Chapter 1"Ms. Kingston, this is calling from Dignitas Switzerland. I'm confirming—you applied for euthanasia on December 25th?"
Elara Kingston's lashes fluttered slightly, her voice steady. "Yeah. That's me."
"Your application's been approved. You've got two weeks to get your affairs in order."
The second she hung up, the bedroom door burst open.
Nicholas Sterling breezed in with a blast of cold air. The moment he spotted her, his face broke into a smile as he held up a fancy wrapped box. "Hey, babe. Happy birthday."
A faint smile crossed her lips. "My birthday was yesterday."
Nicholas froze mid-motion. Panic and embarrassment flickered across his face.
"Sorry, work's been crazy lately."
He dropped to his knees beside her wheelchair, changing the subject as his hands found her calves. "How're you feeling today? Legs doing okay?"
He pressed too hard. His long fingers turned red, veins popping on the backs of his hands.
His massage technique was professional, the pressure precise. But Elara felt nothing.
When she didn't answer, Nicholas glanced up, mouth opening to speak—then his phone buzzed.
He yanked it out. The second he saw who it was, pure joy lit up his face.
Whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips. He shot to his feet, already moving toward his study.
"Babe, I gotta handle something for work real quick. I'll come back and finish your massage in a bit, okay?"
Elara said nothing. She simply watched him leave.
Even after he vanished through the doorway, that smile of his—the one he couldn't quite hide—kept playing on repeat in her head.
Would work make someone smile like THAT?
That kind of smile, the genuine kind that reached your eyes? That only showed up for someone you were crazy about.
After all, she'd seen that smile many times before.
Every morning in high school, she'd rush downstairs after gulping down her milk, and there he'd be—Nicholas, grinning just like that. He'd walk over with that same smile, take her heavy backpack, and drive her to school.
Back then, they were both eighteen. Young, bright-eyed, bursting with life. They only had eyes for each other.
Two childhood sweethearts, just like a storybook cliché, had fallen for each other.
They dated in secret, hiding from teachers and parents, promising to get into the same college together so they could finally go public.
They pushed each other hard, studied their asses off. Both got near-perfect SAT scores and landed spots at Princeton.
Everything should have ended perfectly there.
But then came the accident.
The day before freshman orientation, they were in a car crash. In that split second, Elara shoved Nicholas out of harm's way.
That day, Nicholas walked away unscathed. Elara lost both her legs.
When it rains, it fucking pours. That same year, her parents died in a plane crash. Unable to process the cascading tragedies, Elara spiraled into severe depression.
Nicholas was heartbroken. The day they graduated, he proposed.
He made her a solemn promise: he would never let her down.
And for three years, he did.
Until two weeks ago, when she found his journal.
The man who whispered "I love you" every night had been bleeding his real feelings onto those pages.
He wrote that his proposal had been driven by moral obligation. If he didn't marry her, everyone would have condemned him.
He wrote that coming home suffocated him. Every minute beside her felt like torture.
He wrote that if he could do it all over again, he'd rather she hadn't saved him. He'd rather be the one in the wheelchair for life—at least then he wouldn't carry this crushing guilt.
He wrote that he'd fallen for someone else. A girl named Valentina Cross. Bubbly, gorgeous, full of life. Just like Elara used to be before the crash.
The next day, Valentina texted her.
[Hey Elara. Nicholas told me your legs are never gonna get better? Look, you guys have history, I get it. But don't you think it's time to let him go?]
[You have no idea how miserable he is. He literally told me he wants to die sometimes. But he can't, because he has to come home and play nurse. That's so fucked up.]
[If he hadn't met me, he would've lost it by now. Doesn't that make you feel bad? He loves ME now. So can you please just stop holding onto him? Let's be adults here. Divorce him and let us be happy.]
Then came the flood of photos—a dozen intimate snapshots of them.
All focused on Nicholas.
Him smiling as he brewed coffee, playfully leaning into Valentina's selfie with a peace sign.
Him peeling a mountain of shrimp and placing it in front of Valentina, wiping sauce off her fingers.
Him following Valentina's footprints on a beach in Montauk, grinning as he handed her a bunch of seashells.
By the last photo, Elara's chest felt like it was being carved open with a thousand knives.
But no tears came. Only emptiness.
She didn't reply. But Valentina wasn't done.
Every single day after that, more photos showed up. Each one time-stamped.
November 21st: Strolling through Central Park at sunset.
November 26th: Pottery class in Brooklyn, making matching mugs.
December 1st: Jazz concert at Lincoln Center, talking about the future.
Every timestamp lined up perfectly with Nicholas's "Sorry babe, stuck at the office" texts.
Even yesterday—her birthday—she'd waited for him all day and all night.
He never came home.
Because he was watching the Brooklyn Bridge fireworks with Valentina instead.
Looking at those photos, Elara laughed until the laughter turned to tears.
Seventeen-year-old Nicholas Sterling had loved seventeen-year-old Elara Kingston with his whole heart.
But twenty-five-year-old Nicholas Sterling didn't love twenty-five-year-old Elara Kingston anymore.
That night, she sat by the window watching the city lights until dawn broke. The next morning, she contacted Dignitas and filled out all the paperwork.
Nicholas, I have nothing left. Nothing but YOU.
And you look at me like I'm your prison sentence.
So I choose to let you go.
And let myself go, too.
Chapter 2
Elara sat alone in the living room for hours. When darkness finally fell, she wheeled herself to the study and knocked.
Nicholas yanked the door open, still fumbling to hang up his phone.
"Babe, look—I fucked up your birthday. But our three-year anniversary's right around the corner. Why don't we do something big for that instead? Your call. Wherever you wanna go, I'm in."
Elara looked at him, her voice soft.
"Switzerland. I wanna see the first snow."
Something flickered in Nicholas's eyes. Surprise, maybe.
"First snow? If we wait another month, we'll get snow right here in upstate New York. We could just stay home, do something cozy. I mean, with your legs and everything... that's a hell of a trip, babe."
Elara shook her head. For once, she pushed back.
She only had fifteen days left. She wouldn't make it to next month.
Seeing how insistent she was, Nicholas didn't argue. He pulled out his phone and booked two tickets to Switzerland for Christmas Day.
Elara knew he'd say yes.
She'd read it in his journal—every time he came home from seeing Valentina, the guilt ate at him a little more. He'd try to make it up to her however he could.
She opened her phone and set a timer. Labeled it:
DEATH COUNTDOWN
After booking the flights, Nicholas looked at her with that tender expression, his voice dripping with indulgence.
"All set. Christmas Day to Switzerland."
Elara watched his eyes glance at her phone screen, then slide right past it. She nodded quietly.
Satisfied, he headed into the bathroom.
Watching him walk away, Elara smiled to herself.
Back in the day, no matter what she was doing, he'd sidle up next to her, peek over her shoulder, ask a million questions just to get her attention.
Now her phone literally screamed DEATH COUNTDOWN in bold letters, and his eyes had swept right past it.
Didn't even notice.
So this was what it looked like when love died.
When both people couldn't stand each other anymore.
But perhaps it was for the best.
Fifteen more days. She could make it fifteen more days.
And it would all be over.
Chapter 3
Elara woke up early the next morning.
Nicholas didn't drag himself out of bed until past ten. He shuffled into the living room, spotted her at the dining table scribbling away, and wandered over rubbing his eyes.
Her notebook was crammed with handwriting. He leaned in, scanning the list.
1. Visit the old neighborhood. Catch up with friends.
2. Feed the ducks at the lake.
3. Get blackout drunk at a bar...
"Babe, what's all this for?"
Elara's pen paused. She glanced up at him.
"Bucket list."
The term seemed to trigger a memory. A fond smile touched his lips. "You made one of these when you were seventeen too. You had this whole list of things you wanted—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His face fell.
Elara knew exactly what he was thinking. That talking about the past would upset her.
But honestly? She was over it. She picked up right where he'd trailed off.
"Yeah. I wrote down a hundred things I wanted to do before I turned eighteen. Bungee jumping, skiing, white-water rafting, surfing... all this crazy stuff. And you were even crazier. You came with me for every single one and filmed the whole thing."
The nostalgia in her voice seemed to pull him back. Nicholas smiled—genuinely this time.
"God, I was obsessed with you. Whatever insane thing you wanted to do, I was right there. I wasn't afraid of anything as long as you were next to me. I literally jumped off a thousand-foot bridge with my eyes closed..."
Elara watched him light up as he talked.
When his eyes finally came back to her, she said quietly.
"It's been a while since I've seen you smile like that."
Nicholas's smile froze.
The air went stiff for a few seconds. He cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"So uh... you want help with this list? Like we used to?"
Elara shook her head. Her voice came out firm. "This is MY list. Not yours. You're busy with work anyway. Don't worry about it."
For some reason, the flatness in her tone made Nicholas's chest tighten.
He wanted to argue—then his phone buzzed.
The second he looked at the screen, that smile came flooding back.
"Sorry, work call. Gotta grab this."
He didn't even look at her as he left the room.
Elara stared at the empty doorway.
She'd turned him down before. Told him she wanted to tackle challenges on her own.
But back then, he wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd beg, pester, follow her around like a puppy until she caved.
Now? He didn't even pretend to care.
He didn't bother with the usual "I'm worried about you" script anymore.
Everyone always said marriage was where love went to die. She used to roll her eyes at that.
Now it felt like gospel truth.
Their love never even made it to the happily-ever-after part. It just... died along the way.
Slowly. Quietly. Until there was nothing left but exhaustion.
Elara finished the list in silence.
At the top of the page, in careful letters, she wrote: FINAL BUCKET LIST.
Her phone lit up on the table.
Another message from Valentina. This time it was a selfie—her grinning in the passenger seat of Nicholas's car.
The first few times these came through, Elara thought the pain would kill her.
But after dozens of them, she felt nothing.
She picked up her laptop, saved the screenshot, and printed it out. Then she tucked it into the drawer alongside the bucket list.
The drawer was already stuffed with printouts like this—evidence she'd been collecting for days.
For Elara, death was mercy.
But that didn't mean she was going to let Nicholas and Valentina ride off into the sunset.
If Nicholas didn't love her anymore, fine. But he should've had the balls to tell her to her face—not sneak around like a coward.
And Valentina? She had no business rubbing Elara's nose in it every single day.
The girl Nicholas wrote about in his journal—bubbly, sweet, full of light—was nothing like the vindictive bitch sending these texts.
Elara was more than happy to make sure Nicholas saw who Valentina really was.
