I No Longer Dream of Tender Nights

The End of the Race

Jeanne's hand flew instinctively to her leg, her fingertips brushing over the hard surface of the cast. 'My leg's still here.'

But the next second, her heart clenched tight. When she pressed down—softly at first, then harder—there was nothing. No feeling. Her leg lay there like a foreign piece of machinery bolted onto her body.

"No… No, it can't be…" Her voice trembled as she braced against the sheets, trying to sit up. The moment she lifted herself half a foot, her right leg gave way, and she crashed heavily to the floor.

Just then, Darren's anxious voice came from outside the door. "Zach, are you sure there's no other way? She's a racer—"

"That depends on her recovery," the doctor, who was called Zach, replied, his tone weary. "But I wouldn't advise it. With her kind of injury, if she pushes herself too soon, a second trauma could be irreversible."

A brief silence fell before Darren's voice came again, low and hoarse. "Alright. Thank you."

Each word hit like a hammer, shattering Jeanne's last bit of hope. She had been born for racing. From the moment she first touched a steering wheel, she had known her life was bound to the roar of an engine. And now someone was telling her she would never race again.

The thought was worse than death.

When Darren pushed open the door, he found her sprawled on the floor. He rushed forward to help, but froze when he saw her tear-streaked face. "You heard everything?"

Jeanne didn't look at him. She shook off his hand and asked, her voice trembling, "Where's Alyssa Carver?"

His eyes flickered—like he was afraid she might do something reckless—and he rushed to explain. "Alyssa's young, she didn't know any better. She drove without a license, and I've already scolded her for it. She's hurt too, Jeanne. Please, don't be mad at her anymore, okay?"

Jeanne's head snapped up, her eyes bloodshot. So he knew. He knew Alyssa didn't have a license and still let her drive. Still signed her up for a race.

This was the fourth time. Four crashes. Four hospital stays. And every time, Alyssa hadn't even offered a proper apology.

A bitter laugh rose in Jeanne's throat, but the tears came faster than she could hold them back, spilling down her face in heavy drops. Even now, he was still protecting her.

"What about me?" Jeanne's voice was barely a whisper. "If she's not to blame, then who is? Me? Is it my fault my leg might never stand again? Because it's not her leg that's broken, Darren—it's mine! And you're still defending her!"

Darren's brow furrowed, irritation creeping into his tone. "Jeanne, I told you she didn't mean it. Why can't you just let it go?"

He hesitated, then added something that sliced straight through her chest. "Besides, if you hadn't grabbed the wheel, maybe none of this would've happened. Did you ever think about that?"

The words hit colder than the blizzard in the North Pole. Jeanne's whole body went numb, and for a heartbeat, she couldn't breathe. Then she smiled—an empty, broken smile that hurt to look at.

Whenever Alyssa was involved, she was always the one in the wrong.

Her heart, already dead, felt as if it had been pried open again only to be crushed into dust. She closed her eyes, her voice flat and lifeless. "I'm tired. Leave."

When Darren saw the lifeless gray on her face, his chest tightened in panic. He finally realized how cruel his words had been. He opened his mouth to apologize, but couldn't form a single word. In the end, he turned and left, his steps unsteady.

For the next three days, Darren barely left her side. He fed her bitter medicine with his own hands, cooked all her favorite dishes, and even set up a folding bed beside hers, waking at every sound.

But Jeanne was like a hollow puppet—opening her mouth when he offered a spoon, standing when he helped her up, never speaking, never looking at him, until the day he said the words that broke the silence. "I'm going to hold a fake wedding with Alyssa."

Jeanne finally reacted. "Alright. I'll be there." Her voice was calm, detached.

Darren's stomach dropped. He had imagined tears, anger, demands for answers—but not this emptiness. Panic edged his words. "Jeanne, listen. The Fosters have their eyes on Alyssa. They're trying to force her into marriage.

"I'm her brother—I can't just watch her walk into that trap. So I'm going to announce our divorce publicly, then marry her in name only. But you have to trust me—it's all fake. The divorce, the wedding. Once the issue is resolved, everything will go back to the way it was."

Jeanne's lips curved, and this time she laughed—not in bitterness, not in irony, but in pure, unshackled relief—Theo was finally making his move.

Darren had called the Fosters a den of monsters. But to Jeanne, they were the only lifeline left that could pull her out of the cage she'd been trapped in.