Chapter 15 There is another hidden story
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Brandon swallowed hard several times, clearly freaked out.
"Let's go."
Without even fully looking at him, Ethan shot Brandon a chilly glance, clutching the urn tightly as he strode out of the morgue.
Brandon took a quick peek from a distance—the urn barely had any ashes left inside.
On the drive back, Brandon gradually calmed down and glanced at Ethan a few times through the rearview mirror.
"So… Mr. Donovan, are you okay? Want me to take you to, uh..." Get your stomach pumped?
But Ethan's sharp glare shut him up fast.
As soon as they got home from the hospital, Ethan kicked every single staff member out of the house.
When he pushed open the bedroom door and stepped into the silent room, his eyes quickly welled up with tears.
"Anna..." Curling up on the small sofa, Ethan couldn't hold back his sobs.
They had been married for two years—and she had slept on that tiny couch the entire time.
Every time after they were intimate, he'd coldly tell her to sleep there.
Why? Was she just too naive?
The whole house had dozens of rooms, she could've just picked any of them. But she insisted on staying in that one room.
And him? Stupid as hell. Being the kind of guy who hated people invading his space, yet he let her stay all that time—and didn't say a word.
Truth is, he'd fallen for her long ago.
He remembered perfectly how they first met.
All the times he pushed her away, mistreated her—it wasn't because he hated her. He was just mad that she didn't value herself enough.
But he had been so dumb, thinking that meant he despised her.
Come on, what kind of man with OCD keeps going back to a woman he's supposedly disgusted by?
If he really did hate her, why would he keep wanting her, over and over again—feeling like he could never get enough?
He always ignored that part, blaming her instead, like she was too good at tempting people.
Remembering all that now, Ethan wanted to punch himself in the face.
Curled up on the couch, he stared at the empty room, wishing he could see her just one more time—even if it was just her ghost.
But no, ghosts aren't real.
He waited deep into the night, but she never came—not even in a dream.
Ethan kept trying to convince himself to fall asleep, hoping she'd appear in a dream.
But no matter how hard he tried, sleep never came.
By morning, he hadn't slept at all. His eyes were bloodshot.
Finally, stiff and exhausted, he forced himself up from the couch.Ethan had never been one to compromise on comfort. At the office, he even had his own private room to rest in—with a top-tier, ridiculously expensive bed to boot.
But the couch Anna used to sleep on? It was harder than the office chair he barely sat in.
He curled himself up on it now—over six feet tall and still half his legs stuck out over the edge.
Anna wasn't tall by any means, maybe around 5'6" or 5'7", but still—cramming herself onto this thing every night must've been torture.
His eyes wandered around the room. Somehow, every corner seemed to carry a piece of her.
He tugged open a random drawer, expecting junk—but instead found a small, elegant box.
Definitely not his.
He opened it carefully.
Inside—photos. Dozens of them. All of him.
Some were of him sitting, lying down, drinking tea, eating, jogging… Every single one was a candid taken from the side.
And then it hit him—Anna used to do this. Hide in some corner and sneak pictures of him.
He used to snap at her for it, harsh words and all. But when she didn't argue back, he'd just ignore it, let it slide.
The truth was—he kind of liked it.
Liked the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. That softness in her eyes. That quiet, unspoken love.
But he'd rarely looked her straight in the eye.
A photo slipped out and fluttered to the floor.
He picked it up. On the back, she'd written something.
"Anna loves Ethan."
Her handwriting was neat, but the pressure she'd used was heavy, like she wanted the words to carve themselves in.
"Anna loves Ethan so much."
...
"Anna really, really loves Ethan."
Each photo had something similar scribbled on the back.
Then there was one, set apart from the rest.
A wedding photo—one of the very few they'd taken together. Mini sized, probably meant to be kept close.
Flip side:
"But Ethan doesn't love Anna."
Ethan broke down, burying his face in his hands.
He regretted everything.
Anna, please. Can you come back?
If you did, I'd say these words to you every single day.
Inside the box, he also found a little radio—one of those old-school models. He remembered now—Anna used it to play the news for her grandma in the hospital.
Even when the doctors had said the woman was in a coma, unlikely to wake up, Anna kept showing up at the hospital every day without fail.
She never once gave up.
Seeing the radio jolted his memory—Anna's grandma was still in the hospital.
No way would Anna just up and leave her behind. Just not her style.
And then that video on her phone crept back into his mind.
What if Anna didn't jump on her own?
What if someone pushed her?
Once the idea formed, Ethan couldn't shake it. It dug in deep.
According to Jasmine, Anna jumped herself. Said she wanted to stop her but couldn't—had an injured leg or something.
But that was a lie. Jasmine's leg was totally fine.
- Escritor
