Chapter 4: The Day I Chose Life

My mind kept flashing back to childhood memories. Evan and I were truly childhood sweethearts. We were neighbors, living across the hall in the faculty housing at Maple Heights High. Both our parents taught at the school, and our families were as close as one.

The hallways always smelled like chalk dust and coffee. Our parents would leave us home alone with stacks of homework and frozen dinners. Evan made it all feel like an adventure.

Evan was three years older. When I was born, he pointed at my chubby cheeks and said, "She’s so round and cute—like a chipmunk." My parents, struggling to name me, immediately decided to call me Harper.

He’d tell that story at every birthday, grinning like he was still five years old. I used to roll my eyes, but secretly, I loved it. I’d look forward to hearing it every year.

As a kid, Evan adored me. He was still a child himself, but he learned how to hold me, make formula, and push my stroller downstairs. Whenever adults teased him, asking who he was carrying, he’d answer seriously, "She’s my little sister."

He’d carry me piggyback down to the playground, making sure I never scraped my knees. He was my protector, my hero.

Both our parents were busy teaching senior classes, rarely home. Evan was mature for his age, so the adults trusted him. He took on the responsibility of looking after me—he spent more time with me than my own parents.

He’d make us grilled cheese sandwiches, read me bedtime stories, even help me with my math homework. He was the glue that held our little world together.

On my first day of kindergarten, he held my hand and told my classmates, "Harper is my sister—no one’s allowed to bully her."

I remember feeling invincible, like nothing bad could ever happen as long as he was there.

From then on, he was always my protector, handling and arranging everything for me. In elementary school, I struggled with math—he patiently tutored me every night. Before every big test, he’d check my pens and erasers to make sure I was prepared.

He’d quiz me with flashcards, cheering every time I got one right. I thought he could fix anything.

He waited for me before and after school, rain or shine. He even got good at braiding my hair—he could do more styles than my mom. He even filled out my college application for the same school as him.

He’d sit me down on the couch, a brush in one hand and a YouTube tutorial on his phone. I’d complain, but secretly, I loved those moments. I’d never admit it out loud.

I’d always loved drawing, even took art classes. I wanted to major in design in college, but he said the art world was too wild and told me to study English. I was used to listening to him, so I agreed without thinking.

I never questioned his decisions. He always seemed to know what was best—for both of us.

Evan was always top of the class, handsome and popular—a school legend. Because of him, everyone at school knew me. I was always "Evan’s little sister," the one he protected. No one dared mess with me, or even try to date me.

It was a blessing and a curse. I was safe, but I was also alone.

Until college, when someone asked me out my first month. Evan found out, grabbed my hand, and told the guy, "She’s my girlfriend. Stay away."

The guy backed off, and just like that, I went from little sister to girlfriend. It felt like a dream come true.

My heart pounded. And just like that, I became Evan’s girlfriend—the envy of every girl on campus.

People whispered about us in the halls, but I didn’t care. I finally had everything I’d ever wanted.

Everyone knew how outstanding he was—tall, handsome, top student, winning scholarships every year. By junior year, he’d started his own clothing brand with classmates, earning his first fortune.

He was on magazine covers, giving interviews. I watched from the sidelines, proud and a little in awe.

He was the perfect boyfriend, too. Everyone saw how much he spoiled me. At the cafeteria, he never let me stand in line. He always opened my drinks or put the straw in for me.

He’d show up with my favorite snacks, walk me to class, even carry my backpack. My friends joked that he was training to be a househusband. Honestly, I wondered if he’d missed his calling.

He often treated my roommates to meals and brought them snacks, asking them to call him if I ever needed anything. He knew my closet better than I did, and would remind me what to wear when the weather changed.

He’d text my roommates if I forgot my umbrella, send reminders about doctor’s appointments. He was everywhere, all the time.

To everyone, Evan was the ultimate "dad boyfriend"—people joked he treated me like his daughter. They said I must have saved the galaxy in my past life to deserve him. I used to laugh, but part of me wondered if they were right.

By the time I graduated, he was already running a successful company. I’d started working as an English teacher at a top high school. After just a month, a coworker started pursuing me.

He brought me coffee every morning, left little notes on my desk. Evan found out and put a stop to it immediately. Typical.

Evan found out and immediately helped me quit. He arranged for me to be his assistant—easy work, nice coworkers, regular hours. I became a total couch potato.

I didn’t have to do much—just file papers, answer calls, and show up on time. It was easy, almost too easy.

I thought life would go on like this: marry Evan, have kids, and live my dream. But I never expected people’s hearts to change. The man who promised to take care of me forever fell for someone else. The lifelong partnership we planned—he let go halfway and left me behind.

The rug was pulled out from under me. I never saw it coming.

I’d never lived independently. Everything was either done for me by Evan or taught to me by him. He said he liked how much I relied on him. So I became his dependent, unable to live on my own—just as he wanted.

He built me a cage, and I decorated it with flowers. I didn’t realize I was trapped until it was too late. Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.

But then he didn’t want me anymore. He pried my clinging hands off, one by one. Crippling loneliness and fear crashed down on me. I was lost and scared, with no idea where to go.

The world felt too big, too loud. I didn’t know how to be alone.

Because of how tightly Evan managed my life, I didn’t even have a single friend—he was my only one. He said he didn’t like me chatting and laughing with others; he’d get jealous. He wanted me all to himself. I thought it was sweet. Now, I know better.

I let him isolate me, thinking it was love. Now, I saw it for what it was: control.

Now, I couldn’t even find someone to talk to. In a daze, I drifted between sleep and wakefulness, my mind foggy. When I finally came to, it was because I was starving.

I wandered the apartment, aimless. Days blurred together until hunger finally pulled me back to reality. My stomach growled, reminding me I was still alive.

I checked my phone—it was already past two in the afternoon. I’d been in bed that long. I washed up and went downstairs to get food. While crossing the street, lost in thought, I didn’t notice a car coming.

The screech of brakes jolted me back. The world went black.

When I woke up, my parents were at my bedside, eyes red from crying.

They looked older, smaller than I remembered. I felt a wave of guilt crash over me.

"Silly girl, it’s just a breakup—why would you try to kill yourself?" my mom sobbed.

Her voice was raw, full of pain. I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but I couldn’t move.

"I didn’t—" I tried to explain, but my chest hurt so much I couldn’t speak.

My throat was raw. I wanted to tell them the truth, but the words wouldn’t come.

"We know. Evan posted a photo of his new girlfriend on Instagram," my dad said quietly. "We know how much you loved him, but your life is about more than just romance."

He squeezed my hand, his eyes soft. For the first time, I realized how much they cared.

I nodded silently.

Tears welled up, but I blinked them away. I’d hurt them enough already.

I’d thought losing Evan would be worse than death, that I’d never get over it. I was so dependent on him, I thought I’d never move on. At my lowest, I wondered what the point of living was—maybe dying would be easier.

But I really hadn’t meant to kill myself. When that car came at me, I was wide awake. I was terrified. All I could think was, I can’t die, I don’t want to die.

The fear was overwhelming. In that split second, I realized I wanted to live.

Turns out, I was afraid of death. In that moment, I was just unwilling. Maybe that "life flashing before your eyes" thing is real—time seemed to slow, and I thought of a million things before I was hit. The smell of asphalt, the glare of headlights, the way the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

I saw my parents, my childhood home, the places I’d never been. I wanted more time.

I didn’t want to die. I was still young, and looking back, I realized I’d never really done anything for myself. For over twenty years, my whole life had revolved around Evan. It was like I’d never lived for myself or accomplished anything of my own.

I deserved more. I wanted more.

Maybe it was a moment of clarity before death, but I realized I’d wasted my life. No! I couldn’t let it end like that. When I woke up, I was just grateful—overjoyed to be alive. Thank goodness I survived.

The relief was overwhelming. I promised myself I’d never take life for granted again.

I was in the hospital for over a month, my parents always by my side. They clearly felt guilty. My dad kept saying it was their fault for not being good parents.

He’d pace the room, muttering apologies. My mom brought homemade soup, fussing over every detail. I’d never felt so loved.

They’d trusted Evan to look after me, thinking he was responsible and outstanding. But it wasn’t really their fault. Evan was the kind of kid every parent wished for—smart, responsible, excellent at everything. Of course my parents liked him. Honestly, so did everyone else.

He’d been the golden boy, the son they never had. I couldn’t blame them for trusting him.

When they found out we were dating in college, they thought they’d struck gold. They told me I was lucky to have such a perfect son-in-law.

They’d brag about him to their friends, show off his awards. I used to bask in the glow.

But I didn’t blame them. I’d made my own choices. Besides, people’s hearts are unpredictable. Who could have guessed Evan would change?

I took responsibility for my own life. It was time to start over.

After I was discharged, my parents helped me pack up my things. They didn’t want me living alone anymore and insisted I go back to our hometown with them.

We boxed up my apartment in silence, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air.

When we opened the door, Evan was coming out with a suitcase, Dana by his side.

The sight of them together made my stomach turn. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm.

"Harper, what happened to your arm?" he dropped his suitcase and rushed over to check my bandaged arm. "Did you fall on the stairs? I’ll ask the building to fix the lights."

He reached for me, concern etched on his face. I stepped back, unwilling to let him touch me.

He reached out to steady me, but I pulled away. He awkwardly froze. "You blocked me for over a month—I had no news from you. I just wanted to see if you were okay and pick up some things."

His voice was pleading, but I heard the guilt underneath.

He really did look worried—but I knew it was just habit. After caring for me for over twenty years, it was second nature.

Old habits die hard. But I wasn’t his responsibility anymore.

Just like me—my first instinct on seeing him was to feel wronged, wanting to whine and have him comfort me like before. But I forced myself to hold back. No matter how strong a habit, I’d break it eventually.

I bit my tongue, refusing to give in. I was stronger than that now.

My parents came back from buying water. "Mr. Whitlock?" my dad said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

He set the bottles down, eyeing Evan with suspicion.

My dad snorted. "If we hadn’t come, you’d have bullied my daughter to death."

His words were sharp, but I knew they came from love.

My mom took my hand and looked at the two of them. "Is this your new girlfriend? She’s certainly beautiful—no shame in losing to her. Don’t worry, Harper won’t bother you anymore. We’ll take care of our own daughter."

She squeezed my hand, her message clear. We were done here.

Dana bit her lip, looking upset. Evan whispered something in her ear, and she nodded and left. He really was protective—just a couple words from my mom, and he was rushing to comfort her.

The sight made my stomach twist. I turned away, focusing on packing.

My parents helped me sit on the sofa and started packing my things. Seeing how quickly we finished, Evan looked shocked.

He hovered in the doorway, uncertain. I ignored him.

"What are you doing?"

He sounded lost, almost childlike.

"Can’t you see? We’re taking Harper home."

My dad’s voice was firm. There was no room for argument.

He seemed anxious. "I told Harper she could keep living here as long as she wanted. If she minds, I can transfer the deed to her."

He fumbled for solutions, desperate to make things right.

"We don’t want your house. If our daughter wants a home, she doesn’t need charity from outsiders," my dad said coldly.

His words were ice. Evan flinched.

"I know—I was wrong. I failed Harper. You can yell at me all you want—I deserve it. But I never forced her to move. Harper is someone I’ve looked after since childhood. Even if there’s no romance, I’ll always treat her as my little sister. I’ll help her find a better job than she had at my company—"

His words tumbled out, desperate. I felt nothing.

"No need!" my mom cut him off. "Since you’ve broken up, don’t contact her anymore. It’s only fair to your new girlfriend. Our daughter doesn’t have a brother—she’s an only child."

Her voice was final. I felt a surge of gratitude.

As we reached the door, Evan called out, "Harper, are you really leaving?"

I didn’t look back. I didn’t owe him anything.

"Goodbye," I said without looking back.

The word tasted like freedom.

To make it up to me, my parents even retired early, saying they wanted to travel with me.

They sold their house, bought an RV, and mapped out a cross-country road trip. I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears.

"You don’t have to," I protested, half-laughing, half-crying.

I tried to talk them out of it, but they were determined.

They’d always been so dedicated to their work, often staying late at school. I didn’t want them to give up their passion because of me. But they said they’d spent years focused on work, neglecting their family, and while they had no regrets about their careers, they felt they owed me. They said it was time to put family first, no matter what.

They promised we’d make new memories, just the three of us.

They insisted on retiring and took me traveling. In half a year, we visited the country’s most beautiful places. Touring mountains and rivers, marveling at nature’s grandeur, I found my heart slowly opening up.

We watched the sunrise over the Grand Canyon, hiked through the Smoky Mountains, and ate our way across the South. Each day, I felt a little lighter.

The suffocating weight in my chest gradually faded. I became more cheerful, little by little.

I started to laugh again, to dream. Life felt possible.

There really is so much beauty in the world—I hadn’t even started to experience it. How could I let a failed romance ruin me?

I promised myself I’d never let anyone define my worth again.