My Goodbye Drove Him Mad

Half a month later.

The place was wrecked. I was curled up in the corner, hugging my knees, crying like I couldn't stop.

Ten days. That's how long Pedro and I hadn't spoken.

He found out about his mom.

Nellie stepped in, awkwardly dodging piles of clutter, trying to find somewhere to stand.

She hesitated. "You told him the truth, right? So why'd you break up?"

I lifted my head. Eyes puffy, voice raw. "I was a match for his mom. Pedro wasn't. Just me. Tell me that's not the cruelest joke."

I wiped my nose.

"He dropped to his knees at the hospital. Begged me to donate. Said once it was over, we'd finally get married."

Nellie's eyes widened. "You said yes?"

I forced a cracked smile, lips dry.

"I couldn't say no. He looked so desperate. But my body... I could only run. Like a coward. Am I useless?"

Nellie set the camera down and pulled me into a hug.

"You tried. This isn't on you. Things'll get better, okay?

"I've got a relative at the hospital. I'll ask him to look into donors. Someone out there's gotta be a match.

"Just... promise me you won't give up. You said it—you don't want him losing someone else he loves."

Her words made me laugh, tears still streaking down my face.

"What kind of intern jumps into a story like this? You're terrible at being a reporter. But thanks. I'll help you with the filming. Just promise me one thing—don't let Pedro see it."

A week later, Nellie came back with news.

"There's a match? You're not messing with me?"

My heart, dead quiet for so long, kicked back to life.

Even with the swelling, I couldn't hide the smile.

"It's real. Everything's set. You can tell your boyfriend now. Let's go to the hospital—together. Don't give up."

Tears spilled. For the first time in forever, I could finally breathe.

The joy barely lasted three days.

The food container slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor. My scream echoed down the hallway.

"You lied? I said yes to the surgery—where's the kidney? You said she could be saved! I'm done. No more treatment. I want out!"

The last strand of hair had fallen. My skin was breaking down, the stench unbearable.

Nellie grabbed me, holding on tight, voice shaking. "I'm sorry—I don't know what went wrong. Someone else got it.

"Maybe the name change didn't go through fast enough. Another patient couldn't wait.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Please, don't quit. Mrs. Palmer's been through enough. You can't give up too. You still have someone who loves you. Are you really gonna crush him like this?"

I shattered. Threw my phone. Ran back to the room.

Even under the blanket, the sobs wouldn't stop.

Pedro's messages lit up the screen:

[Where are you? The surgery's starting. We had a deal.]

[My mom's crashing. Please, Ruth. I'm begging you.]

[If you're leaving, at least say why. Why vanish like this?]

[Twenty years. Everything she did for you—doesn't that matter? Just tell me why.]

[Ruth, she's gone. The wedding's canceled. We're done. I never want to see you again.]

Below that—my own messages. Dozens.

All failure to send. He blocked me.

Pedro had blocked me the day Mrs. Palmer died.

Nellie's hands shook as she shut off the phone.

She reached for the blanket bundle, pulling it close.

No sound.

Just silence. Still. Dead still.

A chill ran through her.

"Ms. Rackham? Ruth? Ruth, say something!"

She yanked the blanket back.

Blood-soaked sheets.

And me—what was left of me—shattered.

"Ruth!—"