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My hand trembled as | held the bowl of oatmeal. Just as | was about to respond, Jessica spoke up, "I didn't mean
to go through your suitcase. | was just trying to get you sclean clothes."
| set the oatmeal down and looked at the girl in front of me, who suddenly started crying. "I stole him from you.
He was supposed to be yours. I've selfishly kept him for five years... I'm so sorry, Sienna.... I'm really sorry..."
The kind-hearted girl beforewas crying so hard she could barely speak. "Jessica, you haven't wronged me.
Your love is for Ethan, and my love is for the Ethan Harris | knew. You didn't steal anything from me."
"But Ethan is Ethan Harris!"
| shook my head and wiped her tears away. "No, the one who loves you is Ethan. The one who lovedwas
Ethan Harris. If | say he isn't the same, then he isn't. | didn't risk my life to save you just to see you call off your
wedding."
Jessica stayed until Grace returned, leaving with red-rimmed eyes.
Grace went to take a nap in the afternoon, planning to bring dinner later. | never expected that it would be Ethan
Harris himself who would bring the meal.
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When he walked in, | was thankful I had put on makeup, but | worried if my wig was askew. | adjusted it several
times while he wasn't looking.
Inside the insulated container were mashed potatoes, mini dinner rolls, and baked chicken breast. He must not
have known what | could eat, so he made two options.
The biggest surprise was the dessert-sweet potato casserole.
| really wanted to try the baked chicken breast he made, to see if he'd used the right amount of seasoning this
time, but my stomach could only handle a bit of the mashed potatoes.
| sat on the bed while Ethan stood by the window. Neither of us spoke, but it didn't feel awkward at all.
Once, we would wake up from a nap in the late afternoon, I'd sit by the window playing the guitar, and he'd lie
on the bed watching me, not saying a word because we understood each other so well.
Thankfully, my stomach cooperated today, and I finished the bowl of mashed potatoes. | reached for the sweet
potato casserole, and he walked over to hand it to me.
"Thank you," | said.
"No need to thank me. | should be thanking you for saving Jessica."
The sweet potato casserole, which was supposed to be sweet, tasted bitter in my mouth.
After taking a few bites, | finished dinner. | knew he had something to say, but in the end, he only managed four
words: "Get well soon." | knew | should've said something polite, like "Congratulations on your wedding," or
"Wishing you a lifetof happiness," but | couldn't get the words out.
"Thank you. | hope you both... live well."
Forgive me, but that's the best blessing | can offer.
Ethan nodded, picked up the insulated container, and left. My eyes followed him out the door. As soon as he
closed it, | pulled out my IV, dragged my injured leg to the window, and leaned against it. His figure appeared
once more in my sight. | stared at his retreating back, trying to etch it into my memory-this would be the last
t| saw him.
On the fifth day of my stay here, Ethan Harris and Jessica got married. | heard my seat was in the front row, but
I'm sorry, | was already on the train. | had bought my ticket in advance, headed back to Maplewood. | hadn't
been sitting long when the pain in my stomach started.
The frequency of the pain had been increasing these past few days. | knew that the favor I'd asked of Grace
would soon be needed.
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Since | started dating Ethan, I'd becquite sensitive, throwing tantrums over the slightest discomfort.
His friends used to say Ethan had a terrible temper, but after we started dating, he becincredibly patient.
Even when | acted out, he'd always calmdown. | thrived on that, the way he'd holdtight, his deep voice
whispering in my ear, calling"baby." The pain would disappear in an instant.
But now, the pain was so intense it madebreak out in a cold sweat, my knuckles turning white as | gripped
my stomach.
In the past, he would have been devastated, just like that tin college when | cut my hand on glass. He held
my head against his chest, soothingendlessly.
But now, the pain was a hundred times worse than any glass could ever cause.
| slumped over the table, calling his name. "Ethan Harris, why aren't you here to comfort me?"
The train continued its journey north. Under the influence of painkillers, | fell asleep.
| dreamed that | was back in high school, seeing the eighteen-year-old Ethan Harris again—the one who had eyes
only for me, the Ethan Harris who loved only me.
If there's a next life, | hope that the first person | meet in my youth will still be Ethan Harris.
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