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

The room was dead quiet after Kaleb carried her out. The only sound was the drip of his spilled coffee hitting the linoleum. I stared at the empty wheelchair in the middle of the room. Then, I picked up my phone from the tray table.

My thumb hovered over Kaleb’s contact. Eight years of messages. Good morning texts. Heart emojis. Plans for the future. I pressed 'Delete'. It was that simple. The screen went blank, and I felt a strange, sudden sense of relief.

I pushed the thin hospital blankets off my legs. A sharp pain stabbed my ribs, but I ignored it. I reached over and pulled the IV tape from my arm. A drop of blood welled up, but I just pressed a cotton ball to it. I found my clothes in the plastic patient bag in the closet. My jeans were ruined from the crash, but my oversized sweater was fine. I put it on slowly. Every movement hurt. But staying in this bed hurt more.

I packed my phone charger and my wallet into my small tote bag. I zipped it shut. I was done.

The door swung open just as I slung the bag over my shoulder. Kaleb walked in. His jaw was set tight. His eyes were dark. He looked ready for a fight. He expected me to be crying. Or screaming. Or begging for his forgiveness.

Instead, he saw me standing by the window in my own clothes.

He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted from my sweater to my tote bag. "What are you doing?" he demanded. His voice was sharp.

"I'm leaving," I said. My voice was completely flat.

"You have a broken rib, Olivia. Get back in bed." He took a step toward me, using his CEO voice. The one that meant he was in charge.

I reached into my pocket. I pulled out the black velvet box he had left on the tray table earlier. I walked up to him. I didn't flinch when I got close. I took his right hand and pressed the box firmly into his palm.

"We're done, Kaleb," I said quietly.

He stared at the box. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Stop being dramatic. I told you I'd give you time to think about the surgery. You don't have to throw a tantrum."

"It's not a tantrum." I looked right into his dark eyes. I searched for the man I used to love. He wasn't there. Maybe he never was. "I'm breaking up with you. Officially."

His face flushed. The muscles in his neck tightened. "Because I got mad about Daniella? She was on the floor, Olivia!"

"Because you are completely blind," I said. The words slipped out like ice. "You see what you want to see. You believe what you want to believe. And I am done paying for it."

"You're not thinking straight." He tried to hand the box back to me. "Take this. Sit down."

I stepped around him. "Keep the ring. Give it to your savior."

I didn't wait for his reply. I walked out the door. The hallway stretched out in front of me. I put one foot in front of the other. I didn't look back.

The hospital lobby was bright and busy. I stood at the discharge desk, signing papers with a shaking hand. My ribs throbbed with every breath.

"Liv!"

A sharp, loud voice cut through the noise. I turned around.

Arabella Mills marched through the sliding glass doors. She wore a tailored Burberry trench coat and oversized Chanel sunglasses. She looked like she had just stepped off a runway, not a transatlantic flight from London. In one hand, she held her rolling designer luggage. In the other, a massive iced coffee.

She shoved past a slow-moving orderly and rushed to my side. She pushed her sunglasses up into her blonde hair. Her eyes scanned my pale face, my messy hair, and the way I was clutching my side.

"I came straight from JFK," she breathed. She shoved the iced coffee into my free hand. "What the hell happened? Fletcher told me about the crash. Where is Kaleb?"

"Upstairs," I said. I took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and bitter. Exactly what I needed.

Arabella frowned. Her perfectly manicured fingers gripped my arm gently. "Why are you down here alone? Why are you in your street clothes?"

"I broke up with him."

Arabella froze. The bustling lobby seemed to quiet down around us. She stared at me, searching my face for a joke. She only found a dead, hollow calm.

"He asked me for my kidney," I said softly. "For Daniella. He brought a ring to bribe me."

Arabella didn't gasp. She didn't cry. Her eyes darkened. The worry in her face vanished, replaced by something cold and terrifying. It was pure, calculated rage.

"He did what?" she whispered. Her voice was dangerously low.

"He wants to harvest my kidney for his ex-girlfriend," I repeated. "And when I said no, she threw herself out of her wheelchair to make him hate me."

Arabella's jaw locked. She looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep, steadying breath. When she looked back at me, her eyes were like daggers.

"Okay," Arabella said. She pulled her phone from her coat pocket. Her thumb flew across the screen. "Fletcher owes me a favor. That little French-kissing fraud is going to wish she died in that crash. Come on, Liv. We're getting you out of here."

She wrapped her arm around my uninjured side. We walked out the glass doors into the cold New York air. For the first time in eight years, I felt like I could finally breathe.