Chapter 2: Crash, Burn, and Remember

Adrenaline pushed me through the pain. I grabbed my suitcase and flagged a cab, barely feeling the sting of my cuts. As we sped through the city, I kept replaying those faceless voices, fear and anger swirling until I thought I’d explode.

Owen and I had fallen in love on our own terms.

We met at my campus job. He looked totally lost after knocking something over, so I helped him clean up and talked the manager down on the damages.

It was a tiny diner just off campus, always smelling like burnt coffee. Owen had dropped a tray of dishes, and the manager was ready to dock his pay. I stepped in, smoothed things over, and even slipped him a few napkins to wipe his hands.

Luckily, it wasn’t expensive, and the manager didn’t make a fuss. Owen paid, and we walked back to campus together.

We talked about classes, favorite professors, how broke we were. He was shy, but his eyes lit up when he laughed.

That’s when I learned he went to my college, working odd jobs to pay tuition, just like me.

I lost my parents young, made it to college thanks to my grandparents and a lot of stubbornness. Meeting someone in the same boat made me feel seen, and since he was so easy to talk to, we swapped numbers and started sharing gigs.

He texted that night, asking if I wanted to split a tutoring shift. We became partners—covering for each other, sharing notes, splitting late-night takeout when money was tight.

After a while, we made it official. He asked me out with a bunch of wildflowers from the quad, blushing so hard I almost said yes just to stop him from apologizing. Our first date? Just sandwiches and soda. But it was perfect.

Our love was simple. Steady. No drama, no big obstacles. Just what I wanted. I was happy.

We spent weekends at the library, grocery shopping together, laughing at dumb movies on my laptop. It was ordinary, but it was ours.

In our third year, he proposed.

He told me his family was nothing special, no money, just a decent face. He wanted to marry me and live a quiet life.

No diamond, just a silver ring. I loved it.

We talked about renting a tiny apartment, maybe getting a rescue dog, just living quietly in the city.

I didn’t care about his background or looks. I liked him because we fit.

I said yes. Two months after we got married, he was in a car accident.

The doctor said he was in a persistent coma—might be bedridden for life. But he was young, and with enough care and rehab, maybe he’d wake up.

So, for three years, I took care of him. I turned down big job offers. Sold everything my grandparents left me to pay for his treatment.

I spent every holiday in the hospital, reading to him, playing his favorite music, praying for a sign. I watched my friends move on while I waited for a miracle by Owen’s side.

But now, the comments told me—

All my effort and sacrifice were just his test for me.

And I was just the doomed, pitiful villain in his story.

It was already night when I got back to the hospital. My legs ached as I dragged my suitcase down the fluorescent-lit hall. The nurses’ station was quiet, the air heavy with lemon cleaner and stale coffee.

Just like the comments said, Owen wasn’t in the room. The nurse on duty saw the blood on my jeans and hurried over.

She gasped. "Oh my God, Ms. Morgan, are you alright? Sit down, let me get you some ice—"

My whole body felt frozen. Leaning against the wall, I croaked,

"Where’s my husband?"

She looked at the room, confused:

"Yeah, where is he? He was here when Nurse Kelly did rounds, and the lady you hired already left. Where did he go?"

I didn’t move. Maybe I looked so wrecked she tried to reassure me:

"It’s okay. Everyone here knows your husband, and in his condition, nobody could’ve taken him far. We’ll find him soon. Why don’t you let us check your injuries first?"

She reached for my arm, but I pulled away, barely holding it together. My voice was raw.

I waved her off, forcing out the words:

"I want to know where he is. Right now."

Seeing my state, the nurse got worried and started making calls.

I leaned against the wall, exhausted. My legs shook.

The hallway spun a little. I closed my eyes, letting the nurse’s voice fade. The intercom buzzed, a TV played somewhere down the hall, but all I could think was: Owen’s gone. Just like the comments said.

And then, the comments appeared again.

"OMG, the side chick’s in the hall while the leads are making out in the next room! 😂"

"Owen’s lips are busted—heroine’s got BITE!"

"New here? She didn’t just bite his lips, she left marks everywhere!"

"My OTP is fire! Heroine’s so sweet but just pinned Owen and kissed him. Love the contrast! 🔥💋"

A loud crash sounded from the next room—something had fallen. My breath caught in my throat.

I froze. My heart thudded so hard I thought it might explode. I pressed my ear to the wall, straining for any sound, but all I heard was muffled laughter. My stomach twisted up tight.

The comments kept coming:

"Heroine’s so bold, making all that noise when the side chick’s back. Ballsy!"

"Yeah but what if she gets caught? I’m STRESSED!"

"Nah, they locked the door. Side chick can’t get in!"

"But if she sees Owen’s missing, won’t she figure out he’s faking? I don’t want him to get caught!"

"She can’t! Staff’s in on it. Doc’ll wheel him back and say it was therapy. She’s clueless."