My hand for her dream.

"Yes, I will marry you."

My voice came out steady, so calm that it almost sounded like it belonged to someone else, but my fingers were shaking so badly I nearly dropped my phone, and I had to press it harder against my ear just to keep it in place.

There was a pause on the other end, a quiet breath, then Mitchell spoke, his tone low and certain.

"Alright, Evelyn, I will handle everything."

I swallowed, my throat dry, my injured hand throbbing inside the brace as I shifted slightly, trying to steady myself without letting him hear it in my voice.

"Thank you."

"Rest," he added, softer now, "we will talk when you are ready."

The call ended.

Silence settled around me immediately, heavy and suffocating, and I slowly lowered the phone, my fingers still trembling as I stared at the dark screen.

My hand pulsed with pain inside the brace, sharp and deep, and I pressed it against my stomach, holding it there like I could somehow keep it together if I just applied enough pressure.

A few hours ago, I still believed everything could be fixed.

My fiancé and childhood friend Adrian had ruined my hand so his first love Selene could take the mentorship that was supposed to be mine, and I had found out while I was walking to him with the news that my hand could still be saved.

I let out a slow breath, but it came out uneven, almost breaking halfway, and I squeezed my eyes shut as the memory forced its way back in, clear and cruel.

Earlier that day, I had stood outside Adrian’s office, smiling to myself, my heart light for the first time in weeks because I finally had good news.

The specialist had said my hand could still be saved, the damage was not permanent, and with the right procedure, I could recover enough to operate again.

I had held that report so tightly, my fingers brushing over the words again and again as if I needed to feel it was real, and all I could think about was telling him.

Adrian.

My fiancé.

My childhood friend.

The boy I grew up beside in a house my mother worked in, the boy who used to sneak me snacks from the kitchen and whisper that one day I would be better than all of them, the boy who held my hand the night I got accepted into medical school and told me he always knew I would make it.

I had believed him.

The door to his office had been slightly open when I got there, and I was just about to knock when I heard my name.

I stopped.

Something about the way he said it made my steps freeze, my fingers tightening around the report as my smile slowly faded.

"You really went that far?" his friend asked, his voice low, uneasy, like he could not believe what he was hearing.

Adrian let out a