I sank into the hospital bed, numb and motionless. My eyes were empty as I stared at the ceiling. 

Derek stood by my bedside, breathing hard as he tried to steady himself. Blood still dripped from the raw wound on his hand, where I had bitten him. 

It looked like he was the one who had just come back from the edge of death. 

“Patricia, is this really how you treat your life? Like some kind of joke?” he said. 

He reached out like he wanted to touch me, but midway, something made him pull back. He looked strangely hurt, like I had wronged him somehow. 

Just as I opened my mouth to ask what game he was playing this time, his whole demeanor shifted. He shoved his hands into his pockets. That cocky, infuriating look was back on his face. 

He scoffed. “I mean it. What the hell were you thinking when you downed those pills? You really think pulling a stunt like that is gonna make Maynard look at you differently? I’m telling you right now—all you’re doing is making him hate you more.” 

He kept talking, ranting like always. He was completely oblivious to what I was doing. 

My hand crept toward the paring knife on the nightstand. 

Before he could notice, I grabbed it and slashed my wrist. Blood dripped onto the white sheets. 

Derek lunged, grabbing the blade with his bare hand. It sliced deep into his palm. 

“Let go!” I ordered. 

He winced, and his teeth were clenched in pain. Yet, he didn’t release the blade. “You let go first.” 

Blood oozed from his hand. The knife was digging deeper—close to hitting tendons—but he still didn’t let go. 

I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to die. 

In the end, I loosened my grip. 

He yanked the knife away and kicked it across the room. 

After my second attempt to end everything, he finally understood. I wasn’t trying to get attention. I genuinely wanted to die. 

“Stop treating your life like it’s disposable. There are billions of men out there. Why destroy yourself over him?” 

He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his tone. “Maybe… maybe if you looked around, you’d see that someone’s been waiting for you this whole time.” 

Once his hand was bandaged, he drove me back to the house. 

Somewhere along the way, Derek mentioned what had really happened on the cruise. There had been enough lifeboats for everyone on that cruise. 

But Maynard thought that I sabotaged the last lifeboat. He blamed me because Darlene had not made it onboard. 

“Just apologize to Darlene. Once she forgives you, Maynard will calm down. Then, figure out a clean way to end the marriage.” 

I didn’t answer. I turned my head and stared out the window. 

I knew the truth. 

I had seen Darlene sneak into the storage room during the chaos. She was the one who had tampered with the last lifeboat. 

And now she was twisting everything and blaming me. 

All over again, she painted herself as the delicate, innocent victim. And Maynard—he never once questioned it. 

Every one of Darlene’s clumsy lies became another excuse for Maynard to abandon me. 

I remembered the first time I met Maynard. 

Back then, I was young and naive. One night, cornered in an alley by the school bully and out of options, Maynard showed up with a group of his friends and pulled me out of trouble. 

That was the moment I fell for him—this handsome, wealthy man who seemed untouchable. I was willing to give him everything, no matter the cost. 

When Darlene left the country to pursue her career, I was the one who stayed. I sat by his side as he drowned himself in bottle after bottle of liquor. By morning, the floor was littered with empty glasses. 

He loved watching Darlene dance, so I slipped on ballet shoes and forced myself to learn, even when my legs were bruised and aching. I kept going, convinced I just needed to be better for him to notice me. 

But when I finally worked up the courage to show him and stood proud before him, he barely looked at me. 

“Don’t imitate what you’ll never be,” he said coldly before walking away. 

I found out later that Maynard had stomach issues and was often out late at night for business dinners. So, I started cooking for him. I would have soup ready to sober him up when he got home. I would always try new recipes, staying up until the middle of the night just to make sure he had something warm to eat. 

Maybe my devotion gave him a twisted sense of superiority, because little by little, he started to tolerate me. 

That night, Maynard was drunk. Things got out of hand between us, and I ended up pregnant. 

Under pressure from his family, Maynard married me. 

From that moment on, whatever affection he had for me disappeared completely. He thought I had trapped him on purpose, that I had gotten pregnant just to tie him down. 

It was laughable. 

I endured the pain that night, thinking we might finally have a future together. 

Looking back, I was only fooling myself. Everything I did—all those sacrifices—meant nothing to him.