Chapter 3
If he stayed–if he chose me, just this once–I swore I’d let it all go. I’d forget the texts, the pictures, the lies. I’d bury the betrayal so deep it’d never touch daylight again. I wouldn’t mention Zoraya. Wouldn’t bring up the wrapper, or the desk, or how he left me sick and alone. I’d forgive him. Because I loved him.
But then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen–face blank, unreadable.
Then without a word, he stepped away from me. Just a few paces. But it felt like a chasm opened between us.
He answered. Then I heard her voice, tinny but unmistakable through the receiver.
Zoraya. “I’m vomiting, Zeus,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think I’m pregnant… Can you come with me to the clinic? I’m scared.”
My ears rang. My vision blurred, like my body was trying to protect me from hearing the rest. He turned slightly, like he might check if I was listening–then walked farther into the hallway, lowering his voice. But it was too late. I’d already heard everything.
The truth wasn’t a knife–it was a slow, cold burn.
He came back a minute later, casual like nothing had happened. Tossed on his jacket.
“I got a sit–down with Santino’s crew,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Could turn into a war if I don’t show. I’ll be back early though. Don’t worry–go watch your shows, rest up a bit. I’ll be home before dinner.”
Liar!
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
He leaned down, fixed the blanket around me like I was a child, kissed my forehead like I was his home. And then he left. And the door didn’t just close behind him. It buried me.
Then I turned and signed the damn paper.
Organ donor.
I went to the Hospital alone. Dr. Alex slid it back toward her and gave me this soft, cautious look. She was pale, well–dressed, probably a few years older than me, and completely out of place in the underworld we floated through.
‘You sure about this?” she asked. “If your people disagree, they can override your choice.”
‘I don’t got people,” I said. “No family. Just let them take what they can.”
At least if I end up six feet under, someone out there might get a second shot.
She hesitated. I caught a flicker of guilt in her eyes.
“It’s alright,” I added. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’ve been hearing bad news since I was fifteen.”
“Actually, it’s… not as hopeless as it looks. Chemo and precision therapy could buy you time. And the baby’s still early. We could-”
“I know,” I cut in, my voice calm. “If it was early–stage, maybe I’d fight it. But it’s not. And I’m not
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