I never told Remington any of this.

I could see he liked her, and I was just the obstacle standing in the way.

But staying quiet didn't buy me any mercy.

Aviana was cruel.

After hurting me, she would scratch herself, then run crying to Remington, claiming I was the one who got violent.

And Remington believed her every time.

He'd storm in, eyes full of disappointment, grab me by the collar, and demand an apology.

I never defended myself against his accusations.

I was a burden to him; the truth didn't matter anymore.

The second the door clicked shut, Aviana's face twisted into a sneer.

She marched over and gripped my jaw hard.

"You bitch, why won't you just die?

"Mr. Morris loves me. If you weren't here, we'd be together by now.

"Just die already!"

I wanted to tell her to wait—I'd be gone soon enough.

But she didn't let me speak. She squeezed my throat and poured the boiling water straight down it.

The pain was excruciating; my whole body seized up with it.

I tried to scream, but Aviana clamped her hand over my mouth.

Blood trickled down my chin as my vision blurred.

Once she was sure I couldn't make a sound, she let go and shoved me back onto the mattress like a sack of trash.

Calm and practiced, she splashed the rest of the hot water onto her own hand.

Then she held up her reddening skin and let out a piercing scream.

The door burst open a second later. Remington rushed in, eyes wild.

He didn't even look at me. He just pulled Aviana into his arms and murmured soothing words to her.

Aviana buried her face in his chest, sobbing. But over his shoulder, her eyes locked on mine with pure triumph.

"Mr. Morris, I was only trying to give her some water, and she snapped!

"She accused me of seducing you, wouldn't listen to a word I said, and threw the water at me!

"I swear, I'm not trying to take anything from her. I just wanted to help you. If Ms. Crawford hates me this much, I'll resign. I'll leave right now and never come back!"

Remington looked up, his face twisted in a disgust I had never seen before.

He used to love me so much he'd clean me up with a smile, no matter the mess.

I knew this was coming, but seeing that look in his eyes still made me tremble.

For the first time, I wanted to defend myself.

I hadn't done it. I wasn't the monster she made me out to be.

But my mouth and throat were blistered raw from the scalding water.

When I tried to speak, only a weak groan came out.

The pain was unbearable; I just wanted it to end.

But Remington just stared at me coldly, a sneer curling his lip.

"You hurt Avi like that, and you still have the nerve to play the victim?

"Apologize right now, or you're not eating tonight."

Before, I would have apologized immediately.

As long as he was happy, I would have done anything.

But this time, I couldn't give him what he wanted.

I didn't want to disappoint him, but Remington, I literally couldn't speak.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Remington holding Aviana's hand, his eyes tender as he kissed her injured skin.

Everything good in my life came to a screeching halt on my eighteenth birthday.

That accident didn't just ruin me; it shattered Remington's life, too.

I knew the guilt was eating him alive.

I lost count of the times I woke from a nightmare to the sound of him trying to stifle his sobs.

Those early days after I left the hospital were a war of attrition against the pain.

Countless times, while his back was turned, I thought about checking out early.

But I couldn't move. Even suicide was out of reach.

The one time I almost managed it, I waited until he wasn't looking and swiped his paring knife.

That night, I cut my wrist.

When the blood started to flow, I didn't feel scared—just an immense, heavy relief.

But Remington found me before I could finish the job.

I'll never forget the sheer terror in his eyes, or the way he dropped to his knees, begging me to stay.

He barely left my side after that.

He'd only crash by my bed when he was physically too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

Even in his sleep, he gripped my hand like a lifeline, mumbling "I'm sorry" on a loop.

The truth was, I never blamed him.

Who could have predicted those people would be that vicious?

And besides, when they pulled that knife, jumping in to shield Remington was my choice.

I looked him in the eye every single time and told him it was just an accident.

It wasn't his fault; the blame lay with the people who hurt me.

But every time I said it, he just cried harder.

In my drowsy state, I thought I heard him crying again.

I jolted awake, instinctively trying to sit up.

I'd tried a thousand times before, and sitting up—hell, moving at all—had been impossible.

But this time, I actually did it.

Even my legs, wasted away from muscle atrophy after so long in bed, felt strong again.

Adrenaline spiked through me. I jumped out of bed, desperate to tell Remington I was healed.

I wasn't going to be an anchor around his neck anymore.

But just as I reached the door, I heard his voice. He sounded borderline hysterical.

"I've taken care of her for five years—five whole years! What more do I have to do to make her happy?

"Yeah, she got hurt because of me, and I promised I'd take care of her for the rest of my life, but I'm only human. I get tired, too!

"She has zero control over her body. No matter how many times I tell her, she soils the sheets. That room is always filthy, and the smell... every time I go near it, the nausea makes me want to puke.

"And today, she actually hurt your hand out of jealousy. Was asking her to apologize really asking too much?

"Sometimes I genuinely wish those stab wounds had just killed her back then. At least she wouldn't be living in this wretched state, and I wouldn't have to torch my entire life for her!"

I slapped a hand over my mouth, trying desperately to keep quiet.

My heart hurt so bad my whole body started to shake.

I decided right then that it was time to leave.

Since I was healed, I needed to let him go so he could find his own happiness.

I stumbled toward him, fighting through the heartache to get the words out.

"Remington, look—I can stand. I don't need you to take care of me anymore.

"Just go. Go wherever you want and live the life you want. Okay?"

But he acted like he didn't even hear me; he ignored me completely.

I was standing right in front of him, but he looked right through me.

I figured he was giving me the silent treatment because I'd refused to apologize to Aviana earlier.

Forcing a bitter smile, I turned to look at Aviana with genuine sincerity.

"I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean to splash water on you."

But she wouldn't acknowledge me either. She just held Remington's hand, her expression soft.

"You've done enough for her. You really don't owe her anything else.

"Mr. Morris, if you want, we can send her to a care facility. They have professionals who can look after her properly.

"You know... I've always admired you. If you want, I can be there for you, like Pris once was. Even if it means staying in the shadows."

I stood there, stunned, watching helplessly as they embraced.

Remington looked at her with deep affection and, unable to stop himself, leaned in to kiss her.

But the moment their lips touched, he snapped out of it.

He pushed her away, looking rattled.

"No, no—we shouldn't be doing this.

"Pris ended up like this because she saved me. I can't just dump her in a nursing home.

"You should go. I need to get back to taking care of her."

He stood up unsteadily and walked toward me.

I couldn't help reaching out. I wanted to hug him, to tell him I was okay and that he didn't need to look after me anymore.

But a second later, he walked straight through my body.