The Orchid's Dying Breath

Bella Youngman

Modern | Completed

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Ethan swirled his whiskey, convinced, "Relationships, marriage, it's all a game, and the one who cares less, wins." He' d often said it, casually dismissing his wife, Chloe, and believing she loved him too much to ever leave. Then came Mark's hushed words, cutting through the bar's noise like a knife: "She's dead, Ethan." Dead? Ethan laughed, a harsh, unnatural sound, certain it was a twisted prank. Chloe was just at Olivia's, throwing a tantrum, he' d even mocked her "vacation" in a text. He meticulously cleaned, cooked her favorite meal, and replaced her drooping orchid, waiting for her triumphant return. But the food grew cold, the silence deafening, as his delusion deepened. Then, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson stood at his door, their faces etched with a grief so profound it shattered his constructed reality. "She is dead, Ethan!" Mr. Peterson roared, "Dead because of you! You killed her spirit long before that car ever touched her!" Ethan swayed, his mind reeling. Dead? But how? Why couldn't he remember? Why did everyone look at him with such hatred, such pity? Was he truly capable of something so monstrous that his mind had simply erased it? A blinding headache pulsed behind his eyes, a terrifying void in his memory threatening to swallow him whole. As the ceramic bird Chloe made finally fell from his numb fingers, the dam in Ethan' s mind broke. Memories, cold and brutal, flooded in: ignoring her calls during a storm, prioritizing a deal over her safety, her body under a white sheet, his blank stare at her funeral. Months later, a diagnosis came: glioblastoma. The doctor offered surgery, but warned it could erase his traumatic past. "I won't forget her," he rasped, refusing the memory-erasing procedure. He would cling to the pain, a constant reminder of the woman he destroyed, now the only thing left of her he deserved.

Family Betrayal Drama Personal growth

Chapter 12

01-06 19:53

Introduction

Ethan swirled his whiskey, convinced, "Relationships, marriage, it's all a game, and the one who cares less, wins."

He' d often said it, casually dismissing his wife, Chloe, and believing she loved him too much to ever leave.

Then came Mark's hushed words, cutting through the bar's noise like a knife: "She's dead, Ethan."

Dead? Ethan laughed, a harsh, unnatural sound, certain it was a twisted prank.

Chloe was just at Olivia's, throwing a tantrum, he' d even mocked her "vacation" in a text.

He meticulously cleaned, cooked her favorite meal, and replaced her drooping orchid, waiting for her triumphant return.

But the food grew cold, the silence deafening, as his delusion deepened.

Then, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson stood at his door, their faces etched with a grief so profound it shattered his constructed reality.

"She is dead, Ethan!" Mr. Peterson roared, "Dead because of you! You killed her spirit long before that car ever touched her!"

Ethan swayed, his mind reeling.

Dead? But how? Why couldn't he remember?

Why did everyone look at him with such hatred, such pity?

Was he truly capable of something so monstrous that his mind had simply erased it?

A blinding headache pulsed behind his eyes, a terrifying void in his memory threatening to swallow him whole.

As the ceramic bird Chloe made finally fell from his numb fingers, the dam in Ethan' s mind broke.

Memories, cold and brutal, flooded in: ignoring her calls during a storm, prioritizing a deal over her safety, her body under a white sheet, his blank stare at her funeral.

Months later, a diagnosis came: glioblastoma.

The doctor offered surgery, but warned it could erase his traumatic past.

"I won't forget her," he rasped, refusing the memory-erasing procedure.

He would cling to the pain, a constant reminder of the woman he destroyed, now the only thing left of her he deserved.