On the day I was diagnosed with nerve necrosis in my hand, I sat alone outside the clinic, waiting for the final verdict. Arthur, who was supposed to accompany me for the follow-up, sent a text: [Mia fainted from nervousness at her stage debut. I have to stay with her at the hospital. Go see the doctor yourself first.] Right after, I saw Mia's social media post. In the photo, Arthur was carefully massaging her wrist with those hands of his that were always considered precious, his eyes filled with a level of anxiety I had never seen before. The caption read: [So glad you're here. My hands are your life.] Right. She is a pianist; her hands are her life. I am a surgeon; my hand was ruined to save Arthur, so it's worthless. I calmly turned off my phone. Instead of having a hysterical breakdown like I used to, I pushed open the department head's door and signed my name on the already prepared Doctors Without Borders Agreement. This journey meant life or death was uncertain, and there was no return date. As I walked out of the hospital, Arthur called, his tone carrying a guilt-ridden attempt to please: "Chloe, when you get home tonight, I'll stew your favorite soup to nourish you." I looked at the withered yellow leaves falling by the roadside and replied flatly: "No need." Because there would be no 'after' anymore. 1 Arthur didn't come home until early the next morning. When he walked in, I was in the living room sorting out discarded surgical scalpels. Those were the tools I once relied on to make a living, but now they could only be disposed of as scrap metal. He saw me, frowned, and spoke with a hint of exhaustion and impatience from staying up all night: "Why didn't you answer my calls yesterday? Still mad about what happened with Mia?" I didn't even look up, tossing a delicate scalpel into the trash can. "Not mad. Just fell asleep." Arthur clearly didn't believe me. In the past, whenever he abandoned me for Mia, I would have trashed the house and cried, forcing him to choose between the two of us. But today, the house was excessively clean. Even the medical trophies I usually cared about the most were packed away. He paused for a moment, then seemed relieved and walked over to take my hand. "It's good you're not mad. Yesterday Mia had a stress-induced syncope. The doctor said she has poor psychological resilience and needs someone by her side. You're a doctor, you should understand, right?" I turned sideways to avoid his touch. My right hand trembled slightly. That was the lingering effect of the car accident three years ago, when glass pierced my wrist as I protected his head. "Yeah, I understand." Arthur's hand hovered mid-air, and his face darkened. "Chloe, that's enough. I've already explained it, and I brought you a gift." He pulled a delicate velvet box from his pocket and handed it to me. Opening it, I saw a bracelet. It was beautiful, but I immediately recognized it as the brand Mia endorsed—it was a complimentary gift the brand had sent yesterday. "Thank you." I closed the lid and casually placed it on the corner of the coffee table. A flash of irritation crossed Arthur's eyes: "What kind of attitude is that? Didn't you want jewelry from this brand the most before? I brought it back for you now, and you're giving me an attitude?" Looking at his self-righteous demeanor, I suddenly found it funny. I wanted it before because I thought it was proof of his love for me. I don't want it now because I know that in his heart, I am not even worth as much as Mia's freebie. "Arthur," I looked at him calmly, "my hand hurts, I don't want to fight." Hearing the words "my hand hurts," Arthur's arrogance instantly deflated by half. Probably remembering that this hand was ruined because of him. He took a deep breath, his tone softening a bit: "Is your old injury acting up because of the rainy weather? It just so happens Mia gave me some special medicated patches, saying they're good for joints. I'll go get them for you." You see, this is Arthur. His "compensation" to me always carries Mia's shadow. I stood up, not looking at him. "No need, I have things to do and need to go back to the hospital." Arthur grabbed me, his brow furrowing: "It's the weekend, why are you going back to the hospital? Can't your hand not perform surgery anymore?" "To process my resignation." Arthur paused, then sneered: "Resigning is good too. Since your hand can't hold a scalpel steady anyway, just stay home and focus on preparing for pregnancy. I'll support you." He thinks I'm returning to domestic life because I'm incapable. He doesn't know I'm preparing to leave him for good. I didn't explain. I grabbed my bag and pushed the door open to leave. 2 Arthur never liked my job. He thought being a surgeon was dirty, tiring, involved night shifts, and left no time for family. Especially after my hand was injured, he publicly stated on multiple occasions: "My Chloe will be a rich housewife from now on, no need to go serve patients anymore." Everyone praised him for his deep devotion, for not minding that I was a cripple. Only I knew that he just found my scar-covered hands disgusting and embarrassing to take out in public. Arriving at the hospital, I handed the signed agreement to the department head. The department head looked at me and sighed: "Chloe, have you thought this through? The environment over there is very harsh, with wars and plagues constantly. Even though you can't be the primary surgeon, you're more than qualified to be a medical consultant here. There's no need to risk your life." I smiled and nodded. "I've thought it through. There's nothing left for me here, and I also want to go find the meaning of life." Coming out of the department head's office, I ran into Arthur's assistant. He was holding a thick stack of documents, and when he saw me, he looked a bit flustered, instinctively trying to hide the documents behind his back. "Dr. Hastings... what a coincidence." I glanced at the corner of the document peeking out from behind him; it was a proposal for establishing the "Mia Sullivan Arts Foundation." So, Arthur had been so incredibly busy recently, not even having time to accompany me for my checkup, because he was busy throwing money at paving the way for Mia. I smiled: "It is a coincidence. Did Mr. Vance send you?" The assistant stammered: "Mr. Vance said... Miss Sullivan's hands need top-tier care, and asked me to inquire if the hospital has that imported physiotherapy machine." A pang hit my heart. I had begged Arthur for half a year to help contact foreign manufacturers to import that physiotherapy machine. With my nerve damage, only that machine could alleviate the pain of atrophy. What did Arthur say back then? He said: "Chloe, that machine is too expensive, and the process is too complicated. With your hand the way it is, using it won't make much of a difference. Just endure it and it'll pass." It turns out it wasn't too complicated; it was just that my hand wasn't worthy. Now, just for Mia to maintain her skin, he eagerly sends someone to buy it. "Dr. Hastings, please don't overthink it, Mr. Vance is also doing this for..." The assistant tried to explain. "For his life, I know." I cut him off. "Go about your business." I turned and walked away. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Arthur: [There's a charity gala tonight. Come with me. Remember to wear that long-sleeved dress to cover the scars on your hand.] Even through the screen, I could feel his disgust. I replied with one word: [Okay.] This would be my last time playing along with his act. 3 The gala was filled with glamorous people. Arthur held my arm, a polite smile on his face, playing the role of the perfect fiancé. But his grip on my arm was very tight, seemingly terrified I would accidentally expose the hideous scars on my wrist. "Tonight is Mia's night. Talk less and don't embarrass me," he warned me in a low voice. I nodded submissively. Halfway through the banquet, Mia went on stage to perform. Under the spotlight, she wore a pure white gown, looking like an otherworldly fairy. Her hands danced across the black and white piano keys; it was indeed beautiful. As the song ended, thunderous applause erupted. Arthur watched the stage with a burning passion in his eyes I had never seen before. "Tonight, there is a special segment. To celebrate Miss Sullivan's successful debut, Mr. Vance has prepared a mysterious grand prize!" With that, a hostess wheeled out a display case. When the red cloth was lifted, the crowd gasped. It was one of only three sets of top-tier microsurgical instruments left in the world, priceless and unavailable on the open market. My heart skipped a violent beat. This was something I had always dreamed of. I had shown pictures of it to Arthur countless times, telling him that if I had these instruments, my hand might still be saved, and I could return to the operating table. He had only told me I was dreaming then. Now, he had bought it. Arthur turned his head, looked at me with a hint of credit-seeking smile in his eyes: "Do you like it?" I froze. Did he buy it for me? In that moment, my dead heart actually experienced a shameful waver. Maybe he did remember my dream? Maybe his previous coldness was just because he was too busy? With trembling hands, I reached out to touch the display case. "Everyone!" Arthur's voice boomed through the microphone across the hall. "These instruments represent the limit of human hands. I bought them hoping they can protect the most precious thing." He paused, looking deeply at Mia. "Mia, your hands are God's masterpiece. I am donating these instruments to your Arts Foundation to be the cornerstone collection, to forever remind the world that the value of art is above all else!" The hall erupted in thunderous applause. My hand froze mid-air, like a joke. It turns out, the scalpel meant to save lives was, in his eyes, merely an ornament to be displayed to showcase that woman's nobility. Mia gathered her skirts and ran off the stage, throwing herself into Arthur's arms, saying coquettishly: "Arthur, you are so good to me! But Chloe seems to really like this, how about..." She looked at me, her eyes full of provocation. Arthur wrapped his arm around her waist, not even sparing me a glance. "Her hands have been ruined for a long time; giving it to her would be a waste of a treasure. Such top-tier items only have value when placed with you." I felt the blood in my veins reverse course. A waste of a treasure. So the hands I risked my life to save him with were nothing but trash in his heart. I took a deep breath, forcing back the burning sensation in my eyes. "Mr. Vance is right," I spoke, my voice so calm it scared even me. "Trash indeed does not deserve to possess such things." Arthur frowned, seeming surprised by my compliance, and yet feeling my words were somewhat jarring. But I didn't give him time to think, turning and walking toward the restroom. In the stall, I received a confirmation email from the medical aid team to Africa: [Dr. Chloe Hastings, your flight is booked. Departure in three days. Please maintain confidentiality.] Looking at the flight information on the screen, I finally smiled. Three days. Just three more days, and I would be completely free. 4 After the gala, unusually, Arthur didn't take Mia home but returned to the villa with me instead. In the car, he frequently looked at me through the rearview mirror. "You're very quiet tonight," he broke the silence. "Usually at occasions like this, if you saw me being good to Mia, you'd be throwing a fit." I looked at the night scenery flashing by outside the window. "Tired of fighting. It's pointless." Arthur seemed very satisfied with this answer. "It's good you've figured it out. Mia is a pure girl; she and I are just confidants. As long as you're obedient, the position of Mrs. Vance is always yours." Mrs. Vance? Who cares. Back home, Arthur was in a good mood and uncharacteristically poured me a glass of water. "By the way, next month is your birthday. I had my assistant book flights to the Maldives. We'll go relax." He probably felt he had embarrassed me publicly tonight and wanted to throw me a bone. In the past, I would have been so happy I wouldn't have been able to sleep. But now, I only found it ironic. Next month, I would already be on the war-torn African continent. "No need," I took the water but didn't drink it. "I have plans next month." Arthur's face darkened: "What plans do you have? Just staying at home, right? Chloe, I'm giving you an out, take it. Don't be ungrateful." "The company arranged a continuing education course for me," I lied. "It's closed-door; no phones allowed." Arthur paused, then sneered dismissively. "Continuing education? In your current state, what can you even study? Learning how to do logistics?" "I suppose so." "Fine, do whatever you want." He loosened his tie, looking indifferent. "You won't achieve anything anyway. Going just to pass the time is fine too, saves you from sitting at home overthinking." He didn't care at all where I went or what I did. To him, a Chloe who had left him was just a cripple incapable of making any waves. He might even think me being away for a while was better, making it more convenient for him and Mia to spend time together. "Then pack your bags yourself these next few days. I have to accompany Mia to the recording studio for the next two days, so I won't be coming back." After Arthur finished, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the bathroom. I looked at his back and said softly: "Arthur." He paused and looked back at me: "What now?" "If one day I disappeared, would you look for me?" Arthur acted like he had heard a joke: "Chloe, how old are you to still be playing this running-away-from-home game? Where could you go? Without me, you couldn't even pay your medical bills." He was certain I couldn't leave him. Certain that with my crippled hands, I could only rely on him to survive. "True." I nodded. "After all, I am a cripple." Arthur ignored me and closed the bathroom door. The sound of running water started. I took out my phone, blocked Arthur's name in my contacts, and started packing. I didn't have much luggage. Aside from a few changes of clothes and necessary documents, I didn't plan on taking anything from this house. Including that engagement ring I once treated as a treasure. I took it off, placed it on the nightstand, and pressed it under the VIP ticket to Mia's concert he had just given me. Early the next morning, Arthur was still fast asleep. I took one last look at the place I had lived in for three years, feeling no attachment, and dragging my suitcase, walked into the thin morning mist. Goodbye, Arthur. 5 I left decisively, without looking back. In the bustling airport terminal, looking at the one-way ticket in my hand, I felt no reluctance in my heart, only a sense of settled relief. While waiting for my flight, my phone buzzed. It was a message in the hospital colleagues' group chat. Someone tagged me: "Dr. Hastings, I heard you're going for further studies? Wishing you a bright future!" Following that were rows of likes and well-wishes. Arthur was also in this group, but he never spoke, and I had long been accustomed to his silence. It wasn't until the moment before boarding that I took out my SIM card and threw it in the trash can. As the plane soared into the sky, this city, along with the man named Arthur, was completely left behind. Life in Africa was much harsher than I had imagined. Sandstorms, extreme heat, the occasional sound of gunfire and artillery... Everything here reminded me of how fragile life was. Yet, I found a long-lost peace here. Although my right hand couldn't be the primary surgeon, I could use my left hand for simple suturing and use my extensive experience to guide younger doctors. Here, no one knew I was the crippled Chloe despised by her fiancé; they only knew I was Dr. Hastings from the States, a life-saving angel. Meanwhile, back home. Arthur didn't realize I was missing until three days later. After accompanying Mia to finish recording and returning home, seeing the empty rooms, his first reaction was to call me. "The number you dialed is powered off." The mechanical female voice irritated him. "Chloe, you'd better hope I don't catch you. Is this disappearing act fun?" He cursed while calling his assistant. "Go find out where Chloe's continuing education course is and tell her to get back here immediately!" The assistant stammered on the other end: "Mr. Vance, I checked with all the hospitals in the city, and there's no record of Dr. Hastings taking any courses..." Arthur froze. He hung up, rushed into the bedroom, and pulled open the closet. My clothes were there, my jewelry was there, only a few commonly worn T-shirts and jeans were missing. His gaze fell on the nightstand. There was a concert ticket, under which was pressed a diamond ring. It was our engagement ring. Arthur's heart contracted violently, a sense of foreboding washing over him. He picked up the ring and found a note pressed underneath it. It only had three simple words: "Let's break up." "Break up? Heh, Chloe, what right do you have to ask for a breakup?" Arthur sneered, crumpled the note, and threw it into the trash can. He was convinced this was just me playing hard to get. After all, I loved him so much, loving him enough to sacrifice a hand for him. How could I just leave like that? He was certain that within three days, I would come crying back, begging for his forgiveness. However, three days passed, a week passed, a month passed. I seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth, without any news. Arthur finally started to panic. He mobilized all his connections to find me, but only got one result: No such person found. It was as if I had never existed, completely disappearing from his world.
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