Drown In Your Own Regret, Ex-Husband

The moment the reservoir railing snapped, my husband’s childhood sweetheart plunged straight into the freezing water. He snatched the safety rope from the rescue post, ready to dive in after her. In my past life, I wrapped my arms desperately around his waist, begging him not to jump. Because of that delay, Chloe stayed submerged too long. Severe oxygen deprivation turned her into a vegetative state. My husband blamed me for everything. On a stormy night, he dragged me down and locked me in the underground storage unit beneath our auto shop. Rainwater gushed through the cracks of the door, rising past my knees, my chest, and finally over my head. The last thing I saw before drowning was the dim ceiling bulb flickering beneath the dark water. He stood at the top of the stairs, smoking a cigarette, his voice ice-cold: "Only when you drown will Chloe's life be paid in full." Now, I was reborn at the exact second the railing gave way. Ethan had already lunged toward the concrete edge. My fingers brushed against the coiled rope. This time, I pulled my hand back. *** When the emergency siren blared, I was standing three steps behind Ethan. In early spring, the reservoir water was barely above freezing. A dozen tourists had crowded onto the observation deck. Nobody knew who had loosened the bolts, but Chloe was leaning against the iron railing in her white dress, posing for a photo. The metal frame gave out, and she flipped backward into the abyss. Screams exploded around us. Ethan didn’t hesitate for a single second. He grabbed the safety line from the nearby wall, looped one end around his waist, and swung his leg over the barrier. "Chloe! Hang on!" In my past life, this was the exact moment I lost my mind, hugging him from behind, sobbing, begging him to wait for the rescue team. Because I could see clearly from above—jagged concrete debris was scattered right beneath the surface. Jumping down wasn’t a rescue; it was suicide. In the end, Chloe stayed in the freezing depths too long and suffered permanent brain damage. She became a vegetable. And Ethan’s entire family pinned the blame squarely on me. "Why the hell did you hold him back?! He’s a champion swimmer! He would’ve saved her instantly!" His mother, Evelyn, grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall. Ethan never spoke a kind word to me again. He spent his days sitting beside Chloe’s hospital bed and his nights drowning himself in whiskey. I pleaded and explained until my vocal cords were raw, but nobody listened. Then came that torrential night. He shoved me into the basement storage, sliding the heavy iron bolt into place from the outside. Stormwater flooded in through the drainage pipes. I pounded on the metal door until my fingernails cracked and tore away. He stood outside on the steps, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Nora, is the water rising fast enough?" "You should finally understand what it feels like to be trapped like Chloe." The dark water covered my face. When I died, my eyes were wide open. Now, opening my eyes again, I stood on that same breezy observation deck. Ethan’s hands had already gripped the rope. Chloe’s desperate shriek echoed from below: "Ethan! Save me!" His leg was already over the concrete ledge. The other end of the safety rope lay right beside my sneakers. According to safety rules, when one person goes over, someone on the deck has to anchor and brace the line. Without an anchor, the rope was nothing more than loose thread. The toe of my shoe touched the loop. In my last life, I held on with everything I had. It cost me my life. I bent down, kicked the rope away from my feet, and took two steps back. Then, matching the panic of the crowd around me, I let out a horrified scream. "Ethan! Don't jump! Wait for the rescue crew!" He didn't look back. His eyes were locked entirely on Chloe flailing in the water below. He dove. The second he hit the water, I watched his body slam directly into a submerged concrete ledge near the base of the dam. A sickening thud. A violent splash exploded into the air. Even so, adrenaline drove him toward Chloe. He hooked an arm around her waist and used his other arm to drag her toward a long bamboo pole extended by people on the lower bank. Chloe was hauled up to safety. Ethan, however, sank like a stone. The water fell dead silent for a few seconds. Someone shouted in panic: "Where's the guy who jumped?!" I dropped to my knees in the crowd, burying my face in my hands as fake tears hit the pavement. "Ethan—!" Nobody noticed that while my voice trembled with despair, my hands were as steady as stone. Ethan. In our last life, you said I owed Chloe a life. In this life, go pay the debt yourself. ***By the time the rescue divers dragged Ethan out from the bottom, his lips were blue and his pupils were blown. There was a nasty, six-inch laceration across his lower back—carved open when he smashed into the underwater concrete slab. His spine was crushed. The paramedics’ faces went grim the moment they touched him. Chloe sat on the riverbank wrapped in a thermal blanket, trembling like a leaf. Aside from swallowing a few mouthfuls of dirty water and scraping her forearm, she was perfectly fine. Two ambulances arrived. Ethan was loaded into the first one. I climbed in behind the stretcher. My phone rang. It was Evelyn. "Evelyn, Ethan jumped into the reservoir to save Chloe." Dead silence on the line for three seconds, followed by a piercing shriek. "What did you say?! How is he?!" "We don't know yet. The ambulance is rushing him to the ER." Evelyn wailed hysterically: "Why didn't you stop him?!" Holding the phone tightly, I stared down at Ethan’s limp body on the stretcher, my voice breaking into a choked sob. "I screamed at him, Evelyn! He wouldn't listen to me! He was determined to save Chloe at all costs!" The weeping on the other end hitched abruptly. That struck right at the nerve. Evelyn adored Chloe, that was true. But no matter how much she loved Chloe, it could never outweigh her only son’s life. At the hospital, Ethan was wheeled straight into the trauma OR. When his father, Thomas, and Evelyn arrived, the red surgical light was glaring bright. Evelyn charged over and grabbed my arm, her face drenched in tears. "How is my son?!" I shook my head weakly. "The surgeons are still inside." She raised her hand to strike me across the face. I didn't flinch. Her hand froze in midair—the OR doors swung open, and a surgical nurse stepped out calling for family consent signatures. "The patient has suffered severe spinal cord trauma. Our preliminary assessment shows extensive lower limb nerve damage. We need immediate authorization for emergency decompression surgery." Evelyn’s slap never landed. She lunged forward to sign the papers, her trembling hands barely able to grip the pen. Thomas stood against the wall, lighting a cigarette that burned down to his fingers without him even noticing. I quietly went down to the front desk to pay the deposits, arrange the admission paperwork, and fill out the insurance forms. I had done all of this in my past life, too. Except back then, I did it for Chloe. The family had forced me to spend every cent of my savings and sacrifice my youth nursing a comatose woman, claiming it was my penance. Now, the person lying under the bright lights was their golden boy. Just before dawn, Chloe arrived. She had changed into clean clothes, her eyes puffy and red, bursting into tears the moment she crossed the threshold. "Evelyn, I'm so sorry... it's all my fault Ethan got hurt." When Evelyn looked at her, her expression hardened. In our past life, Evelyn looked at Chloe with boundless pity. In this life, looking at Chloe only reminded her of one brutal fact: her son was currently butchered on an operating table because of this girl. Chloe hurried over to me, grabbing my hands tightly. "Nora, I swear I didn't mean for this to happen. The railing just snapped out of nowhere." I patted the back of her hand, my tone endlessly gentle. "I know. Nobody blames you. Go home and get some sleep. I'll take care of Ethan." She bit her lip, stubbornly staying put. "I want to wait until he comes out." I didn't say another word. However, the families waiting around the surgical lounge were already shooting cold glances at her. Someone muttered under their breath: "Is that the girl he jumped in for?" "The guy ruined his body saving her, and she’s standing around crying? How awkward." Chloe’s face drained of color. She let go of my hand and took an uneasy step backward. The surgery lasted nine grueling hours. When Ethan was wheeled out, he was completely pale, his lower half secured in heavy braces. The chief surgeon pulled down his mask, exhaustion lining every crease of his face. "We saved his life, but the spinal nerve injury is catastrophic. Long-term mobility depends on recovery, but realistically... he is likely facing permanent paraplegia from the waist down." Evelyn collapsed to the floor right there. Thomas braced himself against the wall, his lips shivering uncontrollably. I stood beside them, eyes red, speaking softly: "Thomas, let me take Evelyn to the waiting room to rest. I’ll stay by Ethan’s bedside." Thomas looked up at me. That look was completely different from the past life. In the past, he looked down on me—a girl who learned mechanics through an apprenticeship, supposedly unworthy of his college-educated son. Now, he gave a heavy, defeated nod. "Thank you, Nora. You're carrying this family." ***When Ethan finally opened his eyes, the first words out of his mouth were: "Where's Chloe? Is she okay?" Evelyn’s hand froze mid-air holding a spoon of warm broth. Thomas lowered the morning paper, his brows knitting into a deep scowl. I sat by the edge of the bed, carefully peeling an apple, the blade never hesitating. "She's fine. Just swallowed some water and scraped her arm." Ethan let out a long breath of relief. "Good. That's all that matters." He tried to shift his legs. His face shifted from calm to absolute terror in less than three seconds. He ripped back the hospital blanket, staring in horror at his lower body. Those two legs lay limp on the mattress, like two dead logs that didn't belong to him. "What's wrong with my legs?!" Nobody dared to answer. The doctor entered the room to conduct sensory reflex tests. A pen cap touched the sole of his foot. Nothing. Tapped his knee. Nothing. Pinched his upper thigh. Ethan's face drained of color, turning ash-gray. "Are they ruined?!" His voice cracked into a frantic tremble. Chloe stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ethan, don't say that! You're going to get better, I know you will!" Ethan’s head snapped toward me, his glare sharp as a scalpel. "Nora! Why didn't you hold the rope?!" I laid down the paring knife, turning my wrist toward him. A bright, angry red welt ran across my skin—a friction burn from when the rope had snapped past. "I grabbed it, Ethan! But you jumped so fast, it ripped right out of my hands!" My voice cracked into a desperate sob, my eyes flooding with tears. "You didn't even wait for me! You just threw yourself off the edge!" Evelyn looked at the raw mark on my wrist, her expression torn between guilt and grief. Ethan opened his mouth, completely speechless. Chloe sobbed louder by the door. I lowered my head and continued peeling the apple. The blade glided smoothly against the crisp skin, peeling it in one unbroken, perfect ribbon. Lie there and soak it in, Ethan. Everything you owe me, I am going to reclaim piece by piece. ***During his second week in the hospital, Chloe came by every single day. She brought homemade soup, fresh bouquets, and cookies she baked herself. The nurses all got to know her, praising her for being such a sweet, devoted friend. She would pull up a chair next to his bed, reading him news from her phone. "Ethan, did you hear? That hotpot place near our old block shut down." "Ethan, the forecast says next week will be sunny. As soon as you're discharged, I’ll push your wheelchair through the park." Whenever Ethan looked at her, a faint spark flickered in his dead eyes. But nursing a paralyzed man takes more than sweet talk. Ethan couldn't turn over without someone lifting him. He had to be sponge-bathed, and his catheter bag had to be emptied and sanitized daily. He hated that more than anything. He used to be the sharpest, most capable mechanic at the shop. He could slide under a chassis in his grease-stained overalls and tear apart a V8 engine with his bare hands. He had broad shoulders, defined arms, and an arrogant stride. Now, he couldn't even sit up without panting. That afternoon, the orderly stepped out to grab hot water. Only Ethan, Chloe, and I were left in the room. Chloe was holding up her phone, showing him old photos. In the picture, they were standing outside the auto shop, Ethan's arm thrown casually over her shoulders, flashing a cocky, handsome grin. "Look how cool you were back then, Ethan. Once you recover, we'll go back to—" She stopped midsentence. Ethan’s face twisted violently. He tried to hoist himself up with his elbows, his neck veins bulging, his core failing to engage. He turned his desperate eyes toward me, gritting his teeth. I pretended to be engrossed in my phone. The air in the room shifted. Chloe froze. Her nostrils flared slightly as she instinctively held her breath, leaning back by a fraction of an inch. It was just an involuntary reflex, but Ethan caught it. His face flushed crimson with shame, before turning completely white. "Get out." Chloe panicked: "Ethan, I didn't mean—" "GET THE HELL OUT!" He seized the stainless steel thermos from the bedside table and hurled it with all his strength. The flask hit the tiled floor, burst open, and boiling water splashed across Chloe's sneakers. She shrieked, leaping backward in fright. Ethan slammed his eyes shut, his chest heaving violently. I got up and took Chloe gently by the elbow. "Go wait outside. He needs a minute to calm down." Out in the sterile hallway, Chloe shook like a leaf, weeping into her hands. "Nora, I swear I wasn't disgusted by him." I handed her a tissue. "I know." She dabbed her eyes, looking at me with wide, frightened eyes. "Nora... is he going to stay like this forever?" I looked deep into her eyes. I saw guilt, terror, and beneath it all, something far uglier: the desperate urge to run. In our past life, when Chloe was the one lying comatose, Ethan worshipped her like an untouchable saint. In this life, with Ethan lying in his own filth, all she felt was the urge to flee. I said softly: "The doctor said neurological rehab takes years. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. Just visit him whenever you have free time." She nodded frantically. "I will! I definitely will!" Her words came fast, but her eyes were completely hollow. That evening, Evelyn arrived. When she heard about the outburst, her face darkened into a storm. She didn't offer a single word of comfort to Chloe. She only snapped at the orderly: "From now on, do not leave this room unattended." Chloe stood by the corner of the corridor, head down, fidgeting awkwardly. In the past life, Evelyn would have wrapped her in a hug, cooing: "My poor sweet girl, you've suffered so much." In this life, Evelyn’s glare communicated only one brutal thought: *If it weren't for you, my son wouldn't be a useless cripple.* ***On the day Ethan was discharged, Thomas told me to step back from the garage and focus entirely on taking care of him. Carter Auto was the family’s lifeblood. Thomas had built the business from scratch with a single toolbox thirty years ago. Ethan was their star technician; they had planned to transition the garage into a high-end custom modification shop this year. Now, Ethan sat in a wheelchair, unable to even tighten a lug nut. Back at the house, Evelyn prepared a lavish dinner. Nobody had an appetite. When Ethan tried to pick up a piece of chicken, his hand trembled, and the meat slipped onto the tablecloth. Evelyn immediately moved to help him. He slammed his fork down on the wood: "I can feed myself!" The room fell deathly silent. Just then, the doorbell chimed. Chloe stood on the porch holding a large fruit basket. "Thomas, Evelyn, I came to check on Ethan." Evelyn shot Ethan a sideways glance. Ethan’s eyes lit up for a fleeting second before sinking back into a bitter darkness. "Come in, then." Chloe walked over, knelt beside his wheelchair, and looked up at him with a soft, practiced smile. "Ethan, our preschool is hosting a parent-child sports festival next month. The kids prepared a dance routine. If you're free... would you like to come watch?" Evelyn scowled: "What business does a man in a wheelchair have at a sports festival?" Chloe bit her lip. "I just thought getting some fresh air would lift his spirits." Ethan stared down at her face, and after a heavy pause, rasped: "Okay. I'll go." I quietly cleared the plates, offering no opinion. In our past life, Ethan loved nothing more than watching Chloe sing and dance surrounded by little kids. He used to say Chloe was born to be adored by everyone. He used to say that her glowing in the sunshine with children was the most beautiful sight in the world. It was good for him to go see it. He needed to see what his precious white angel really looked like when faced with the reality of his shattered body. On the morning of the sports festival, Ethan insisted that I dress him in an expensive button-down shirt. He even made me style his hair with pomade. When I pushed his wheelchair toward the preschool gates, several parents waiting outside glanced over, their whispers drifting on the wind. "Isn't that Miss Chloe's friend?" "Yeah, the one who ended up paralyzed after saving her at the reservoir." "What a shame. Such a good-looking guy." "Wait, isn't Miss Chloe dating the new gym teacher now?" Ethan’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheelchair armrests. I stood behind him, silent as a shadow. Out on the turf, Chloe was wearing a sporty tracksuit, her ponytail bouncing as she laughed and guided the children through warm-ups. Under the bright morning sun, she was undeniably radiant. Light, carefree, and glowing—as if the tragedy at the dam had never happened. Standing beside her was a tall, athletic man. He wore a matching tracksuit, broad-shouldered and straight-backed, bending down to tie a little girl's shoelace with easy grace. Chloe turned and whispered something in his ear, and they both burst into laughter. The faint smile on Ethan’s face froze solid. When the performance ended, he commanded in a dry, hoarse voice: "Push me over there." I wheeled him through the milling crowd until we stopped right in front of Chloe. When she saw Ethan, her smile faltered. "Ethan! You made it!" The man beside her turned around. Ethan glared at him like a venomous snake. "Who is this?" Chloe quickly spoke up: "This is Liam, our new physical education instructor." Liam extended a hand politely: "Nice to meet you." Ethan didn't reach out. His eyes tracked down, staring fixedly at Liam’s legs. Two long, perfectly straight, sturdy legs standing effortlessly on the grass. "Do you two work together all day?" Ethan’s voice was dangerously quiet. Chloe’s expression tightened: "Ethan, we're just coworkers." "Coworkers," he repeated, letting out a dry, raspy laugh. That laugh sounded like crushed glass grinding against bone. He didn't utter a single syllable on the ride home. As I pushed his chair down the sidewalk, we passed a large storefront window. The glass reflected his slouched, helpless silhouette trapped in the metal frame. He violently jerked his head away, refusing to look. ***After the preschool incident, Chloe vanished for three days. She sent a short message on SnapChat claiming she was swamped with end-of-term evaluations. Ethan stared at that text for five minutes before smashing his phone into the wastebasket. He began fiercely rejecting his physical therapy. When the visiting therapist knocked, he locked the door. When the home nurse tried to adjust his posture, he hurled profanities. When Evelyn carried a tray of food into his room, he threw the plates right back out into the hall. One night, I heard strange thuds coming from his bedroom. It wasn't crying. It was the dull, rhythmic sound of heavy fists smashing repeatedly into his own dead thighs. I stood outside the door for a moment, listening, before turning around and heading back to the sofa. Meanwhile, Carter Auto was unraveling. Thomas had pre-existing health issues—chronic hypertension and severe lumbar disc herniation. The shop had relied entirely on Ethan's youth and skill. With Ethan paralyzed, the veteran mechanics began walking all over Thomas. Some took lucrative private side jobs behind his back; the parts manager pocketed kickbacks from suppliers; others cracked beers during their shifts. Thomas screamed at the crew until his blood pressure spiked to 180, nearly collapsing on the greasy shop floor. In the end, I was the one who stepped into the bay. Before I married Ethan, I had worked as a mechanic for three years. I started from the bottom and knew how to disassemble and rebuild every engine in town. After our wedding, Ethan banned me from touching tools, saying a woman with oil-stained hands was an embarrassment. Now, nobody dared complain about the smell of oil on my skin. I reorganized the shop’s accounting ledgers, fired the corrupt purchasing agent on the spot, and overhauled the shift schedules. Then I called our commercial fleet clients, locking in long-term fleet maintenance contracts. Within two weeks, our net revenue actually climbed higher than when Ethan was running the floor. The way Thomas looked at me shifted completely. In the past, he treated me like a rag—thinking his college-educated son had married down by taking in a girl from vocational trade school. Now, he said gently: "Don't work past midnight, Nora. Take care of your health." Evelyn even started saving the best portions of dinner for me. "Nora, dear, I stewed some pork ribs today. Eat up, you've been working so hard." In four years of marriage, that was the first time she had called me by my name with genuine warmth. Before, she only ever referred to me as "that girl" or "Ethan's wife." The extended family was even more blunt: "The Carters would be ruined if it weren't for Nora." "Thomas, your daughter-in-law is a godsend." "With Ethan like this, thank God there's a capable woman keeping the roof over your heads." When those whispers drifted back to Ethan’s bedroom, he went on another rampage, smashing everything within arm's reach. That night, he summoned me into his room. The heavy blackout curtains were drawn shut, the air thick and choking with stale cigarette smoke. He leaned against the headboard, his eyes cold and predatory. "Nora, you must be feeling pretty damn smug, aren't you?" I placed his evening medication on the nightstand. "You're overthinking things." He glared at me: "The garage belongs to my father. You're worming your way in and taking control—what’s your angle?" I looked him dead in the eye. "Ethan, your dad’s blood pressure nearly gave him a stroke on the shop floor. You can’t run the business right now. Someone has to." He sneered bitterly: "So you've just been waiting for this? Waiting for me to become a cripple so you can steal the shop?" I handed him a glass of water. "If you don't trust me, hurry up and get on your feet so you can take it back yourself." His hand jerked. Those words sounded like encouragement, but they were pure poison to his pride. He fell silent for a long time before swallowing the pills with a trembling gulp. I turned toward the door. From behind me came his low, menacing rasp. "Nora, you'd better be sincere about this." I closed the door behind me without looking back. Don't worry, Ethan. Every single move I make is entirely sincere. I am sincerely waiting for you to walk yourself into an inescapable grave. ***