Chapter 3My Girlfriend Broke My Hands to Help Her Childhood Crush Win

I met Sienna Hartwell during college.

She saved me once, pulling me back just as I was about to step into traffic while lost in thought.

I looked up, heart pounding, and was met with the face of an angel.

That moment stuck with me. I couldn’t help falling for her, partly out of gratitude and partly because she seemed so perfect.

After months of pursuing her relentlessly, she agreed to date me.

But as we grew closer, I noticed something unsettling.

In Sienna’s heart, there was always someone more important than me—her childhood friend, Ashton Hale.

It didn’t matter what we were doing. If Ashton called, she’d drop everything and rush to his side.

The night before the National Piano Championship, she even tricked me into going to the rooftop of our building, locking me there overnight.

I spent hours in the cold, pounding on the door, while she ignored my calls. The next day, feverish and completely drained, I missed the competition entirely.

Meanwhile, Ashton claimed first place.

When I confronted her afterward, Sienna dismissed it with an excuse. “I did it to repay a debt,” she said lightly.

Ashton’s mother, Isabel Hale, had worked for the Hartwell family as their housekeeper. After Ashton’s father left, Isabel brought him along to live in the Hartwell mansion.

Years ago, a fire broke out at the estate. Isabel had already escaped but ran back inside to save Sienna.

Sienna lived; Isabel didn’t.

The Hartwells raised Ashton like their own, showering him with love and opportunities.

Sienna, feeling eternally indebted, treated Ashton like a prince. She fulfilled his every request—no matter the cost to herself or others.

And now, to ensure Ashton’s victory at tomorrow’s audition, she had gone so far as to shatter my fingers.

Why? Why should I pay the price for a debt that wasn’t mine?

Whenever I questioned her loyalty to Ashton, she flew into a rage, insisting they were like siblings.

“Siblings don’t treat each other like that!” I wanted to scream, but I held my tongue.

Time and time again, I forgave her. Out of love. Out of gratitude.

But this time, as I stared at my bloodied, mangled hands, all I could do was laugh bitterly.

My life had been hard enough without this.

When I was six, my dad left us. My mom fell apart, sinking into depression and self-harm. She abandoned her own dreams of becoming a pianist, too broken to play anymore.

One day, she heard me tapping out a melody on our battered old piano. Something inside her came back to life.

She started teaching me, pouring everything into me.

She took odd jobs—delivering food, scrubbing dishes—just to pay for my lessons.

By the time I entered college, all that sacrifice had taken its toll. Cancer claimed her.

Before she passed, she held my hand and whispered her final wish: “Caleb, promise me you’ll follow this path. Join an orchestra. Become the pianist I never could be.”

Now, because I loved Sienna, I had failed her dream.

My hands, my future—they were all gone.

I used to wonder how my mom could waste away over a man who abandoned her.

But now I understood.

This is the price of loving someone.

And I’ll never love again.