His Choice Was Her

My arms stung from the burns, but it didn’t matter. I went back to my room, pulled out the first-aid kit, and poured alcohol over the cotton. The sting nearly knocked the breath out of me.

But honestly… it still wasn’t as painful as watching the man I loved forget me, piece by piece.

Back then, Beckley used to make such a fuss over me. Even if I got a small paper cut, he’d panic, grab my hand, and run me to the infirmary like I was about to die. I used to laugh at how dramatic he was, but secretly, I loved it. He made me feel precious.

Now… he didn’t even notice the burns on my arm. He didn’t even ask. He just walked away with Fresca.

I closed my eyes that night, the tears I’d been holding back finally spilling over. They slid down my cheeks and landed right on my burns, stinging so badly that I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. But even that sting wasn’t half as sharp as the ache in my chest.

.....

The next two days only proved how far I’d fallen in his world. Fresca clung to him like glue. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

In the dining room, she pouted like a spoiled child, nudging his arm. “Beckley, feed me the shrimp. Please? You know it tastes better when you do it.”

I sat there quietly, pushing my food around, as Beckley actually picked up the shrimp and put it to her lips. She smiled sweetly, leaning into him as if I wasn’t even there.

Later on the couch, she snuggled into his chest while a movie played. “Hold me tighter. I get scared during the loud parts.”

And Beckley just tightened his arms around her, no hesitation at all.

Every time I walked past, Fresca would look at me with that sugary smile of hers and tilt her head. “Claire, you promised, right? You won’t mind if we’re close like this?”

My lips would curve into the faintest smile, my voice soft. “Not at all.” That became my answer to everything. I couldn’t even tell if I was lying anymore.

But the truth was my body was giving out faster than I wanted to admit.

Fresca was supposed to be my bone marrow donor. My cousin, my own blood, the one person who could help me. But she kept dangling it like a prize, like a game where I was always losing.

.....

I looked in the mirror that evening, pale and weak, and realized I might not even have the strength to stand much longer. That was when I made a decision. Before I grew too frail to move, I wanted one last picture.

A photo to use at my funeral.

So that even if my face faded from Beckley’s memory, at least he would see me once more—smiling, alive, and still me.

“Miss, you’ve got such a graceful face. What’s the picture for? ID? Graduation?”

I looked straight into the camera. My voice came out steady, but inside I was already gone. “For my funeral.”

His hands shook so badly I thought he might drop the camera. He didn’t even know what to say, and I didn’t care to explain. I just sat still, let the flash blind me, and told myself this would be the photo they’d place on my coffin.

When I went to wait for the copy, laughter rang through the front door. I froze because I knew that laugh. Beckley’s low chuckle, mixed with Fresca’s high-pitched giggle.

I turned my head and saw them walking in, arm in arm, like a happy couple on a date. Fresca’s eyes widened when she noticed me. “Claire? Why are you here?”

I tucked the photo into my pocket quickly. “Just took one for my ID.” My voice stayed calm. “What about you two?”

She leaned her head on Beckley’s shoulder, acting all soft. “A photo album is important for couples. We took some a few days ago, so we’re here to pick them up.”

Beckley glanced at me, trying to explain. “She begged for it. I only went along to humor her. Once you’re better, we can take our own album too.”

My heart tightened. I nodded and said nothing.

The staff called them over to select their pictures. I wanted to slip out, but Fresca grabbed my wrist. “Claire, help us choose. Your taste is better than mine.”

Before I could answer, she dragged me to the computer screen. And there they were.

Photo after photo of Beckley and Fresca together. Holding hands. Smiling like they belonged. In one picture, the sunset spilled behind them as they kissed. In another, Beckley hugged her from behind, both of them in matching white.

Every image stabbed at me. My throat felt tight, but Fresca’s voice rang beside me, cheerful and sharp. “Pick a good one, Claire. Which do you think makes us look the happiest?”

I wanted to speak, but before I could, a loud crash shook the studio. The shelves toppled over.

Beckley didn’t even hesitate. He lunged at Fresca, covering her with his body.

Meanwhile, the sharp corner of a metal shelf slammed against my shoulder. I screamed as pain shot through me. The edge tore through my blouse, hot blood soaking me instantly.

“Beckley, it hurts!” Fresca wailed, clutching at her arm where there was barely a scratch.

Beckley panicked, his voice tight. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you to a hospital.” He swept her into his arms like a bride and rushed toward the door.

He stopped just once, turning his head back. His eyes landed on me, trapped under the heavy shelf, blood pooling around me as I struggled to crawl out. Our gazes locked for a moment—one, two seconds—and then he looked away.

Without a word, he left with her.

I forced myself up, swaying, and dragged my own body to the hospital.

The doctor frowned as he stitched my wound. “Why didn’t you have anyone bring you here? You’re losing too much blood. This is serious.”

I bit my lip as the needle pierced my skin. “I didn’t have anyone.”

He hesitated, then said, “Strange… a young woman was here earlier with a tiny graze, but her boyfriend looked terrified for her. He demanded extra consultations.”

A bitter laugh left me before I could stop it. “That was my boyfriend too.”

The doctor froze, his eyes wide. He didn’t ask another question. He just finished stitching me in silence.

Late that night, I was in my room trying to change my own bandage when Beckley finally came back. He opened the door and froze when he saw me struggling.

His eyes went wide when he saw the wound. “Claire, how did this happen?” His voice cracked as he rushed over.