The Love I Don't Deserve

Vivian's POV:

Eight years ago...

My name is Vivian Nelson. I am an architect, married to Lawrence Nelson.

Back then, love felt simple. I believed our marriage marked the start of a lifetime filled with warmth and certainty. That illusion shattered the night everything went wrong.

"Lawrence, look out!" I screamed when a truck burst into our path without warning.

Time did not slow the way people claim it does. It surged forward, ruthless and fast, forcing choices that would haunt me forever.

Lawrence reacted without hesitation. His right arm did not reach for the wheel. Instead, it came straight toward me. The same hand that had brushed my cheek only hours earlier slammed me back against the seat, shielding me with his body. At the same time, his left hand wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right.

The impact came like the end of the world. Sound swallowed everything. Metal crushed against flesh. Glass exploded into countless shards. The car screamed as its frame twisted apart. The seatbelt snapped tight across my chest, stealing my breath, and my head jerked toward the window until a hand caught it and held firm.

When the chaos finally faded, silence pressed in from all sides. What I noticed first was his arm. It was still stretched across me, heavy and unmoving, guarding me even then.

Then I saw the blood. A thin, relentless stream ran from his temple, cutting across his ashen skin, and in that moment, I understood that nothing would ever be the same again.

"Lawrence?" My voice barely carried, swallowed by the wreckage around us.

No answer came. Panic set in when I realized his chest no longer rose. His eyes, the ones that had always looked at me with warmth and certainty, stared ahead without focus.

I reached for his face, my fingers shaking so badly I could hardly touch him. His skin still held warmth, but it was slipping away fast, replaced by a cold that felt sharp against my palms.

"No. Please, no. Wake up. Don't leave me. You can't leave me." My words tumbled out as broken pleas. I whispered against his cheek, against the blood, against everything that had gone wrong, nudging him as gently as I could.

The sharp stench of gasoline filled the car, thick and nauseating as it mixed with the smell of blood. Somewhere beyond the crushed metal, voices rose in confusion, distant and warped, like I was hearing them from underwater. Red and blue lights flashed through the shattered windows, casting cruel colors across the ruined interior.

None of it mattered. The world outside might as well not have existed.

All I could feel was his silence. His arm still rested across me, heavy and protective, and the truth crept in slowly, sinking deep and spreading through me like a toxin.

He had saved me. In the final moment, he had chosen me without hesitation, yanking the wheel toward himself and pulling the full force of the crash onto his own body.

"Take him out first! Please, help him. Save him!"

Tears blurred everything as I clung to that last, fragile hope, even while a part of me already knew the answer.

With gentle hands, the rescuers pulled me out into the chill of dawn. Someone draped a blanket around my shoulders, but it couldn't thaw the cold ache that had settled deep inside me.

Across the wreck, they covered Lawrence's body with a white sheet. That piece of cloth, already stained red, became the last image I'd carry of him—a final proof that my world had changed forever. No more of his laughter, no warm voice greeting me in the morning, no gentle arms to fall asleep beside.

Lost in grief, my hand drifted to my belly, where the tiniest part of him still lived, quietly growing.

"My darling, your father gave everything to save us. From this day on, all my love belongs to you. Stay with me, little one. Be strong for Mommy, will you?"

Even shattered, I forced myself to keep moving. My child still needed me.

Right then, something inside me hardened into resolve. Whatever it took, I would build the best life possible for us—if not for my own sake, then for Lawrence's memory.