He Saved His Sister and Left Me to Die

The airplane hummed beneath me as I settled into my assigned seat, 7A. Seven years. It had been seven years since I'd last set foot in the United States. Seven years since I'd walked away from the wreckage of my life here. Seven years of careful rebuilding, piece by broken piece.

I pulled out my passport and citizenship paperwork, reviewing the final documents that would officially make me a resident of Country S. Quinn had insisted on handling most of the legal work, but I needed to sign these papers in person. Just a quick trip, I'd told him. In and out. No complications.

"Rebecca?"

The voice hit me like a physical blow. I knew it instantly, though it sounded rougher than I remembered. My fingers froze on the passport page as I looked up.

Jack Alexander stood in the aisle, his carry-on bag dangling forgotten from his hand. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes that once made my heart race—widened as they locked onto mine. The years hadn't been kind to him. Deep lines etched the corners of his mouth, and his once-immaculate suit hung slightly loose on his frame, as if he'd lost weight rapidly.

My chest tightened involuntarily, my fingers instinctively moving to press against my sternum. The artificial heart beneath my skin beat steadily, mechanically—a constant reminder of what I'd lost.

"You're..." His voice cracked. "You're alive."

I turned my face toward the window, pretending to be interested in the airport terminal below. "Apparently."

"Rebecca." He dropped into the seat beside me—my seatmate. Of course. The universe had a cruel sense of humor. "I've been searching for you for seven years. Do you have any idea what I've been through? What I've done to find you?"

The flight attendants began their pre-flight announcements, their cheerful voices a jarring contrast to the tension crackling between us.

"Why did you disappear?" Jack's words tumbled out faster now, desperate and raw. "I looked everywhere. I hired private investigators. I contacted every hospital, every doctor. I even checked morgues."

"Maybe you should have tried looking in a mirror," I said quietly.

His hand reached for mine, but I pulled away before he could touch me. "Rebecca, please. I need to know what happened to you after..."

"After you chose to save Kennedy instead of me?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

Jack flinched as if I'd struck him. "I didn't know—"

"You didn't know I was still alive?" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "Or you didn't know that shrapnel would tear through my chest when that bomb exploded?"

The plane began to taxi down the runway, but Jack's eyes never left my face. "What bomb? Rebecca, what are you talking about?"

The question triggered something inside me—a floodgate of memories I'd spent years trying to dam up.

*The warehouse. Kennedy's terrified scream. Jack's arm around her shoulders as he carried her to safety.*

*The explosion. The deafening roar. The searing pain as something tore