In my dreams, I was seventeen again, reliving a nightmare. Alexander’s gambling-addicted father, fueled by anger and alcohol, lunged at him with a knife. As I watched the blade glint ominously in the dim light, fear gripped me, but my instinct to protect Alexander overwhelmed it. Without thinking, I jumped in front of him.
The knife cut my left shoulder, and Alexander went wild, unleashing his fury on his father. My injury wasn’t severe, but the normally wild and fearless boy collapsed into my arms, sobbing like a child.
“Don’t ever do something so reckless again,” he begged, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you. Without you, life means nothing.”
At eighteen, I believed Alexander loved me deeply.
But now, at twenty-eight, he was willing to hurt me for someone else.
He used to fear for my safety, but now, when I told him I was dying, he looked at me with annoyance, as if my suffering was an inconvenience.
I jolted awake, clutching my aching chest.
The scent of Chelsea’s perfume hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I couldn’t take it anymore; I needed fresh air.
As I stepped outside, horror seized me. There was Chelsea, kicking my loyal Buddy down the stairs from the second floor!