She didn’t see me.

She stood in the garden, lost in the beauty of a single flower. The breeze stirred the petals, and for a moment, she seemed untouched by the world.

I should have kept walking.

Then came the low growl of a truck. My gaze snapped up just in time to see a log slip loose, tumbling fast—straight toward her.

She didn’t move.

“H-hey! Move!”

She didn’t hear me.

I ran. My hands found her shoulders, shoving her away.

She gasped, falling safely to the ground.

I wasn’t so lucky.

CRACK.

Blinding pain. A flash of white. Then, nothing.

I survived. Barely.

My face was unrecognizable—shattered, ruined. People flinched when they looked at me. So I hid behind cloth, behind a mask, behind the lie that I no longer cared.

Then, one day, I saw her again.

She was holding another man’s hand, smiling as they walked past me.

“Darling!” she called.

For a split second, hope flickered.

She wasn’t calling for me.

She never would.