The Scapegoat Fiancée: I Am No Substitute

Alessia POV:

The air in the attic was thick, heavy with dust and trapped heat.

I sat on the edge of the cot, my gaze fixed on the burner phone in my hand.

My flight was rebooked for 6 AM. Five hours.

I just had to survive five hours.

My regular phone, the one the family monitored, buzzed on the floor like an angry hornet. It was Dante.

I shouldn't have answered. My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling. But a sick part of me needed to hear it. I needed the final nail in the coffin.

"What?" I answered.

"She's sedated," Dante said, his voice rough with exhaustion. "God, Alessia. Why did you have to push her? You know how sick she is."

"Sick?" I laughed softly, a dry, humorless sound. "She's not sick, Dante. She's evil."

"She has leukemia!" he shouted, the desperation cracking his voice. "She has been fighting it for years! That's why she's frail. That's why I protect her. She could die any day!"

I froze.

The lie was so big, so audacious, it took my breath away.

"Is that what they told you?" I whispered, the words leaving me on a breath of disbelief. "Is that why you stayed by her side while I rotted in prison? Because you thought she was dying?"

"I know she is," he said defensively. "I saw the donor records. She had a bone marrow transplant three years ago. It saved her life."

"Yeah," I said, tears finally pricking my eyes. Not for me, but for the sheer stupidity of it all. "She did have a transplant."

"So show some compassion!"

"Dante," I said, my voice trembling. "Who was the donor?"

"It was anonymous. The registry."

"No," I said. "It wasn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was the donor, Dante."

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence stretched between us.

"You were in prison," he said slowly. "That's impossible."

"They transported me to a private clinic in Jersey," I said, my voice gaining strength from the memory. "Under guard. In the dead of night. They took my marrow, Dante. They told me it was for you. They said you were sick. That's why I did it. That's why I didn't ask questions."

I gripped the phone tighter.

"They drilled into my hip bone. They didn't wait for the anesthesia to fully kick in because they were in a rush. I took every second of that pain because I thought I was saving your life."

I heard his breath hitch.

"That's... that's a lie," he stammered. "Chiara said... your parents said..."

"Check the scar on her lower back," I said. "Then check mine. Oh wait, you can't. You're marrying her."

"Alessia, you're lying. You're just jealous. You're bitter because of prison."

"Bitter?" I asked. "I gave you seven years of my freedom. I gave her the marrow from my bones. And you call me a liar?"

"It doesn't make sense!" he yelled. "Why would they lie?"

"Because she is the golden child!" I screamed back, the tears finally spilling over. "And I am just the spare parts to keep her whole!"

"I don't believe you," he said. The words were quiet, final.

"You've changed. You're cruel now."

The last ember of hope in my chest, that tiny, foolish spark that still loved him, flickered and finally died.

"Goodbye, Dante," I said.

"Alessia, wait-"

I hung up.

I popped the SIM card out of the family phone. I snapped the plastic in half. Then, with a surge of cold finality, I snapped the phone itself.

I threw the pieces into the trash.

I laid back on the dusty cot. My hip ached, a phantom pain from a surgery three years ago that I had done for love, twisted into another chain to bind me.

But the chains were broken now.

He didn't believe me. He chose the lie. He chose her.

I closed my eyes. For the first time in seven years, I wasn't waiting for a visit. I wasn't waiting for a letter. I wasn't waiting for justice.

I was just waiting for a plane.

And when I woke up, I would be a ghost.