---- Chapter 25 Liam was at a bar with his friend, Mark, the one who had tried to warn him. It was the first time he had gone out socially since my disappearance. He was drinking club soda. He hadn't touched alcohol since the day he learned about my miscarriage. "l was so stupid, Mark," Liam said, staring into his glass. "So arrogant. | thought she was a constant. | thought she'd always be there, no matter what | did. | never realized she was the one holding everything together. My whole life... it was built on her." "You loved her, man," Mark said quietly. "You just... forgot for a while." "| didn't just forget," Liam said, his voice thick with self- loathing. "| desecrated it. | took the most precious thing in my life and | treated it like it was worthless." He pulled my wedding ring, which he now wore on a chain around his neck, out from under his shirt. He stared at the diamond, the symbol of everything he had lost. "And now she's gone. She faked her own death to get away from me. What does that tell you?" He couldn't take it anymore. The bar felt suffocating. He mumbled an excuse to Mark and walked out into the cool ---- night air. He drove, not knowing where he was going, until he found himself at a cliffside overlook, a place we used to go to watch the sunset. The pain was overwhelming, a physical pressure in his chest. He just wanted it to stop. He walked to the edge of the cliff, the wind whipping at his suit jacket. Below, the waves crashed against the rocks. It looked so easy. One step, and it would all be over. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. "Liam, NO!" Mark's voice shouted from behind him. He had followed him. He tackled Liam, pulling him back from the edge, and they both tumbled to the ground. Liam fought him, screaming my name, but his friend held on tight. The emotional turmoil, combined with the weeks of self -neglect, was too much. A sharp, searing pain shot through his stomach. He doubled over, gasping, a metallic taste filling his mouth. He was coughing up blood. The next thing he knew, he was in the back of an ambulance, the sirens wailing. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his stomach on fire. The diagnosis was a bleeding ulcer, brought on by stress and alcohol abuse. He woke up in a hospital bed. Again. But this time, he was the patient. He looked around the sterile white room, and a bitter, ironic smile touched his lips. He remembered me in a bed just like this one. He remembered holding my hand and feeding me lies, completely oblivious to my real pain. ---- He remembered how | used to take care of him, how | would sit by his bedside, my touch gentle, my voice soothing. The memory was so vivid, so painful, he had to close his eyes. He was discharged a few days later, weak and pale. As he was walking slowly down the long hospital corridor, leaning on Mark for support, he saw a woman at the far end of the hallway. She was holding the hand of a small child. She had her back to him, but there was something about the way she stood, the way her hair fell... His heart stopped. It couldn't be. The woman turned, and his breath caught in his throat. It was me. It was Ava. You were alive.