The Day I Finally Let You Go

1 The eighth time I caught Victoria cheating, I lost my mind. I grabbed the glowing tip of a lit cigarette and pressed it down toward the bare skin between her thighs. "Do whatever you want," she said. Faced with my ragged, trembling fury, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t even try to pull away. She just closed her eyes, wearing an expression of pure, unadulterated exhaustion. That single sentence nailed my hand in midair. I froze. A hollow confusion washed over me, leaving me utterly adrift. What was I actually trying to do? Over the past few years, in my desperate bid to keep her, I had already done everything imaginable. I had slashed my wrists. I had stood on the ledge of an eighteen-story roof. I had dragged reporters into motel rooms to catch her in the act. I had even cracked open a gas valve, threatening to blow us all to hell. In my daze, the lighter slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor. My five-year-old daughter, Daisy, walked over, picked it up, and pressed it back into my trembling palm. Her dark eyes were terrifyingly calm. "Daddy, are you throwing another fit to make us all die with you?" she asked. "If Mommy and I agree to die with you this time, will you finally leave Uncle Tyler alone?" I stared at her, my throat constricting. "What did you say?" "She means we're done fighting you," my father said, his voice heavy with despair as he stepped into the room. He let out a long, defeated sigh. "Ethan, we’re all exhausted from your endless drama. Aren’t you... aren’t you tired too?" Tired? How could I not be tired? Yet looking at the three faces I loved most in this world, seeing the guarded disgust and silent resentment in their eyes, I realized that my years of agony had been nothing more than a pathetic, humiliating joke. A wave of profound helplessness swallowed me whole. A quiet thought bloomed in the dark corners of my mind: Maybe it’s time to let myself go. Maybe it’s time to give them what they want. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. The dropped cigarette burned into my palm, searing flesh, but I barely felt it. Victoria and my father didn’t move an inch. Their faces wore that familiar look of cynical resignation—here he goes again. Only Daisy took a step forward, looking down at me with an eerie, emotionless stare. "Burning yourself won't kill you, Daddy," she said flatly. "Uncle Tyler was right. Watching you pretend to commit suicide all the time is just annoying." She pointed a tiny finger toward the French doors of the balcony. "We’re on the eighteenth floor. If you really wanted to die, you’d just jump." My entire body went rigid. It felt as though a sledgehammer had slammed into my chest, knocking every breath from my lungs. Before I could even process the words, my father panicked, clamping his hand over Daisy’s mouth. "What are you saying, Daisy? Apologize to your father right now!" He leaned down, hissing under his breath, "Do you want him to lose his mind and attack Tyler again?" Turning back to me, my father forced an agonizingly tight smile. "Ethan, she’s just a baby. She doesn't know what she's saying—she just repeats things she hears on TV. I said those words earlier, not Tyler. If you’re angry, take it out on me, okay?" Daisy seemed to realize she had crossed a line. She crept forward, tugging timidly at the hem of my shirt. "Daddy... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it..." I stared blankly at their moving lips. It took several seconds for my fractured mind to put the pieces together. The girl on the left was my flesh and blood. The man on the right was the father who raised me. A sickening, absurd laugh bubbled in my throat. To protect an interloper—a man who had wrecked my home—my five-year-old daughter was coaching me on how to kill myself properly, and my own father was desperately taking the blame just to shield him from my wrath. I forced the corners of my mouth into a brittle smile. I couldn't stand the sight of them for another second. Bracing a hand against the wall, I tried to pull myself up, desperate to get out of that suffocating room. The moment I moved, Victoria lunged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist from behind. She held on with desperate strength, terrified that if I walked out that door, I would go straight for Tyler’s throat. Catching my blurred gaze, she tightened her grip and spoke in a voice that was dripping with forced sweetness. "Ethan, today is your birthday. I’ll make a reservation at that little Italian place downtown—the one where we had our first date, remember? Please, let's just stop fighting. Okay?" She thought she was hiding it well, but I caught the flicker of visceral disgust in her eyes. My father immediately chimed in, overly eager: "Yes! Let’s book the table right now! Ethan’s always loved seafood, and he's allergic to mangoes—see? Dad remembers everything!" Daisy blinked, then nestled against my arm, putting on her sweetest baby voice. "Daddy, you said you loved their garlic butter shrimp, and you promised you'd learn how to make it for me. I haven't had your cooking in so long..." Watching their seamless, rehearsed shift into the picture-perfect family made a cold dread seep into my bones. I didn't know whether to scream or weep. They remembered every single detail about me. They shared every precious memory of my past. Yet, when the line was drawn, every single one of them stepped over to stand by Tyler's side. I had lost them completely. All the love, warmth, and family bonds I had bled myself dry trying to reclaim could be bought in an instant—simply by threatening Tyler’s comfort. Seeing that I wasn’t pulling away, Victoria let out a quiet sigh of relief and pressed herself further against my chest. "Let's just have a nice, quiet birthday together. As a family. Please?" I didn't answer. My eyes drifted past her shoulder and landed on a used condom wrapper discarded near the base of the bed frame. My father noticed it instantly. With a quick, practiced flick of his foot, he kicked it deep under the bed, looking up at me with an apologetic, awkward grin. Victoria reeked of Tyler’s cologne. That scent, combined with the cowardly, placating smile on my father’s face, sent a violent surge of bile up my throat. I couldn't take it anymore. I shoved Victoria away with all my remaining strength and stumbled blindly into the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet as dry heaves tore through my ribs. I retched until the taste of copper filled my mouth. Gasping for air, I scrambled toward the medicine cabinet, tore open several prescription bottles, and shoved handfuls of pills into my mouth, swallowing them dry. Only when that familiar, heavy numbness began to creep through my veins, dulling the razor-sharp agony in my chest, did my breathing finally steady. I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my attorney: Draft the divorce papers. As fast as humanly possible. I pushed myself up and flushed the toilet. But beneath the rush of running water, the muted, irritated voices outside drifted through the wooden door. Daisy let out an exaggerated, grown-up sigh. "What's wrong with him now? Did I not act well enough? I practiced those lines for so long! Why didn't it work?" My father whispered back, his tone dripping with resentment: "Who knows why he’s so impossible to please? I was hoping we could wrap this up quickly so we could go celebrate Tyler’s birthday. Ethan ruins everything on purpose—he even had to be born on the exact same day as Tyler." Victoria stayed silent for a long moment before letting out an exasperated breath. "Forget it. He just wants attention like always. If we leave him alone, he'll only get more unhinged. I'll go check on him." When Victoria pushed the bathroom door open, I was staring down into the small trash can. Lying on top of the tissues was a pregnancy test. Two distinct, dark pink lines stared back at me. Her steps faltered. Then, with practiced indifference, she said, "A friend and her boyfriend crashed here for a couple of days while they were in town for a conference. She must have left it." I gave a faint nod, a dry, bitter laugh escaping my throat. "Right." Her lies were always so seamless, so reasonable. Fortunately, I didn't need to waste energy dissecting her bullshit. Tyler always made sure the truth found its way directly to my inbox. Without a word, I turned my phone screen toward her. It was an album of photos Tyler had sent me just an hour ago. One showed Tyler accompanying Victoria to an OB-GYN clinic yesterday—taken right around the time I was bleeding out from a depressive episode at home. Another showed Tyler holding hands with Victoria and Daisy as they walked into Disneyland last weekend—the very afternoon I was trapped in a malfunctioning elevator for four hours, nearly suffocating. I didn't need to guess who took those pictures. The third-person angles had my father’s framing all over them. In the photos, they were smiling, laughing, the epitome of a warm, wholesome, ordinary family. I remembered asking Victoria twice to take Daisy to the theme park with me. Both times, she had sneered and called it "childish and a waste of time." Standing in that sterile bathroom, the final illusion shattered. I was the parasite. I was the intruder in their perfect little world. The moment Victoria recognized the photos, her pupils contracted violently. She didn't apologize. Instead, she lunged forward, her hands closing tightly around my throat, slamming me backward against the marble vanity. Her nails dug into my flesh, her eyes bloodshot with rage. "Ethan Miller! What the hell are you planning to do to Tyler?!" she hissed. "I told you, as long as you leave him alone, I'll play along with whatever you want! Why do you keep terrorizing him?!" My head cracked hard against the mirror behind me. Darkness exploded in my vision, followed by the warm, sticky rush of blood pooling down my neck. When my vision cleared, I looked at her chest heaving with panic and terror. A dull ache settled in my chest. How long had it been since I last saw Victoria lose control like this? I couldn't remember. The last time she had looked this terrified was four years ago, during the car accident. I had thrown my body over hers when the semi-truck hit us; a shard of metal had impaled my skull, causing massive intracranial hemorrhaging. My heart had stopped twice on the way to the hospital. That night, the proud, untouchable Victoria Scott had dropped to her knees on the filthy emergency room floor, banging her forehead against the linoleum, begging the surgeons to save my life until her forehead bled. Just like I was bleeding right now. As blood dripped past my eyebrow and hit the porcelain sink, Victoria recoiled as if burned. Her hands dropped, her face pale. "Are... are you okay?" I stared quietly into her eyes, seeing the broken, bloodied reflection of myself. I opened my mouth, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "Victoria, let’s get a div—" Before the word could leave my lips, her phone rang. It was a custom, high-priority ringtone. Her hand, which had been reaching out toward my bleeding head, froze instantly. Without a second thought, she snatched her phone and answered. Tyler’s tearful, choked-up voice spilled out of the speaker. Victoria’s expression darkened instantly. When she turned back to look at me, all trace of hesitation was gone, replaced by pure, murderous hatred. "Ethan Miller, I'm saying this once and only once," she said, her voice deadly cold. "You can take your anger out on me all you want. But if you touch a single hair on Tyler’s head, I will make sure we burn together." The door slammed shut with a deafening bang before I could finish my sentence. All I wanted to tell her was: Victoria, let's get a divorce. I'm letting you go. And I'm finally letting myself go, too. SMASH. A thick ceramic mug shattered against the side of my head without warning. The world spun violently. The room tilted sideways, and I crashed heavily onto the cold floor tiles amidst jagged ceramic shards. Daisy stood in the doorway, her small hands balled into fists, her face twisted in the exact same fury as her mother's. "You're a liar, Daddy!" she screamed, tears of rage in her eyes. "You always pretend you're going to die, but you never actually do! Uncle Tyler is crying because of you!" I lay there for a long time, the ringing in my ears deafening, before I pushed myself onto my elbows. I looked into those dark, shiny eyes that once mirrored my own. "Daisy," I said, my voice steady, pronouncing every word with agonizing clarity. "Your Uncle Tyler will never cry because of me again. Tomorrow, I'm divorcing your mother. From this day on, I am no longer your father." Her screams cut off instantly. She looked at the gash on my forehead, where blood was steadily pouring down my face. Her tiny fingers twitched. Slowly, she walked toward me, crouched down, and gently placed her small palm over the bleeding wound. A memory flashed through my mind—years ago, when I accidentally cut my finger while chopping vegetables for her soup, she had run over and gently blown on the cut, whispering, All better, Daddy. A sharp pang of grief hit my nose. Just as I opened my mouth to speak— Daisy shoved her small fist violently into the open wound. Agony tore through my skull like a lightning bolt. My whole body convulsed, and tears of sheer physical shock flooded my eyes. Daisy pulled her hand away, looking down at her blood-soaked palm, and broke into a broad, triumphant grin. She spun around and bolted down the hallway, her voice singing with pure delight. "Grandpa! Grandpa, tell Uncle Tyler to stop crying! I got revenge for him!" "I made Daddy bleed so much! Look at my hands! Look at all the blood!" My father’s anxious voice echoed from the living room: "Oh, sweetheart, don't touch that, it’s filthy! Go wash up quickly. Tyler faints at the sight of blood—don’t you dare scare him!" Their hurried footsteps faded toward the front door, ending with the dull click of the lock sliding into place. Not a single person looked back. I lay in the pool of my own blood, staring blankly at the empty hallway. Strangely enough, the raging storm inside me had vanished completely. There was only silence. A few minutes later, I dragged myself through the shattered glass, picked up my cracked phone, and dialed 911. When the paramedics wheeled my gurney into the emergency room, I caught a glimpse of Tyler being rushed in through the opposite doors, surrounded by my family. Victoria was holding his hand, frantically screaming at a triage doctor: "Doctor! Please, save him! He had a mental breakdown and slit his wrist! He needs a blood transfusion right now!" The ER doctor, whose path was blocked, shoved her aside impatiently. "Get out of the way! My patient has critical trauma! He has a severe intracranial re-bleed over an old surgical site! Can't you see this man is bleeding out?!" Victoria stumbled backward, instinctively looking toward the gurney. When she saw my blood-drenched face, she froze completely. My father reacted faster. The moment he recognized me, he marched over and slapped me across the face with everything he had. SLAP. "Ethan Miller, you pushed Tyler to the brink of suicide just to get back at him?!" he roared, his voice cracking with fury. "How did I raise a monster like you?! If Tyler dies tonight, do you expect me to live the rest of my life drowning in guilt for your murder?!" My head snapped to the side from the blow. I didn't make a sound. I just looked at him with hollow, dead eyes. Seeing my complete lack of reaction, my father broke down entirely, his voice turning into a desperate sob: "Tyler has Rh-null blood... you're the only matching donor in this entire city. I'm begging you, Ethan... donate your blood to him. Please." The trauma surgeon beside me snapped furiously, "Are you insane?! This patient cannot donate blood! He is suffering from massive hemorrhaging and severe drug-induced coagulopathy—if we take his blood, he dies on the table!" A heavy thud cut the doctor off. Victoria’s knees hit the linoleum floor with brutal force. "Ethan, please save Tyler," she begged, looking up at me with a humility I had never witnessed in all our years together. "I swear to God, if you save him this once, I will come back to you. We'll go back to the way things used to be." I looked down at her. And then, everything around me seemed to slow to a crawl. I watched my father—a man whose pride had never allowed him to bow to anyone—drop heavily to his knees beside her. I watched Daisy being pulled down, grabbing the edge of my gurney, crying and pleading for Uncle Tyler’s life. They were screaming, begging, weeping. But the sound was just white noise. Given a binary choice between my survival and Tyler’s comfort, the three people who were supposed to love me most in the world had banded together to push me into the grave. My vision blurred into a gray haze. In the end, I heard a faint, distant voice leave my lips: "Okay." The heavy double doors of the operating room swung shut, swallowing both gurneys at the same time. Victoria collapsed against the corridor wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold floor. She had never felt this kind of paralyzing terror before. The image of the gaping, bloody wound on Ethan’s head wouldn't leave her mind. It looked identical to the horrific gash from the car crash four years ago. A tight, suffocating panic squeezed her heart, making it hard to draw a full breath. Regret began to gnaw at her. Seeing her state, my father and Daisy hovered nearby, anxious. My father furrowed his brow, speaking in a low, trembling voice, as if trying to convince himself: "Ethan's wound just looked dramatic... he's always had a hard head. He'll be fine, right?" Daisy stared at her little shoes, twisting her fingers together. "If Daddy saves Uncle Tyler... I’ll apologize to him as soon as he comes out." Victoria didn't respond. Her mind was gripped by a single, desperate prayer: Before the emergency blood supply arrives, Ethan has to hold on. She told herself that if Ethan survived this, she would keep her promise. She would cut Tyler out of her life entirely. She would dedicate herself to repairing their marriage. Her thoughts drifted further back. She remembered how Ethan had asked her, multiple times, to take Daisy to Disneyland. She had dismissed it as childish and refused every time. When he wakes up, she thought frantically, we will go. Just the three of us. The red light above the operating room blinked off. The doors pushed open, and the lead surgeon walked out, his scrubs stained with dark spots of blood. He held a clipboard and a pen, extending them toward Victoria. The moment Victoria read the bold header at the top of the form, the blood drained from her face. Her vision blacked out, and the entire world went completely silent.