Hazel's Redemption

IT WASN'T MY FAULT

Hazel sat at the edge of the bed, watching Ethan sleep soundly. The night had been long, yet she couldn’t forget how gentle he had been. It felt like the first time she had lost her innocence to him.

Though she had felt so ashamed that night and ran out of his room—giving Ivy the chance to take her place and pretend to be the girl of that night—this time Hazel had no intention of repeating the same mistake. She wanted Ethan to see her face when he woke. She didn’t even bother dressing up, staying awake in his shirt alone.

After an hour, Ethan stirred, turning his head toward her. Hazel’s face appeared in his view, and he frowned, wincing at the headache that had accompanied his awakening.

"Are you okay? You drank so much last night," Hazel asked, worry lacing her voice. If she had known, she would have prepared a hangover soup for him.

"Last night… what happened?"

Though Hazel had suspected Ethan might forget the night because he had been drunk, she still hoped he remembered fragments.

"Y…you don’t remember what happened?" she asked, voice trembling, clinging to a hope that refused to die.

"Last night…?" Ethan glanced at her, then noticed the two or three hickeys on her neck. Slowly, the memories of the night began to form in his mind.

"Heh, I see why you’re so excited this morning," he sneered.

"Ethan, you…"

"You can be happy, Hazel Edgard. You finally climbed into my bed. You really waited for the perfect moment to make me sleep with you. Are you satisfied now?"

"W…what are you saying?"

"Isn’t it obvious? A shameless girl like you would resort to any means to climb into a man’s bed." His words pierced her heart, shattering the beautiful memory of the night they had shared. It was as if it had been nothing more than a one-night stand with a stranger.

That night, when he had called her name, demanding her body, she had dared to hope that things had changed, that her patience had finally paid off. But Ethan’s words turned her hope to ash, making her feel cheap, worthless, and void of dignity.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, unstoppable no matter how hard she tried.

"Why… why are you talking to me like this? Last night you…"

"…Last night, I was tricked into sleeping with a slut. The thought disgusts me—I would have rather spent the night with a prostitute."

Hazel collapsed to the floor, her tears soaking her hands, chest heaving in pain. Ethan’s indifference cut deeper than any wound. The hurt was unbearable, suffocating her as if it pressed down on her lungs.

"You… what’s wrong with you?" he asked, finally noticing.

"It… it hurts so much, Ethan."

"Don’t try to fool me," he said, but her gasping, sobbing breaths made him relent. Slowly, he helped her back onto the bed.

"How do you feel?"

"Are you… worried about me?" Hazel asked, still clutching her chest, unwilling to let go of Ethan even as he remained half-naked beside her.

"Ethan, are you still sleeping? I…" Suddenly, Ivy appeared, her eyes catching the sight of Ethan half-naked, holding Hazel’s hand, while Hazel still wore his shirt.

"I… Ivy…" Ethan stammered.

"Ethan… you and my sister, you…"

"No… that’s not what you think, Ivy," Ethan tried to explain, but Ivy burst into tears and ran out. He went after her, but Hazel grabbed his hand.

"Ethan…"

"You! What do you think you’re doing?!" Ethan yelled, slapping her hand away and turning to glare at her with disgust. "If anything happens to Ivy, I’ll make your life a living hell!"

He stormed out to chase the girl he loved. Hazel could only mock herself bitterly. She had loved him for years, sacrificed so much to be with him—but all that effort pushed him into her sister’s arms.

"I must be stupid to keep hoping," she wept, clutching the quilt scented with Ethan’s cologne. The man who had spent the night with her had abandoned her to her loneliness.

"You’ve got his body, but you’ll never have his heart…"

Once again, Ivy had won. She had his body, his name, his everything—but what did it matter if she could never have his heart?

A week passed since Ivy had run out, and Ethan had not returned. Perhaps he was with her, leaving Hazel alone in the massive mansion.

Hazel poured herself a glass of water, gulping it down with a few medicines. Soon, the door clicked open, and she saw Ethan in a t-shirt, hair messy.

"Ethan, what happened to you?" Hazel asked, concern in her voice. But she flinched as he turned to glare at her, a sudden killing aura emanating from him.

"Ethan…?"

"You… everything is your fault," he growled, grabbing her by the neck. His grip was so tight that she struggled to breathe.

"Wasn’t it enough that you took Ivy’s place? You separated us before, and now you’re doing it again!"

"E… Ethan…" Hazel gasped, struggling to free herself, but he only tightened his grip. When he realized she was losing consciousness, he flung her to the floor.

"Let me tell you this, Hazel Edgard. No matter the tricks you use, I… Ethan Jackson… would never love a woman like you! You disgust me!"

He despised her—but why? Hazel thought, crawling toward him, clutching his trouser. She had done nothing but love him. Why did he hurt her this way?

"Why… why do you despise me so much? I’ve done nothing but love you… why crush my heart every time?"

"I don’t need your love. I don’t need your shameless, dirty love."

"Is it because of that day… the accident? You hate me because you think I ran and let you die—but I saved you. I was the one who pulled everyone out of the car. Believe me, Ethan… I…"

"Ahhh!"

He kicked her, sending her head crashing into the table. Blood ran down, but he was unmoved.

"You’re so fake. Do you think your lies can make me look at you? I only feel hatred. I don’t want to see your disgusting face!"

He walked away, refusing to believe her. Hazel had done so much, yet nothing could make him trust her.

"I’ve done so much for you… why can’t you believe me, just once?" she whispered, void of life. Her eyes wandered aimlessly, but she struggled to stand despite her body trembling with pain. Warm liquid drizzled down her face—blood—but she ignored it.

"Mrs… you… oh my goodness, Young Mrs… you’re injured?"

Injured? Hazel thought, touching the warm liquid on her palm. It was blood, but she hadn’t even noticed.

"Oh my God, Young Mrs…" Aunt Jane’s voice trembled with worry. Could Ethan care so much if he knew she was hurt?

"I don’t need your love…" she whispered. He probably didn’t care if she died. In fact, perhaps he would even be relieved.

"It’s fine, Aunt Jane… I…" Hazel’s words trailed off as she lost her balance, falling toward the floor. Fortunately, a pair of arms caught her. Her vision blurred, but she heard the soft words whispered to her:

"It’s fine… I’ve got you now…"