After His Mistress Crashed Into Me, He Asked for My Kidney

The next morning, sunlight cut through the hospital blinds. It hit my face, warm and bright. But my chest felt like a block of ice. The door clicked open, and Kaleb walked in. He held a massive bouquet of pink peonies. My absolute favorites. Eight years ago, that would have made my heart race. Today, it just looked like a cheap prop.

He set the flowers on the tray table. He pulled up a plastic chair and sighed softly. His face looked tired. He reached out and covered my hand with his.

"I brought your favorites," he said quietly. His voice was gentle. Like he was talking to a frightened child. "I know yesterday was hard. You were in shock. The trauma from the crash made you say things you didn't mean."

I looked at his hand resting on mine. His skin was warm. I felt absolutely nothing. I slowly pulled my hand away and rested it on my stomach.

His jaw twitched. "Liv, please. The doctors said you need rest. We can talk about the surgery later, when you're thinking clearly. I shouldn't have pushed you so soon."

He was gaslighting me. He was spinning my clear rejection into a medical symptom. I didn't argue. I didn't yell. I just turned my head and looked out the window. The sky was a pale, empty blue.

"I'll give you some space," he murmured. He stood up and smoothed his expensive silk tie. "I'm going to grab a coffee. I'll be right back."

He left the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

The room was quiet for exactly two minutes. Then, a faint squeak of rubber tires echoed in the doorway.

I turned my head. Daniella rolled into the room in a hospital wheelchair. She wore a pristine white silk robe. Her dark hair fell in perfect, glossy waves over her shoulders. The sharp smell of hospital bleach was instantly replaced by the heavy, sweet scent of Chanel perfume. Dying women usually didn't bother with designer fragrances.

She wheeled herself closer. She stopped right next to my bed. Her dark eyes locked onto mine. There was no pain in them. Only a sharp, cold amusement.

"You look terrible, Olivia," she whispered. Her voice was soft and breathy.

I didn't blink. I just watched her.

She leaned forward. "He told me you said no. That's fine. He'll convince you. He always does." She traced a manicured fingernail along the metal bed rail. "He loves playing the hero. But he only does it for me. Remember our sophomore year? He stayed awake for three days when I had the flu. He held my hand the whole time."

She smiled. It was a thin, cruel line. "He owes me his life. You're just the girl who kept his bed warm while I was in Paris. He'll take your kidney, give it to me, and he'll feel like a god. And you'll just do it, because you're pathetic."

I pressed my thumb against the hidden scar on my lower back. I felt the raised tissue through the thin hospital gown. *I am the one who gave him life,* I thought. *Not you.*

I stayed totally silent. My face was a blank mask. Daniella's smile faltered a little. She wanted me to scream. She wanted me to cry. My silence was ruining her script.

Then, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Kaleb's leather shoes clicking against the linoleum.

Daniella's eyes darted toward the door. Her expression changed in a split second. The cruel amusement vanished. Her face crumpled into a mask of pure terror.

She grabbed the armrests of her wheelchair. With a swift, practiced motion, she threw herself sideways.

She hit the hard floor with a loud thud.

"Ahhh!" she screamed. It was a high, piercing wail. "Please! Stop!"

The door flew open. Kaleb dropped his paper coffee cup. It shattered on the floor, spilling hot brown liquid everywhere.

"Daniella!" he shouted.

He rushed to her side and dropped to his knees. He scooped her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing violently. Her hands gripped his shirt like she was drowning.

"She pushed me," Daniella gasped between fake, shuddering breaths. "I just wanted to thank her... and she pushed my chair."

Kaleb's head snapped up. His eyes locked onto me. They were dark and furious.

"What is wrong with you?" he snarled. His voice shook with rage. "She is dying, Olivia! She came to thank you, and you assault her? Have you lost your mind?"

I looked at the distance between my bed and the wheelchair. It was a good four feet. I had a broken rib and an IV in my arm. I physically couldn't have reached her.

Kaleb didn't care about logic. He only saw his fragile savior, broken on the floor.

"I didn't touch her," I said simply. My voice was flat.

"Don't lie to me!" he yelled. He tightened his grip on Daniella. She whimpered softly against his neck. "I knew you were jealous, but this is sick. You're acting like a monster."

I looked at the man on the floor. The man I had loved for eight years. The man I bled for. He was kneeling in spilled coffee, holding a liar, and calling me a monster.

The last thread of my love snapped. It didn't make a sound. It just vanished completely.

"Get her out of my room," I said.

"I'm leaving," Kaleb spat. He stood up, lifting Daniella effortlessly in his arms. "And when I come back, you are going to apologize to her."

He carried her out the door. The wheelchair sat empty in the middle of the room. I reached for the TV remote, turned on the news, and didn't look back.