There was no seventh anniversary. We had been divorced for four years. Four whole years. And love? If Felix’s version of love was cutting off my future, locking me in a golden cage, and lying straight to my face… then I didn’t want it anymore. Not even a little.
He said I’d never find out. I wiped my tears, my fingers trembling. “No,” I whispered to myself. “You’re the one who’s going to lose me.” Forever.
I tightened my grip on the application form in my hand, the paper crumpling under my fingers, then I turned around and did the only two things that mattered.
First, I applied to erase myself. Every identity record I had in this country. Gone. Clean. Like I never existed. Second, I submitted my application again. Under a new name. A new life. A new me.
four years ago, when Shannon cut off my right hand, she didn’t just take it, she threw it to wild dogs like I was nothing. Felix lost his mind back then, spent billions, replace and transplant me a hand that looked real enough to fool anyone. It worked, I could live normally, but I couldn’t operate the way I used to. I was a surgeon, precision was everything, and now… it was gone. My dream died that day.