No Way Back to Us

Afterward, I headed to the orthopedic department.

All these years, it had always been Nate's private doctor treating me. Back then, when I was first diagnosed with a lifelong disability, not once did I question whether Nate had played a part in it.

But thinking back now—every time I started to feel something in my leg, even the slightest sensation, he would immediately act overjoyed and call for the private doctor.

Now I realize—each time he did that, the doctor would somehow make things worse.

After a thorough check-up, the doctor looked at me with a strange expression and said, "Your legs are indeed disabled, but something doesn't add up. From what I can see, it looks like someone has been administering medication to keep them this way."

He paused, then continued, "But it's been so many years. Your leg muscles have long since atrophied. Still, if you're willing to endure the pain and commit to training, there's a small chance you might be able to stand again."

The possibility alone made my heart swell with gratitude. I thanked him over and over.

No matter how much hardship lay ahead, I was going to keep moving forward—to become a better version of myself.

After I got home, I packed my bags and took my mother's keepsake with me before leaving.

At the airport, I called my mentor.

"I've already arranged for someone to erase your identity once you arrive," he said. "You don't need to worry about the rest."

I thanked him, but he seemed to hesitate, as if there was more he wanted to say.

"How do you plan to explain this to Nate?"

My voice was calm. "There's nothing left between us. Whatever was there... it's over. From now on, we have no connection."

"Alright then."

After we hung up, I turned off my phone and boarded the plane.

Looking out at the city where I'd spent over twenty years of my life, I felt nothing. No attachment. No nostalgia.

Clutching the bracelet my mother left behind, I drifted off to sleep.

Back at the hospital, Nate suddenly remembered—today was the anniversary of my mother's death. A flicker of unease crossed his mind.

Just then, his secretary called in panic.

"Mr. Davidson, something's wrong—Madam packed her bags and left."