The Broken Swan's Redemption

When I was eighteen, I pushed Ethan out of the way of a speeding car. The price? My legs were crushed under the tires, and I ended up as a double amputee.

With bloodshot eyes, Ethan held my hands and swore to God that he would be my legs for the rest of his life.

Back then, when I was screaming and losing my mind, unable to accept that I would never dance again, he just stood there.

He let me bite him, scratch him, and take all my agony out on his body.

On my twentieth birthday, he got down on one knee and proposed, begging for the chance to take care of me forever. Everyone praised Ethan.

They said he was a saint, incredibly loyal, and that he had given up his own bright future just to stay by my side. Until Mia showed up.

She stood in front of Ethan, dancing a choreography I had originally created, her long, flawless legs moving like a dream. That was when I heard him mutter: "Her legs are beautiful.

Unlike Chloe's. Hers make me terrified and disgusted. I have nightmares about them every single night." At that moment, my mind went completely blank.

A loud, highpitched ringing filled my ears. My hand instinctively reached down, touching the empty space beneath my jeans.

Teardrops began to fall, hot and heavy, before I could even process what was happening. Did he just say my legs made him feel disgusted? Did he say I gave him nightmares?

The pain was so sharp it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth.

Panicked and desperate to escape, I tried to spin my wheelchair around. But my hands shook too violently. Clang!

The wheelchair slammed hard against the door, making a loud, echoing noise. The people inside gasped. They both whipped their heads toward the door.

When Ethan saw me, a flash of pure guilt crossed his eyes. He rushed toward me immediately. Tears blurred my vision.

I couldn't see his face clearly, but a dull, heavy ache settled deep in my chest. He dropped to one knee in front of me.

As my tears ran down, I could make out the intense anxiety and concern on his face. "Are you hurt?

Did you get hurt somewhere?" Seeing that I didn't answer, he gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. His voice was incredibly tender. "Why are you crying? Did the crash hurt?

I'm so sorry, Chloe. It’s all my fault. I didn't take good care of you." He offered his arm to me, a warm, familiar smile on his face. "Go ahead, Chloe.

Punish me." I stared blankly at his arm. I didn't bite.

There were faded scars all over his skin—bites and scratches from the dark days when I had first lost my legs and would scream until my throat was raw.

Back then, whenever I lashed out, his eyes would be filled with nothing but heartbreak and guilt. I was a transfer student.

I had joined Ethan’s class during our senior year of high school, and we became desk partners. At our graduation afterparty, we finally confessed our feelings to each other.

But that was also the night of the tragedy. Ethan had had too much to drink. When I came back from buying water, I saw a car speeding directly toward him.

The alcohol had slowed his reflexes, and he didn't even realize he was in danger. Without thinking, I lunged forward and shoved him out of the way.

The car rolled straight over my legs.

I vividly remember the sound of my bones shattering, the scream that got caught in my throat, and the sudden, pitchblack darkness that swallowed me.

When I woke up in the hospital and saw the empty sheets, I screamed like a lunatic. I couldn't accept it. While I was unconscious, they had amputated both of my legs.

To a girl who had trained her entire life to be a professional dancer, losing her legs was no different from losing her life. My entire future was ruined.

Late at night, I would hear my parents crying softly in the hallway, worrying about my future. It made me feel like a useless burden. I didn't want to live anymore.

But when I tried to end things, Ethan found me. He wrestled the blade out of my hand.

He knelt in front of my bed, his face still swollen from where my father had slapped him in a rage, his eyes red from crying. "Chloe, I'm so sorry! It's all my fault.

I did this to you! I'm so sorry!" He kept apologizing, sobbing hysterically as he slapped himself hard across the face.

Then, he raised his hand and made a vow, his gaze fiercer and more determined than I had ever seen. "Chloe, from now on, I will be your legs.

Wherever you want to go, I will take you. I will be with you forever." "If I ever break this promise, let my life fall apart completely!"

For a second, I felt dizzy. I couldn't tell which Ethan was the real one anymore. Seeing the vacant look in my eyes, panic flashed across Ethan's face.

He reached out to pull me into his chest, just like he used to do when I had my breakdowns. But this time, a sudden wave of terror hit me. I pushed him away with everything I had.

He stumbled backward, falling onto the floor. Shock and confusion filled his eyes. Mia rushed out of the room, quickly helping him up.

She glared at me, her face a mix of accusation and protective anger. That was when I got a clear look at her. She looked shockingly familiar. She looked like me when I was eighteen.

This realization hit me like a physical blow. The fragile emotional wall I had built over the years crumbled instantly.

In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed my purse and flung it at her. A bloodcurdling scream tore from my throat. Ethan instinctively shielded Mia.

The heavy bag caught him right on the nose, and blood instantly started dripping down his face. Mia started to yell at me, but Ethan silenced her with a sharp look.

She pouted, looking incredibly wronged. But Ethan didn't seem to care about his bleeding nose. He acted as if this was just another one of my regular tantrums. "Chloe, I'm sorry.

This is my fault. I won't let her near you again." Mia stomped her foot in frustration but was reluctantly forced to leave by Ethan.

In my head, the scene of Ethan protecting Mia kept playing on a loop. I closed my eyes in agony.

It took a long time before I could find my voice. "Do my legs really disgust you that much?" Ethan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

I tried my best to ignore the crushing pain in my chest. Disappointment washed over me as I turned my wheelchair around to leave.

Ethan quickly tried to follow. "Chloe, I—" "Don't follow me!" I snapped. When I got back to our apartment, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

Suddenly remembering something, I began frantically searching through the closets. Finally, I found my prosthetic legs, covered in dust in the back corner. I had always hated them.

Seeing them was a constant, brutal reminder of what I had lost. This was the first time I forced myself to actually look at them. They were ugly.

And the harness looked like it would hurt. But I gritted my teeth and strapped them on. I tried to stand up.

I wanted to do a simple turn in front of the mirror, but the moment I let go of the wall, I crashed heavily to the floor.

Frustrated and broken, I slammed my fists against the hardwood floor, crying until my throat was raw. Yet, a stubborn spark of defiance flared up inside me.

I dragged myself up again. This time, I held onto the wall, taking one agonizing step at a time. Every movement sent a shooting pain through my thighs.

Sweat poured down my face, but I kept going, stepping forward again and again until the stumps became completely numb.

By the time I collapsed out of sheer exhaustion, panting heavily on the floor, I finally felt a spark of life in me. That was the scene Ethan walked in on.

He dropped the groceries he was holding, terror written all over his face. "Chloe!" When he saw the blood seeping through the bandages near the prosthetics, his brow furrowed, and he roared, "Do you have to torture yourself like this to be happy?!" Torture myself?

I froze. Then, a low chuckle escaped my lips, turning into a bitter, hysterical laugh. The old Ethan would never have spoken to me like that.

To help me accept the prosthetics, he used to do everything he could to make me smile. He knew that wearing them would at least make me look "normal" to the outside world.

He had even put on a pair of prosthetics himself once, wearing a skirt to dance around the living room just to make me laugh.

When I complained that they were ugly, he had secretly customized them with my favorite patterns. But now, I realized his words from earlier weren't a slip of tongue.

He... had probably been sick of me for a long time. Slowly, I pushed his hands away. Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself back onto my wheelchair.

It took a massive amount of effort, but I managed. No matter how burning his gaze was, I didn't look back at him once. I just wheeled myself away.

Ethan stood frozen in the middle of the room, his fists clenched, staring at the empty hallway. An unsettling wave of anxiety washed over him.

It felt like something was slipping out of his control.

After that day, Ethan became suffocatingly attentive. It felt less like love and more like he was walking on eggshells, trying to buy my forgiveness.

But the nicer he was, the more it reminded me of the terrible things he had said. The contrast was jarring.

When I saw him acting so pathetic and subservient, a part of me felt guilty. But I couldn't just pretend nothing had happened. Today was our second anniversary.

Ethan had spent hours in the kitchen making my favorite dishes, waiting anxiously for my reaction. But the food, which used to taste amazing, felt like broken glass in my mouth.

It felt like the moment I opened my mouth, I would start bleeding. My silence and hesitation finally made him snap.

With a curse, he swept his arm across the table, sending the plates and glasses shattering onto the floor. "Chloe, can you stop frozenshouldering me?!

You’re wiping out two years of my devotion over one stupid sentence!" "I didn't mean to hurt you! I already apologized.

Why do you have to keep bringing it up?!" Ethan clamped his jaw shut, taking a deep breath and rubbing his temples. "Just... think about it." He slammed the front door so hard the walls shook.

I flinched. My nose stung, and tears began to blur my vision. But Ethan, I hate this broken body more than you ever could...

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain shot through my amputated limbs. The phantom limb pain was back. I gasped for air, trying to calm myself down.

The pain lasted for nearly half an hour, leaving me drenched in cold sweat. By the time the physical pain faded, my heart felt completely numb. Ethan didn't come home for a week.

He didn't even text. It was his way of throwing a tantrum, waiting for me to break first and apologize.

After staring at my phone for a long time, I finally decided to send him a message. But before I could type, the doorbell rang. I smiled, thinking it was Ethan.

But the smile froze on my face when I opened the door. It was Mia. She was wearing a sweet, white floral sundress—a style I used to wear all the time.

My chest tightened. "Hey, Chloe. Ethan told me to meet him here," she said, her lips curving into a sweet smile. But her eyes were dripping with malice.

She was marking her territory, showing me she knew Ethan's schedule better than I did. She walked past me, sat on the couch, and pulled a pair of ballet slippers out of her bag.

The movements were so fluid and fast I couldn't even stop her. Right then, the front door clicked open. Ethan was back. "Ethan! Look at the dance shoes Chloe gave me.

Aren't they beautiful?" She stood up, spinning around to show him. But a second later, she screamed and collapsed onto the floor.

Blood began to seep through the pink satin of the shoes. Mia started sobbing hysterically. "My foot hurts so much... Ethan, will I never be able to dance again?" Never dance again.

Those words hit Ethan like a physical blow. Panicstricken, he rushed over, scooped her up, and carefully pulled off the bloody shoe.

A small, sharp razor blade fell out onto the floor. He whipped his head toward me, his face red with rage.

He threw the bloody shoe right at my feet. "Just because I complimented her legs, you tried to ruin them?!" he roared. "Chloe, when did you become so evil?!" I was stunned by the sudden accusation.

Once I found my voice, I quickly defended myself. "It wasn't me! She brought those shoes herself!" Ethan’s scowl deepened. "I bought these shoes for your eighteenth birthday, Chloe.

How would she even know about them if you didn't give them to her?" I shook my head frantically. "I swear, I didn't give them to her!" But my words sounded like cheap excuses to him.

His face was filled with pure disappointment. Mia tugged at his sleeve, tears streaming down her face. "Ethan, don't blame her. I'm sure she didn't mean to.

The blade must have slipped in by accident. It's not her fault..." Ethan looked at me and shook his head, disgust written all over his face.

I instinctively reached out to grab his sleeve, but he slowly, firmly peeled my fingers off. Without another word, he lifted Mia into his arms and walked out the door.

Before they left, Mia peered over his shoulder, giving me a smug, triumphant smirk. Her arms tightened around his neck. It was a setup. I saw right through it.

How she got her hands on those shoes didn't matter anymore. What hurt was that after two years of being together, Ethan didn't believe me.

He had used the word "evil" to describe me. My eyes felt dry. I couldn't even cry anymore. I forced a bitter, selfdeprecating smile. Ethan, you don't love me anymore, do you?

An hour later, my phone vibrated. It was a picture from an unknown number.

In the photo, Ethan was kneeling on the floor, holding Mia's pale foot in his hands, gently wrapping it in bandages. Her other foot was resting on his shoulder.

I stared at the screen, my grip tightening on the phone until my knuckles turned white. I knew that posture so well.

He used to kneel before me exactly like that, tending to my wounds with the utmost care. Now... A wave of nausea hit me. But the real insult came later that evening.

Ethan actually brought Mia back to our apartment without even asking me. As he carried her past me, he tossed a cold explanation over his shoulder. "She lives alone.

She can't take care of herself right now." I caught Mia's smug glance. Slowly, my grip on the wheelchair relaxed. "Fine," I said quietly. Ethan paused, his brows knitting together.

Seeing how calm I was, the veins on his forehead popped. He accidentally gripped Mia too hard, making her wince.

He turned to face me, his face dark with anger. "Are you going to act like this now? Throwing a silent tantrum?" I wanted to laugh. I didn't want to explain myself anymore.

I turned my wheelchair toward the bedroom. But he grabbed the handle of my chair, stopping me. "Chloe, stop this. I brought her here because you hurt her.

I'm trying to make things right for you." "But you shouldn't have let your jealousy make you try to ruin her legs. You—" Before he could finish, I slapped him. Smack!

The sharp sound echoed in the quiet living room.

Ethan stared at me, completely stunned. "When you look at my legs with disgust," I said, my voice shaking but clear, "do you forget why I lost them in the first place?" I looked him dead in the eye, pronouncing every word. "I lost them saving your life." Over the past two years, no matter how much I hated my broken body, I had never thrown it in his face.

I had never reminded him that I lost my legs for him. Because I had seen him crying in the middle of the night, consumed by guilt. I didn't want to hurt him.

But now, it seemed he had forgotten. Ethan's eyes went red. "Are you throwing that in my face now?" he asked, disbelief in his voice. I was about to say yes.

But the front door suddenly swung open, and a deep, smooth voice interrupted us. "Chloe, I'm here to pick you up."