The Day I Died, He Married Her

Chapter 5

The wind howled outside as snowflakes drifted down, melting into the corners of my eyes like tears I didn't remember shedding.

Time moved like a slow, quiet river, and for a moment, the old house seemed to find its peace again. My mother sat in the living room, knitting a sweater, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she glanced at Ethan.

"Ethan," she teased, "how about marrying our Rachel when she grows up?"

I bit into an apple, its sweetness bursting on my tongue, and grinned from ear to ear. "Yes! When I'm older, I want to be Ethan's bride!"

He blushed furiously, reaching for a tissue to cover my face—like that could somehow hide his embarrassment.

And then, like that, ten years passed in the blink of an eye.

Under a silver moon, the shy boy had grown into a heartbreakingly handsome young man. I'd snuck over the backyard wall, tapped on his bedroom window, and pulled him beneath the old locust tree. Our names, carved into its bark all those years ago, were still there—faded but holding strong.

That night, the moon was soft, the breeze gentle.

Heart racing, I looked up at him. "Ethan… will you be my boyfriend?"

He froze—like even time paused to wait for his answer. Seconds dragged. He said nothing.

My heart clenched. "You don't want to?"

"If not… just forget I asked."

Finally, he sighed and pulled me into his arms. "Silly Rachel," he whispered, voice warm against my ear. "A confession's supposed to be the guy's job."

Pressed against his chest, I could hear the wild rhythm of his heart, and mine soared to meet it.

Later, with hands that trembled ever so slightly, he cupped my face and kissed me—soft, sure, and full of promise. "Rachel," he murmured, "I love you. Be mine?"

"For me, there's only ever going to be you."

But young love is fragile. Ethan's "forever" only lasted three short years.

I never thought Ethan Winters would be the one to leave me.

He had loved me so deeply—so tenderly.

My hands and feet were always cold. In winter, he'd warm my frozen fingers with his palms and press them against his chest. At night, he'd check the floor heater in my room, then slip a hot water bottle under the blanket for me.

When I was fifteen, we fought. I stormed off. He was too proud to come after me.

That night, I was cornered by a drunk on a dark street.

And then Ethan came—rushing in, fists flying, wild and untrained, swinging with all the desperation of a boy terrified of losing someone he loved.

Bruised, bloodied, trembling, he wrapped himself around me and whispered my name like a prayer.

"Rachel."

"Rachel."

"I'm sorry. I should've come sooner."

"This won't ever happen again."

"From now on, no one will hurt you."

And he kept that promise—no one ever hurt me again.

No one… until the day he did.

With steady eyes and a calm voice, he drove the knife straight through my heart.

"I don't love you anymore, Rachel."

But Ethan… do you even realize?

If you had to leave me, I wish you'd just walked away.

Because indifference cuts deeper than abandonment ever could.