Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

The conference room was vast. A long mahogany table separated them like a canyon. The Notary Public, a stern woman with glasses on a chain, asked for identification. Jada pulled her driver's license from her wallet and slid it across the table. Darius looked at it. Jada Long. He felt a flicker of something-satisfaction? possessiveness?-at the name. But then his eyes fell on the signature line of the document before him, and he knew what was coming. "Sign here, here, and initial here," the lawyer instructed, pointing to the flags on the document. Jada picked up the pen. Her hand was steady. She didn't hesitate. Scritch. Scratch. She signed her name with a clear, defiant flourish: Jada Ryan. She pushed the papers toward Darius. Darius stared at the signature. It was a rejection, a reclamation, an erasure of the last three years. He had never noticed she still thought of herself this way, as separate. As her own person. The realization was like a shard of ice in his gut. He held his pen. He hovered over the signature line. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. He looked up at Jada. "Last chance," he said. "You can stay married and still do the surgery. You don't have to do this alone." "I'd rather die," Jada said softly. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a tombstone. Darius looked down. He signed his name. The scratching sound was loud in the silent room. "The settlement agreement is executed," the lawyer stated, gathering the pages. "We will file with the court immediately. But until the judge signs the final decree, you are, in the eyes of the state, still married." The Notary stamped the seal with a heavy thud. Jada stood up. She felt lighter, yet strangely empty. Like a helium balloon that had lost its string. "The surgery is in forty-eight hours," Darius reminded her, slipping back into business mode. "The car will pick you up at 6:00 AM Tuesday." "I'll be there. I keep my word," Jada said. She turned to leave. "Goodbye, Darius." She walked to the door. Darius felt a sudden, irrational urge to stop her. To grab her hand. To tell her... what? He stood up abruptly. "I'll walk you out." "No need," she said without turning around. "I insist," he said. He followed her. Harrison trailed behind. They exited the office building into the busy midtown street. The noise of the city rushed at them-horns, sirens, chatter. Suddenly, flashbulbs exploded. Pop. Pop. Pop. A dozen paparazzi were waiting at the curb. They shouted questions. "Darius! Is it true about the divorce?" "Jada! Are you really donating your liver to his mistress?" "Look here! Look here!" Darius instinctively raised his hand to shield Jada's face. "Back off!" he roared at the photographers. A sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb. Jada frowned. She had called an Uber. The back window of the limo rolled down. A face appeared. Pale, beautiful, with large, doe-like eyes that seemed to hold all the tragedy in the world. Hazel Lawrence. The paparazzi went wild. "It's her! It's the mystery woman!" Hazel opened the door. She didn't look at the cameras. She looked straight at Darius. "Darius! I was so worried when you didn't answer! I tracked your phone-I thought something happened!" She leaned out, offering a fragile smile to Jada. "Oh, and Jada. You look... tired." Darius looked trapped. He stood between his ex-wife and his dying first love. The cameras were clicking furiously. "Hazel, what are you doing here?" Darius asked, his voice tight. "I came to pick you up," Hazel said sweetly. She extended a thin hand. "Get in. Let's have a thank-you dinner. My treat. We should celebrate the... resolution." Jada laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "I'm not hungry." "Please," Hazel coughed, a pitiful, wet sound that made Darius flinch. She clutched her chest. "It might be my last meal out. Don't deny a dying woman her wish, Jada." Darius looked at Jada. His eyes pleaded with her. Don't make a scene. Not here. Not with the cameras. Jada looked at Hazel's outstretched hand. She looked at the vultures with cameras. "Fine," Jada said. "One meal." She climbed into the car.