1 I compiled all my assets into a single document, naming my fiancée, Vivian Lee, as the sole beneficiary. I explicitly instructed Mr. Henderson, my lawyer, to deliver it to her precisely on New Year's Eve. “Are you not keeping anything for yourself, sir?” Mr. Henderson asked me. I had. I had left Vivian a very special New Year’s gift: All my savings, and my cold, lifeless body. … “Mr. Roberts, are you absolutely certain that Vivian Lee is the only name you wish to list as the beneficiary for all your assets? No portion for yourself?” Mr. Henderson repeated the question twice before my attention drifted back to him. I scrolled through my phone, managing a bitter smile. “I don’t have long to live. There’s no need to keep anything.” He hadn’t anticipated my answer and offered a solemn apology, extending his hand. “You have my word, sir. As per your instructions, I will deliver the document to Ms. Lee on New Year’s Eve.” Stepping out of the law office, the biting cold wind sent a shiver through me, but it was nowhere near as sharp as the pain inflicted by the message on my phone. That afternoon, Vivian had posted a photo on her social media of two hands clinking glasses. The opposing hand had distinct knuckles and was adorned with the newest matching couple’s ring. “Celebrating my dear Ethan’s promotion to attending physician!” That post, without a doubt, had me blocked. I’d liked it from a burner account. “Dear Ethan,” was Vivian’s childhood friend. I used to believe Vivian’s love was exclusively mine. But after our engagement, she seemed burdened, rushing out in the dead of night to meet Ethan, confessing her true feelings. “It was only after getting engaged to Sam Roberts that I realized I don’t feel anything for him anymore. I can’t marry him.” The first night I followed Vivian on my burner account, I lay on the couch and watched for hours. They went to concerts, danced by the ocean, revisited childhood haunts… In the year since Vivian and I got engaged, she had never once truly affirmed her love for me, yet with someone else, her affection overflowed. Unconsciously, I found myself outside Vivian’s pottery studio. The storefront was adorned with cheerful, festive decorations. New Year’s was just over a week away, meaning my planned end was drawing closer. The bell above the door suddenly jingled. It was Vivian, stepping out with a bright smile. “Hello, welcome…” But upon seeing me, her smile faded. “Where have you been? Don’t you know the studio is swamped?” Leading up to the holidays, Vivian’s pottery studio always got hectic. Everyone wanted to make a handmade New Year’s gift, mostly couples or families. Vivian would get overwhelmed with teaching, so she’d call me to help. “I called you tonight, no answer. Texted you, no reply. What were you doing?” Her tone was laced with displeasure. I fabricated a lie. “Something came up at the sports club, I had to go there.” She didn’t doubt me much, or perhaps, she simply didn’t care what I was doing. I demonstrated to a customer by the window how to sculpt the desired shape, but after only a sentence or two, the child burst into loud sobs. “That man’s finger is scary! I don’t want to look at him!” The shriek made customers around us turn, their eyes drawn to my severed index finger, making me feel utterly exposed. I wanted to hide my hand, but seeing Vivian approach, I instinctively blurted out, “Vivian, I didn’t mean to…” The child’s amplified wails grated on everyone’s ears, becoming incredibly annoying. “Owner, tell that man to leave! Don’t scare the children anymore!” “Get his hand away! Is he trying to make the child cry even louder?” My explanation was drowned out by the cacophony of accusations. Vivian heard nothing of it. She shot me a disgusted glare. “Don’t you know your hand looks disgusting? Couldn’t you hide it from the child?” Those words were like nails, hammered into my heart, stinging with excruciating pain. Vivian might have forgotten that this very hand, this disgusting hand, had saved her life. 2 Two years ago, in a car crash, Vivian had lost consciousness in the passenger seat. Terrified of losing her, and with the ambulance taking too long, I cradled her unconscious body and sprinted to the nearest hospital. Only after she was wheeled into the operating room did I finally breathe a sigh of relief. It was then that a young nurse beside me gasped, “Sir, your hand is bleeding!” Only then did I notice my index finger had been pierced by vehicle debris, and the delayed surge of pain overwhelmed my mind. Unfortunately, help arrived too late, and that segment of my finger couldn’t be saved. But at that time, I had Vivian’s wholehearted love. She sat on the hospital bed, wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, and shed tears of relief, of having cheated death. “Sam, the doctor said if we’d been any later, I might have died…” She even gently kissed my bandaged finger, asking softly, “Does it hurt?” I shook my head, saying no. “What are you muttering about? Good thing no customers complained, otherwise, if my studio’s reputation went down, I wouldn’t know who to blame.” Vivian’s complaints, reaching my ears, shattered my memories. She was busy recording a video. That video, of me carrying her to the hospital after the crash, had gone viral, bringing a lot of attention and followers. So Vivian was now a small influencer with a decent fan base. The comments used to be uniformly congratulatory and envious. But times had changed, a new wave of viewers had arrived, and the comments section now held much more noise. “Feel like the influencer’s boyfriend looks kinda average, a bit mismatched.” “Yeah, her boyfriend looks really fierce, kinda worried for her…” Things like that. Vivian had even said, “Can you please just stay out of sight when I’m recording videos from now on? My fans don’t like you on camera.” This time, when she recorded, I hid on the balcony. Vivian and I had been together for five years. I discovered her change of heart a year ago. I’d considered breaking up, but then wondered, why was she hiding it from me? She could have simply told me she didn’t love me anymore and wanted to be with Ethan. But she never confessed. I, too, stubbornly waited for her to speak. As the hurt and disappointment piled up, I gradually grew numb. My phone rang, interrupting my sadness. Mr. Henderson called. “Mr. Roberts, we need to record Ms. Lee’s contact information.” I clearly recited her number. When I hung up and turned back into the room, I noticed Vivian standing behind me. She stared at me suspiciously. “Who did you give my number to?” Seeing her suspicion rise, I forced a smile. “The sports club needed to re-register personal information. They called to ask for my next of kin’s number.” Vivian frowned the moment she heard the words “next of kin.” She told me firmly, “What’s all this ‘next of kin’ talk? We’re not married yet. Couldn’t you have given your own family’s number?” We’d been together for so long; Vivian always knew exactly what to say to twist the knife. My parents divorced, and I’d always lived with my mother. After she passed away two years ago, Vivian became the only family I had left in my heart. She had also promised me countless nights, “Sam, don’t be too sad. I’m your family too.” “Your emergency contact, your next of kin… you can put me down. I’ll be there. Always.” The one who promised forever had pulled away, leaving me trapped forever in past memories. A year of agonizing thought led to only one conclusion: I couldn’t live without Vivian, and I wanted her to remember me forever. 3 Early that afternoon, Vivian was already set to leave. I called out to her. “Vivian, I booked a table at that restaurant for tonight. Let’s have dinner together.” She rejected it without a second thought. “No, Ethan’s family invited me over for dinner tonight. I need to go there.” Before she even finished speaking, she was clicking away on her heels. My only plan for the evening had fallen through. Just as I thought I’d spend the entire evening of this pre-holiday period staring blankly at movies, Coach Davies from the sports club called, inviting me to a team outing. A week after making the audacious decision to end my life on New Year’s Eve, I’d quietly resigned from my coaching job at the club, without telling Vivian. After a few rounds of drinks, the colleagues from the club started talking about me. “Hey Sam, he used to be a provincial athlete, you know? Came to our club to coach. Didn’t his girlfriend get on his case about the low pay?” They laughed and ribbed me, and I just had to play along, not wanting to spoil the fun. In truth, I’d stepped down due to injuries to my legs and hands. And also, being with Vivian had softened my sharp edges; I’d wanted to settle down. But now, it seemed I’d failed on both fronts. They were about to start another round of teasing. I had no choice but to use the restroom as an excuse to slip out for some air. Passing by the private dining room next door, I briefly thought the alcohol was making me see things, but blinking repeatedly didn’t change the fact that Vivian and Ethan were inside. Her face held a tenderness I hadn’t seen in ages. She was leaning against Ethan, her words laced with a playful complaint. “Dear Ethan, you haven’t had time to see me these past few days.” Vivian acted like a little girl, accusing the man beside her. “I’ve been busy since becoming an attending physician. Can’t make any mistakes. Besides, meeting too often, what if Sam gets suspicious?” Ethan brushed his fingers against her nose, their intimacy palpable. Perhaps my name had ruined the mood, for Vivian’s tone sharpened, her voice tinged with anger. “I regret getting engaged to him now. He gave up being a professional athlete to go coach at some small club.” “His job is unstable. Does he expect me to support him forever?” “You don’t know, Ethan, I have to wake up every morning and look at his face. Just thinking about it makes me sick.” As she spoke, she suddenly kissed Ethan’s cheek, her voice sweet and cloying. “Ethan, you’re so much better. Handsome and successful. Sam can’t even compare.” The door was ajar, and I heard every word, my hands gripping my clothes so tightly just to keep myself from collapsing. Perhaps Vivian’s resentment had festered for too long, for she continued relentlessly. “And his broken finger, it makes my skin crawl just looking at it. It’s scared off several customers already, and he treats it like some badge of honor.” Ethan suddenly spoke. “Vivian, you can cut ties with Sam. I’ll always be right behind you.” Vivian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she fell into a long silence, which was finally broken by a phone ringing. She saw the caller ID, and immediate displeasure flooded her face. “Didn’t I say I was at Ethan’s family dinner? What do you want now?” I gently pushed open the half-closed door, saw her startled expression, and spoke into the phone, and to Vivian herself. “You don’t need to lie to me. I’ve seen everything.” A silent standoff stretched between the three of us. My gaze shifted back and forth between them, the alcohol I’d consumed earlier boiling in my stomach. I couldn’t stay. I had to leave. “Sam, where are you going? Can you just let me explain!” Vivian’s anxious shouts were left behind me. I almost thought she was worried about me. It was only when I stepped out and saw everyone in the restaurant staring that I realized. She was only worried about me making a scene and embarrassing her. I vomited until I was dizzy in the public restroom. Passersby just assumed I was a drunken mess. I half-sat on the floor, burying my head in my arms, weeping. I couldn't comprehend how a love that had come so close to marriage could shatter into so many pieces. When I got home, all the lights were off. I accidentally stepped on something while changing shoes, and a sharp pain shot through the sole of my foot. I squatted down to look. The bottom of my foot had been pierced by a shard, bleeding outwards. Vivian had smashed every decorative item in the house. She was sitting in a corner of the sofa, looking at me coldly. “I ran into your colleagues at the restaurant. They said you quit your job.” Vivian’s voice was devoid of emotion, chilling like a venomous snake. “Sam, why?” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I traced the ceramic shard in my hand, letting it cut thin lines of crimson into my skin. This was a mug Vivian and I had made together on the first day her pottery studio opened. It wasn’t particularly pretty, but she loved it, placing it right in the center of the TV cabinet. “Sam, when we get married, we absolutely have to use this mug for our toast.” Later, that mug gathered dust. The mug Ethan made, however, sat on display at the pottery studio, polished to a shine. Vivian took the shard from my hand and tossed it into the trash can. “I might have thrown a bit of a fit tonight, but I was angry that you’re not taking responsibility for our future. How can you just quit your job like that?” “Sam, Ethan and I had dinner together, but it was just a casual thing. If I were to choose someone to settle down with, I’d still pick you.” She wrapped her arms around my waist, rested her chin on my shoulder, and whispered, “I love you, Sam. So you’ll find a new job, and we’ll have a good life together, okay?” Lie after lie wove a suffocating web, gradually crushing my hope, solidifying my desire to leave completely. “Okay. I’ll look for a job after the New Year.” 4 I planned to die in our marital home, the one my mother had bought for us two years ago. She had always longed for me to settle down early; it was her wish, and that house was purchased with all her savings. I hadn’t told Vivian, always wanting to surprise her. But now, it seemed ‘shock’ would be a more accurate word. While Vivian was at the pottery studio, I wanted to visit the house one last time. But fate had other plans. At a crosswalk, I was hit by a car that appeared out of nowhere. I lay on the ground, my consciousness fading, my knee throbbing with excruciating pain. But more shocking than the pain was seeing Ethan and Vivian emerge from the car. Vivian was crying, seeking refuge in Ethan’s arms. She dared not look, unaware that the person lying on the ground was me. Before I lost consciousness, I could only hear her sobbing. “Dear Ethan, what do we do? We hit someone… Is that Sam?” “It couldn’t be Sam, what are the chances…” When I woke up in the hospital, Vivian was leaning by my hand, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Feeling me stir, she immediately woke up. “You scared me to death, you know that?!” She choked back tears and lunged to embrace me. It had been so long since I’d seen her worry for me, it felt like another lifetime. “You’re lucky to be alive. It’s just a fractured leg, it’ll heal.” Vivian handed me the water from the bedside table, recounting the terrifying ordeal. “Who hit me?” The words left my lips, and she immediately fell silent. Her face held so many emotions—hesitation, evasion—it was hard to tell which predominated. Then she turned and handed me a piece of paper. “Ethan hit you, but it wasn’t on purpose. The road was slick, no one expected it, and he feels really bad…” I looked at the contents of the paper and understood what it meant. “Let’s just settle this privately. It’s best for everyone. Ethan’s life shouldn’t have a blemish, okay?” The momentary, almost dreamlike concern from earlier evaporated, revealing Vivian’s true colors. I paused for a few seconds, then swiftly signed. Vivian jumped up, beaming, but then caught herself, asking, “Sam, are you okay?” I offered a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “I… I’m just happy to be alive, you know?” She didn’t ask anything further. Perhaps there was a mix of genuine guilt in Vivian’s feigned concern, as she spent some time with me during my week-long hospital stay. A flicker of hope stirred within me: if she stayed by my side on New Year’s Eve, maybe I wouldn’t want to die. But that thought didn’t last long. On the morning of New Year’s Eve, she took a call, quickly hung up, and prepared to leave. “Vivian, we haven’t had New Year’s dinner together yet.” My heart screamed at her not to go, not to leave me alone again. “Ethan’s dealing with a patient dispute turned violent. I have to go.” Seeing me still stubbornly holding onto her, Vivian suddenly yelled. “What if the family gets too emotional? Ethan’s life could be in danger! You’re almost fully recovered, don’t be so selfish!” She tore free from my desperate grasp and quickly walked away. She still chose Ethan, between his life and mine. 5 I chose a quiet way to die, though it was somewhat painful. Before slitting my wrists, I drew myself a bath. Despite the on-duty nurse’s repeated warnings not to let my injured leg touch water, I did it anyway. I wanted Vivian to find me clean. The pain from my wrist was more piercing than that in my knee. My consciousness swam, and I could only watch as the bathtub water turned a deep crimson. When we renovated, I specifically chose this tub because Vivian always complained that bathwater got cold too quickly. I spent extra time finding one that could continuously re-heat water. Now, it was stained red by me. I don’t know when I left my body, but after a period of darkness, I opened my eyes to see myself in the bathtub. Lying in shallow red water, my lips still pursed as I departed. Perhaps phasing through walls is a major skill for ghosts, because I found myself watching Vivian and Ethan intertwined on the bed. Vivian, breathing heavily, playfully scolded the man sprawled on her. “You really thought of a good one, tricking me back here with a ‘patient dispute’ excuse.” She started putting on her clothes. “I still need to go see Sam at the hospital. Such a hassle.” I’d heard that word “hassle” from her many times before. It seemed Vivian really did say it often. Ethan, however, wrapped his arms around her waist on the bed, his voice a tempting murmur. “Why don’t you just stay? I really want to be with you until next year.” Their lustful eyes glowed in the dark. If the phone hadn’t rung, I could have predicted what would happen next. “This number’s called several times. Are you sure you don’t want to answer?” I looked over. It was Mr. Henderson’s number. Vivian frowned, taking the phone from Ethan’s hand. The official voice on the other end sounded like a telemarketer. “Is this Ms. Vivian Lee? Your fiancé left you a New Year’s gift, and he asked me to deliver it to you personally.” This clearly spoiled her mood. She refused without a second thought. “I don’t need it. Just throw it away.” But Mr. Henderson persisted. “I can’t. Mr. Roberts insisted that I deliver it directly to you.” “Sam Roberts, he saved up all this money behind my back?” Vivian repeatedly flipped through the contract, making sure her name was indeed listed as the beneficiary. She signed immediately. I stood opposite her. Her excited expression was exactly what I had imagined seeing when I handed her the deed to our wedding home on our wedding day. But when reality played out, I had no chance to be there beside her. Mr. Henderson, ever diligent, said, “Since you’ve signed, I’ll take you to see Mr. Roberts’ wedding home in the city center.” “I’ll have Sam take me himself. He kept such a big surprise from me.” Mr. Henderson insisted on leading the way. Vivian, meanwhile, hummed happily as she called me. Unfortunately, my phone was by the bathtub and couldn’t be answered. “He’s not answering his phone. Alright, Mr. Henderson, please lead the way.” Vivian hummed all the way to the wedding home. Getting money and a house out of nowhere would only make her happy enough to take photos and post on social media. Aside from me not answering my phone, it was a pretty good New Year for her. Mr. Henderson handed her the keys at the door before leaving. Vivian’s steps were light as she surveyed the house, moving from the entryway to the living room, then into the kitchen. She even nodded in satisfaction at the bedroom layout. She didn’t forget to call me, muttering to herself, “Sam, if you don’t answer your phone, I’m going to get angry…” Suddenly, a jarring phone ring echoed through the house. Vivian looked around, startled, searching for the source of the sound, and finally stopped at the bathroom door. Before I could even register her expression, a piercing shriek cut through the air. “Ah——”
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