Last Flight Home

She ended the call. The color drained from her face. When she looked at me, her eyes were full of conflict.

"Julian, Adrian, he's standing on the edge of the rooftop. He's completely broken down and says he wants to see me one last time. Dr. Hayes says I might be the only one who can talk him down."

"So?" My voice was frighteningly calm.

"I have to go! I can't just stand by and watch him jump!"

She threw off the blanket and tried to get out of bed.

I stopped her and held my phone up in front of her face.

"Clara. You're not going."

She whipped her head around, shock written all over her face.

Looking straight into her eyes, I said each word slowly and clearly.

"He's lying."

"He just sent me a message taunting me. He's using suicide to force you to make a choice. Can't you see that?"

I lifted my phone and shoved the message toward her.

Her eyes darted across the screen. Her expression shifted rapidly–first shock, then something else replaced it: agitation and impatience.

"Julian! At a time like this, you're still focusing on that? This is someone's life! Even if he's forcing me, I can't gamble with his life!"

I looked at her. Inside my chest, shards of ice seemed to collide and crack.

"Clara, you've been gambling with my life–and our child's life–on his conscience."

She reacted like a lit fuse. She violently shook off my hand, her eyes filled with disappointment and accusation.

"What are you talking about?!

"Julian, how did you become like this? So cold. So heartless!

"This is suicide! It's not a joke! I never thought you'd turn into someone like this!"

All the grievance, anger, and despair I was holding back finally exploded. My entire body trembled.

"This is who you made me!

"If you dare walk out that door today, we're finished!"

She looked at me. The last trace of hesitation in her eyes vanished.

"Julian, I didn't expect you to be this unreasonable. I'll explain everything when I get back."

Gritting her teeth, she staggered out the door.

I stood there, listening to her footsteps fade away until the world fell into a dead silence.

I don't know how long passed before my phone rang. It was Dr. Hayes, his voice urgent.

"Mr. Vance! Dr. Miller fell on the stairs. There's heavy bleeding–the baby couldn't be saved!"

When I rushed into the hospital room, Clara was already awake.

Her face was as pale as paper. Her hand rested on her now-flat abdomen, her gaze empty.

"Adrian, they pulled him down. He's fine."

Her voice was hoarse. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"The baby is gone.

"I'm sorry."

I looked at the pain and regret written so clearly on her face.

However, inside me, there was nothing left.

"Clara," I said quietly, "you made your choice."

My voice was soft–almost like a sigh–but heavy as a mountain.

"Now it's my turn."

I stayed at the hospital for two more days.

Long enough to confirm that her body was no longer in danger after the miscarriage and that the medication temporarily stabilized her emotions.

Then, calmly, I blocked everything related to Clara.

Then, I bought a one-way ticket to Northspire.

As I boarded the plane, I remembered five years ago, when I clutched another one-way ticket and flew without hesitation to Northwood City–the city where she was.

Back then, I believed love could overcome anything.

Now I was holding another one-way ticket, flying south to a place where she was not .

nly then did I understand that all those hardships existed because of love.

Now, both the love and the hardships were gone.