Oceans and Mountains Between Us Chapter 1

The world spun into a blur. Then, nothing. During our aerial lift, my partner—my husband—should have been there. But his arms weren’t.

I crashed. Just like that, my legs were gone. Paralyzed.

Iain wept, swearing it was a clumsy mistake. He promised to care for me forever.

Then he claimed our savings were drained and stopped my treatments—only to buy his first love a couture gown.

I missed my treatment window. I’d be bedridden for life.

As I grieved, I overheard him on the phone:

“You dropped Vivian on purpose so Sienna could win.”

After a silence, Iain replied, heavy with false guilt: “I wronged Viv, but I’ll be responsible. She lost her legs and dream, but she has my love.”

My future stretched empty and dark. I found a blade and drew it across my wrist.

As blood bloomed on the sheets, Iain leaned over, red-eyed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I take it all back.”

* * *

“Your eyes are red again, darling.”

Iain’s voice, a gentle murmur as he hung up the phone, was as tender as ever.

He walked over to my bedside, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is the pain acting up?”

For a moment, I couldn’t tell which version of him was real. The man on the phone, or the one standing before me.

“The dance company just called,” he said. “I have to head over for a bit.”

The company? Wasn’t he just on the phone with his friend, mocking my entire existence?

I stared at him, searching his eyes for the slightest flicker of deceit. He held my gaze for a second, then his own flickered away, just for an instant.

His tell. He was lying.

“They said they might be able to lend me some money,” he added, the lie growing smoother. “Enough to cover your treatment costs.”

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips.

Just a few days ago, a nurse had come to the room, her expression apologetic, to inform me my bill was severely past due. That was why my physical therapy had stopped. That was why I wasn’t getting better.

When I’d asked Iain, his face had crumpled with worry. “Treating your legs has wiped me out, Viv. But don’t worry. I’ll take out a loan if I have to. I’ll get it paid.”

I waited.

And waited.

Until yesterday, when the doctor delivered the verdict with clinical finality: “You’ve missed the optimal window for recovery. It’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be able to stand again.”

In that moment, I understood. My life was over. I was a bird with broken wings, destined for a cage.

“Okay,” I whispered, turning my head away. “You should go.”

I lay down, not clinging to him as I usually did, not begging him to stay. I waited until the door clicked shut, then I buried my face in my pillow and let the sobs wrack my body.

I cried until exhaustion pulled me under, only to be jolted awake by the blare of the television news.

It was her. Sienna.

She’d just won another major Latin championship and was surrounded by a swarm of reporters, microphones thrust in her face.

It was like looking at a ghost of my former self. Before the fall, I was the one who won every competition, the one bathed in the flash of cameras, the one showered with praise.

“Sienna, congratulations on your victory! Who is the most important person you want to thank tonight?” a reporter asked.

“My first love,” she answered, her voice sweet and breathless. “For always being there for me, for encouraging me. He even gave me this dress!”

“That looks like a custom couture gown!”

“Oh, that’s not important!” she said, blushing prettily. “What’s important is how good he is to me! Okay, okay, no more gossip!”

She cast a playful, happy glance to the side. And in the corner of the frame, I saw it. A sliver of a pale blue shirt sleeve.

The same shirt Iain was wearing today.

My hand tightened on the bedsheet, knuckles white. It could be a coincidence. Just the same brand, the same style. It had to be.

My fingers trembled as I dialed the number for the head of our dance company. With every ring, my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm.