My Husband Is the Perfect Kidney Donor to His Mistress

My colleagues at the hospital started giving me strange looks.

They'd gather in corners whispering, exchanging meaningful glances whenever I walked by.

Occasionally I'd catch snippets of their conversations.

"What's going on with Dr. Porter's husband?"

"He's got a mistress, obviously."

"Having a mistress is one thing. But bringing her to our hospital and flaunting their relationship? That's just cruel."

"I heard Dr. Porter did something to deserve it. They've been married five years and still no kids."

"She's busy, and she's only 28. Not wanting children yet is normal."

"No, that's not it. You know how much she loves children. I heard she wants them but can't have them."

"Really? Why not?"

"Well, female infertility comes down to a few things, doesn't it? Congenital issues, or not taking care of herself..."

Weathering these strange looks and knowing sighs, I headed to Ava's room. The moment I pushed open the door, I found her nestled in David's arms, the two of them completely wrapped up in each other as if no one else existed.

Ava now needed dialysis twice a week. Her complexion had turned ashen, and her body appeared swollen.

David was feeding her home cooked chicken soup—nutritious and flavorful without needing much salt or seasoning, perfect for someone with uremia like Ava.

David was feeding her with a meticulousness and patience I'd never seen from him before.

"She doesn't need that much help. She has kidney failure, not quadriplegia," I said coldly.

"Look at her condition, and you still say things like that? Do you have any heart left?" David showed zero guilt at being caught. His face hardened as he demanded, "Where have you been these last few days?"

"I've been treating other patients. She's not the only person in the world with kidney disease," I shot back.

David's eyebrows shot up as he fumed, "I asked the nurses. They said you haven't even been at work."

I couldn't take it anymore. "Maybe I couldn't show my face, okay? Maybe I didn't want to watch you two playing house in my workplace, with you feeding her soup lovingly. Did you think of that?"

"Dr. Porter, you've got it all wrong. David and I are just old classmates. He's only taking care of me out of pity. There's nothing between us," Ava chimed in, turning to David with a helpless expression. "David, forget it. I'm giving up treatment. Don't blame Dr. Porter. Without a donor, there's nothing she can do. If anyone's to blame, it's me for getting this death sentence of a disease."

Ava struggled to get up, but David pushed her back down. "Ava, focus on getting better. Don't worry about anything else."

He turned to me, his face twisted with rage. "Layla, what kind of person are you? Do you want her to die? What's so hard about donating a kidney to save her?"

David's eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me. "After five years of marriage, I never knew you could be so vicious. What kind of doctor are you?"

"Ha!" I laughed bitterly.

How absurd that a man scheming to force his wife to donate a kidney to his mistress would have the audacity to call her vicious.

Blood rushed to my head as I made a decision. "David, don't say I didn't give you and your 'old classmate' a chance."

"When I said we'd start matching with you, I wasn't kidding. Your blood type is also type O!"

I pulled out two organ donation consent forms and threw them in David's face.

"You sign, then I'll sign!"

The papers hit him with a sharp slap. David looked stunned.

He glanced down at the forms, confusion and panic flickering in his eyes.

"What are you doing? To save Ava, we only need one kidney. Why two forms?"

I replied with mockery in my voice, "David, kidney transplants aren't just about matching blood types. To ensure viability, we need to match HLA antigens—the more matches, the higher the success rate."

"Beyond blood type and HLA, there's another crucial factor: the lymphocyte cytotoxicity crossmatch test. This step is absolutely critical and determines whether the transplant can proceed."

"Generally speaking, married couples often test negative—meaning compatible for transplant—due to body fluid exchange," I added meaningfully.

David avoided my gaze. He leaned down and gently wiped the corner of Ava's mouth.

"Ava, what would you like for dinner? How about some broccoli soup?"

Ava wasn't falling for it. Her eyes lit up as she grabbed David's hand. "David, would you donate your kidney to save me?"

David tried to subtly pull his hand away, avoiding eye contact. "Of course I want to save you, but a man's kidney is important. I've heard it affects male... performance. I should discuss it with my wife."

"Right, Layla?" He looked at me.

"That's a myth!" I responded without hesitation.

"I'd agree no matter what!" I twisted the knife deeper.

David froze, then growled under his breath, "Layla, have you lost your mind?"

"Whether I've lost my mind doesn't matter. You're not refusing to donate, are you?"