Abandoned Fiancé: My Finger for His Dream

In my hazy state, I dreamed of the distant past.

Before the black and white keys, Ashley and I sat side by side, playing a four-hand piece together.

When the song ended, she took my hand gently and examined it with care. Admiration and love overflowed from her eyes.

"Troy, your hands are so beautiful. Promise you'll play the piano for me forever, okay?"

The music came to a sudden halt before I could even respond.

Her expression warped into something horrifying. Ignoring my desperate pleas, she raised a blade and chopped off my ring finger in one clean motion.

I jolted awake in terror, sitting upright with wide eyes.

A familiar scent lingered in the air.

It was my room. Beside the bed sat a framed photo of Ashley and me wrapped in each other's arms intimately.

As my mind gradually cleared, I immediately looked down at my right hand.

Aside from the thick layers of bandages, the place where my ring finger should have been was empty.

My heart sank. The very last shred of hope I had been clinging to shattered completely.

"Troy, you're awake?"

Ashley's voice came from beside me.

She sat at the edge of the bed, skillfully peeling an apple. The strip of peel remained perfectly unbroken as it slipped from her fingers.

Her eyes were filled with tenderness.

"I already had the doctor treat your wound. It's nothing serious."

She held the peeled apple out to me as if nothing had happened.

I stared at her without blinking.

A warm haze blurred my vision.

"What's wrong? Aren't apples your favorite?"

I looked down at the apple. The emotions raging inside me finally broke loose. I slapped it out of her hand.

The sudden movement stunned Ashley for a moment.

Then, she shot to her feet and screamed at me, "Troy, what the hell is wrong with you now?"

My chest tightened painfully. I raised my injured right hand and demanded in anger and despair, "You call this nothing serious? You knew I needed these hands to play the piano!"

Ashley rubbed her temples impatiently.

"So, now you remember that you need to play the piano? When you deliberately injured Marc's hand, did you ever consider that he was a pianist as well?

"Back then, he gave up everything he had built overseas just to help me search for a matching heart donor. He was looking forward to this competition more than anyone, yet you still..."

Ashley's lips flapped like a silent movie. The words were there, somewhere, but they died before they could reach me.

The heart beating inside her chest had been donated by my mother. What did that have to do with Marc?

"I never injured his hand. The heart inside your body was my..."

"Enough!" Ashley barked, cutting me off.

She frowned impatiently.

"Even now, you still won't admit it? I told you that Marc and I ended things a long time ago. The person marrying me next month is you, and only you. Why do you keep targeting him over and over again?"

Every explanation I wanted to give was crushed beneath her furious accusations.

The grievance inside me teetered on the verge of collapse. I clenched my pale fingers tightly and stared at her. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear fall.

Ashley seemed to notice my emotions, and a flicker of guilt crossed her face.

She raised a hand, wanting to touch me, but I turned my head away.

"Where's my finger?"

Her hand paused mid-air beside my cheek.

"The doctor said it was detached for too long, so..."

She pulled me into her arms and gently said, "After we get married, you can just stay home. You won't need to play the piano anymore."

"Get out," I said flatly.

She didn't seem to hear me at all.

Only when I used every ounce of strength left in me to repeat it did she finally react.

"Get out!"

She shoved me hard.

"You're unbelievable! Marc would never behave like this," she snapped, then threw the apple peel right at my face.

"You are like your mother through and through—forever playing the victim."

Before I could say a single word in response, she slammed the door and stormed out.

The impact rattled our framed photo from the wall. It hit the floor with a crash, and fine cracks spiderwebbed across the glass.