Chapter 3

3.

The next morning, Rosalie sent me a video.

It was Jude, tangled in the sheets with her, his face showing a level of ecstasy I had never seen.

His voice caught in the recording, dripping with contempt.

"I never asked her to save me. Every time I see that stump, I feel sick. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even need her to blow off steam."

I thought about how he came home to me every night after seeing her.

He was always rough, never gentle like he was in the video.

And the moment his hand brushed my prosthetic, he would lose all interest and leave me shivering.

"Silvia, Jude is such a bad boy," Rosalie's voice memo purred. "He left marks all over me. He didn't stop all night. When you guys get married, can you even keep up with him?"

I hammered my fist against my phantom limb, but the pain wouldn't stop. It radiated through my entire soul.

Regret was finally starting to outweigh my old love.

Jude returned later that morning, carrying my favorite breakfast sandwiches.

Seeing my distress, his face softened into a frown.

"Is it hurting again? Let me massage it. I didn't think that dance would be this bad. I'll talk to Rosalie, tell her to be less impulsive."

Despite his words, the affection in his eyes when he spoke her name was unmistakable.

I remained silent, no longer moved by his empty apologies.

He took my silence for a tantrum and pulled out a box.

"I ordered this prosthetic for you. Now you don't have to make your own. Wear it to the engagement party in three days. I don't want you in a wheelchair; it's embarrassing."

He wasn't worried about my comfort. He was ashamed of me.

"Let's go to the clinic for a check-up. I don't want any surprises on our big day."

I ignored him.

"Silvia, I'm trying here. Stop being so difficult. Why can't you be half as understanding as Rosalie?"

He grabbed my leg, forcing the new prosthetic onto my sensitive skin.

The friction was agony. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

I tried to push him away, but he didn't even look up.

"Don't move. Do you really want to be seen with me in a wheelchair? You might not care about your dignity, but I do."

The pain drained the color from my world. I slumped against the headboard, gasping.

He finally noticed I was hurting, but then his phone rang. It was his family doctor.

"Master Jude, Miss Rosalie is locked in her room. She's hysterical and calling your name. Please come quickly."

Without a second thought, he dropped my leg and grabbed the breakfast he'd bought for me.

"Go to the hospital yourself. Don't ruin the party in three days."

I stared at the prosthetic. I didn't even want to take it off. If I could survive this pain, I could survive leaving him.

"Silvia, get to your studio now and make a prosthetic finger. Rosalie was so guilty she tried to cut her own hand off. Are you happy now? Stop being a bitch to her, or I'll make you regret it."

Jude's voice over the phone was a roar of fury.

The man who once cried when I lost my leg was officially dead to me.