When my mother was still alive, she liked Ethan very much.
Back then she wasn’t sick yet, and Ethan and I still loved each other so much it felt inevitable, like breathing.
One day she had gone to a temple and brought back two small blessing dolls.
One represented a boy and had Ethan’s birthday tucked inside.
The other represented a girl and held mine.
My mother said they were meant to protect peace, protect health, and protect two people in love so they could stay together forever.
She wanted me to give Ethan the boy doll.
Instead, he took the girl doll.
Mine.
He said the little round red-cheeked face looked just like me.
“Ugly-cute,” he’d laughed. “Like a tiny cartoon version of Ava.”
He’d kept it on his desk for years.
I wanted it back now.
After I died, I was afraid Ethan would throw it away like trash.
But that doll was from my mother.
I wanted to place it at her grave, let it stay with her in my place.
When I arrived at Ethan’s office, he was watching the trending video of me from that morning.
In the clip, I stood among reporters with blood under my nose and calmly said I was dying.
He looked up when I entered.
Then he tossed his phone aside without asking a single question.
Not what was wrong.
Not whether it was true.
Nothing.
My eyes went straight to his desk.
The place where the blessing doll used to sit was empty.
I frowned.
“Where’s my doll?”
Before Ethan could answer, Chloe came in behind me.
She smiled brightly.
“A few days ago, I cut my palm and Mr. Shaw felt so bad for me. He said he couldn’t stand seeing me hurt, so he gave it to me.”
She laughed softly.
“He even said the doll looked like me. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m obviously much prettier than that little thing.”
I turned to Ethan.
My fists clenched so hard my nails bit into my skin.
“You gave my doll to someone else?”
He leaned back in his chair, maddeningly calm.
“That was yours? Sorry. I forgot. I thought it was some worthless trinket.”
Before he could finish, I grabbed the crystal ashtray off his desk and hurled it at him.
He didn’t dodge.
It hit his forehead with a sickening crack.
Blood ran down his temple.
Chloe screamed.
“Are you crazy? Over one stupid doll?”
Then she ran out.
A minute later she came back carrying the doll in both hands.
She threw it at me.
“Here! Take your junk back! Something nobody would care about if it broke. Do you think I wanted it?”
The ceramic doll hit the floor.
And shattered.
My name.
My birthday.
Broken into jagged pieces all over the ground.
Like my life.
Like something beyond repair.
In that instant, I thought with terrible clarity:
Maybe I really was going to die.
But I still didn’t want to die.
I hadn’t seen my mother yet.
What if she was waiting for me?
What if she kept waiting and waiting because I never came?
The world buzzed in my ears.
Before I even realized it, I had crossed the room and slapped Chloe across the face.
“That belonged to my mother!”
My voice cracked.
“I care! I care if it breaks!”
Tears spilled before I could stop them.
I reached for Chloe again, but Ethan caught my wrist midair.
I looked up at him with burning eyes.
I was crying so hard I started laughing.
“You know I’m dying, and you’re still bullying me. Ethan Shaw, you really are trash.”
He lifted one hand and wiped away my tears.
His expression was unreadable.
Then he said, “First the cake. Now this dying act. Ava, is messing with me really that fun?”
“I’m not acting,” I said.
He didn’t get to answer.
A drop of blood landed on the back of his hand.
Then another.
My nose had started bleeding again.
This time it was worse than ever.
My knees gave out.
Pain tore through my whole body, and suddenly I couldn’t even stay standing.
I fell straight toward the ground.
Ethan caught me.
“Ava!”
For the first time in years, I heard panic in his voice.
Real panic.
He shouted for an ambulance while blood soaked through his white shirt.
As I drifted in and out, I heard him over and over again.
Why won’t it stop?
Why is there so much blood?
Ava, please stop scaring me.
Please.
By the time I could smell disinfectant, we were already at the hospital.
The doctor was speaking to Ethan in a low voice.
“She might have made it until next spring. Maybe longer. But she stopped treatment. She said she didn’t have money anymore. The disease is out of control now. Continuing treatment won’t change much.”
There was a pause.
Then Ethan’s voice exploded through the room.
“So you’re saying my wife is dying?”
He didn’t even let the doctor finish.
“I’m telling you to keep her alive. If you can treat her, then treat her. If you can’t, get out and let someone competent do it!”
That day, Ethan nearly tore the hospital room apart.
He called specialist after specialist.
He said he didn’t care how much it cost.
He was going to save me.
But there are some things money can’t buy back.
Not time.
Not a body already falling apart.
Not a heart that had finally gone cold.