My Cheating Boyfriend Was Just a Stand-in

Kason seemed caught off guard for a second—like he hadn't expected me to let him off the hook that easily. When he finally spoke, his voice came out rough, scraping past his throat. "Lisa... why are you forgiving me so easily?"

I held his gaze, trying to layer his face over Grady's. No surprise there—it didn't work. A dull throb spread through my chest, and I couldn't stop the bitter smile from tugging at my lips. God, Lisa. This is what you get. You used him as a stand-in without a second thought, and now that you've gone and fallen for him, he goes and cheats. You deserve this. But what was the point of explaining all that to Kason? So I forced a smile and said, "Because I don't want to lose you."

The next stretch was brutal. I tried again—really tried—to see him as Grady's replacement. But it was like running face-first into a wall every single time. And Kason? He caught on that I "couldn't leave him." That made him bolder. His little slip-ups turned into routine side pieces. He even let his mistress come at me directly.

Watching her scream insults in my face, I just felt... drained. Kason showed up quick, handled her, but never once apologized to me. Instead, he looked at my dazed expression and sighed, "Lisa, maybe we should take a break."

I froze. Tears slid down my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. The words slipped out before my brain could catch up: "No..."

Maybe my waterworks freaked him out more than he could handle, because he took back the breakup talk real fast, soothing me with sweet nonsense. So we stayed together. Like two idiots stuck in the same loop.

Maybe it was too much for him to watch me suffer—because that night, Grady came to me in my dream. In it, I asked him, "Grady, are you mad at me? Mad that a year after you left, I got tangled up with someone else? Mad that I stupidly fell for him?"

He was just as gentle as I remembered. Softly rubbing my head, he said, "Lisa, you know I've never been mad at you. If being with Kason makes you happy, then go for it. But if he makes you sad—that's on him, not you. I just want you to stay healthy and happy, Lisa. Don't be sad..."

Those were the last words he ever said to me. I was an orphan whom the Ruiz family had supported through their charitable foundation, and I was raised alongside Grady. When his kidneys began to fail, we discovered that I was a rare match. No one ever forced me, but out of love and gratitude, I made up my mind early on: when the time came, I would give him one of mine.

Grady had kidney failure and needed a transplant to survive. The Ruiz foundation gave me an education and a stable home, but they never treated my care as payment for an organ. Maybe it was because we grew up together, or maybe it was just how caring he was—either way, I fell for him. I confessed. He felt the same. We were a thing.

While I was in college, Grady got really sick and had to get treatment overseas, so we barely saw each other. I worried about him constantly, always asking when he'd get the surgery. He'd always brush it off with, "Lisa, no rush. We need to make sure you're healthy enough for the operation to go smoothly."

So I busted my ass to stay in peak condition and called him every single day just to check on him. Then came the brutal months of juggling finals and graduate school applications—exhausting, nonstop stress. On the day I received my acceptance letter, I called him to share the news. Instead, I found out he was critically ill. Too far gone. A transplant wouldn't even help anymore.

That was my first time flying internationally—alone. Over twenty hours just to see him at his overseas clinic. He looked like a withered leaf, clinging to the last bits of oxygen from that respirator. I collapsed by his bed, sobbing, "Why didn't you tell me, Grady? I was ready for you!"

He grabbed my hand and whispered, "Don't cry, Lisa. I told them not to tell you because even with the transplant, I didn't have much time left. But you... losing a kidney would mess you up in the long run..."

He couldn't even finish the sentence—he was that weak. I bawled harder, "But did you ever ask me what I wanted? You just decided this was better for me! I don't want you to die..."

He struggled to lift his hand and rested it on my head, saying softly, "Don't blame yourself, Lisa. I just want you to be healthy and happy... Don't be sad..."

When I woke up from that dream, all the memories of Grady I'd buried deep came rushing back like a dam breaking. And just like that, I saw with absolute clarity: Kason could never, ever measure up to Grady.

For a while after that, Kason actually kept his act together. But cheating is like a one-way street—once you're on it, there's no turning back. Three months later, he cheated again. But by then, I'd finally snapped out of the whole "loving him" spell, and I was back to seeing him as Grady's substitute. Sure, they weren't twins, but they still had that faint trace of similarity in their eyes.

Until today. That car crash had sliced a scar straight through his left eyebrow, cruelly erasing the final trace of resemblance he shared with Grady.