Seven Years Together, My Fiancee Abandoned Me at the Altar

The last taut wire in my head snapped completely.

Without thinking, my right hand curled into a fist and I drove it with every ounce of strength I had straight into his face.

"Ah!!"

Gideon let out a short, terrible cry and staggered back a few steps before collapsing hard to the floor. He clutched his nose; bright red blood gushed through his fingers and splattered onto the floorboards. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.

"Gideon!" Eliana's shrill cry cut through the silence. She rushed over, flustered, supporting him and using her sleeve to wipe his face, her eyes wide with shock and fury as they landed on me.

"Jared! What are you doing? Are you crazy?!" she snapped. "Don't you know Gideon is ill? How could you hit him so hard?!"

I watched her. Her whole world was the moaning figure on the floor; she didn't even glance at the blood seeping from my head. I wanted to ask her—is anything he does can be forgiven because he's "sick"? Am I always meant to be the sacrificial one, the one expected to understand?

Before I could say a word, a ripping pain exploded through my skull, as if something inside had detonated. The room spun, lights smeared into streaks, and I blacked out.

...

When I woke up, the first thing that hit me was the sting of disinfectant—cold and clinical in my nostrils. I forced my heavy eyelids open; blurred shapes resolved into the hospital ward's bland white ceiling. A man in a white coat stood at the bedside, looking down at the medical record folder in his hand.

"You're awake," he said, then came closer and checked the bandage on my head. "How do you feel?"

He examined my head, then looked up. "You have a mild concussion and a skin laceration on your forehead. You need five stitches." He gave a small, professional half-smile. "You were lucky. The glass fragments didn't hit any vital areas."

He paused, then his tone shifted to puzzled seriousness. "The girl who brought you in—she's your girlfriend, right? What happened? Her brother seemed extremely agitated in the emergency room; he was crying and making a scene. She's been trying to calm him down and didn't even have time to come see you during surgery."

I forced a tight smile and said nothing. The doctor sighed and didn't press further.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and didn't say anything.

In the evening, the ward door was gently pushed open.

Eliana walked in. Her makeup was smudged; exhaustion flickered in her eyes. She paused at the bedside, staring at my bandaged head for a few seconds before speaking.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Not going to die," I answered flatly.

Eliana's brow knit. "Jared, don't say that. Gideon—"

"What about him?" I cut in, lifting my gaze to meet hers.

She pressed her lips together. "Your punch fractured his nasal bone. They're still treating it. More importantly, he was terrified—his emotions are unstable and his condition has gotten worse."

A fractured nose. Hearing that caused no ripple in me; if anything, the punch felt too light.

"So?" I asked.

Her usual lecturing tone snapped back at me, flustered by my coldness.

"Jared, I know you're angry, but can't you be rational? He was drunk and having an episode—he couldn't control himself! You're a normal person; how could you stoop to his level and hit him so hard?"