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460words
Back home, Lily delivered Ethan to our doorstep minutes later.
He slumped against her frame, slurring incoherently.
I pulled him from her arms.
Lily had a beauty spot beneath her left eye. So did I.
Early days, Ethan used to brush his thumb over mine like it was something sacred.
"Get him to bed," she stated, already turning away.
Acid coated my throat. I stayed silent.
Morning came too soon. Ethan stirred awake first, catching me staring at the ceiling—eyes hollow, tear trails glistening.
He tugged me against his chest. "Sophie... Lily’s just readjusting. Needs support right now."
Finally. He’d noticed the silence where he should have been.
My voice shattered. "Without you... I burned oatmeal trying to use the stove. Couldn’t navigate the stairs to check the mail." Tears bled from my unseeing eyes. "Just... stay?"
He kissed the dampness away. "I’m here. Not going anywhere." Lips brushed my lids again. "God, these eyes... If that Uber driver hadn’t run the light—"
If you hadn’t skipped my birthday to meet Lily’s flight, I didn’t say. I’d raced after him that night.
For days, he kept his word. Cooked my meals. Guided my hands over Braille recipes.
When Lily’s texts dinged, he’d watch me fumble for a dropped spoon, frown, and silence his phone.
Then, descending the stairs at dusk, his pocket buzzed.
My hands clung to his forearm, trusting his balance.
The first ring died. Then came the deluge—frantic, insistent vibrations.
Ethan stiffened. Freed his arm to grab the phone.
I heard his sharp inhale. "Lily?! Where are you? Don’t move—I’m coming!"
He spun to leave—forgot me entirely.
The shove wasn’t malicious. Just careless.
My cane slipped.
The noise when my body hit the landing—crack-thud—was sickening. Knees shredded on hardwood, hip screaming.
"Oh Christ—Sophie?!" He finally saw me crumpled at the bottom.
Sterile bandages slapped into my palm. "Lily’s being harassed by some creeps downtown. I have to go."
The door slammed. No hesitation.
Cold spread through my veins.
She won.
I dragged myself outside. Rooftop water tanks loomed against bruised clouds. Where does a blind woman run?
I ended up on a rain-slicked park bench, hugging scraped knees. No tears left.
"You look like hell, sweetheart."
The voice was low, laced with gravel. Mason Quinn.
Ethan’s old college roommate.
He crouched before me. Calloused fingers probed my bleeding knee—professional, detached. Field medic training from his army days, I recalled.
His shadow shifted. "Sit still. Got antiseptic in my truck."
After taping gauze over the gashes, he froze. Waved fingers before my unblinking stare.
Laughed—short, humorless. "What? See a ghost?"
Silence stretched between traffic noises.
I whispered, "You... know I’m not blind?"
