Chapter 7
Chapter 7
“I’ve wrestled with whether to share this truth for years,” the surgeon posted online. “Every
time I came close, I remembered her pleading with us to keep her secret.”
“Had I known she was struggling so much… God, I should have spoken up sooner.”
The news that I’d given Alexander my heart exploded across social media, but I was oblivious in my little sanctuary.
I was picking up fresh produce at the local market when I saw the van coming. Then everything went dark.
I woke up to Rachel’s tear–stained face. She’d made peace with my terminal diagnosis, but
this senseless violence was too much.
The door flew open. Alexander stood there, chest heaving, clothes disheveled, hands bloody from presumably punching walls. His fingers trembled as he held up my medical file.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked.
Watching him cry made me feel strangely hollow. I just smiled. Words seemed pointless
now.
He crumpled to his knees beside my bed, sobbing like I’d never seen before. “I’ll find the best specialists, call in every favor, spend whatever it takes to find you a donor.”
A thousand responses died in my throat. I managed a quiet, “Okay.”
He took me home – not to my apartment, but to the old house. Instead of leaving, he stayed,
caring for me like we were still newlyweds. One afternoon, watching him pull weeds from the garden, I found my voice:
“Emily won’t like you playing nurse.”
He stilled. “I’m divorcing her. All that matters is finding you a heart.” His jaw tightened.
14:50
“And finding whoever tried to kill you.”
I didn’t realize then how dangerous those words were.
The best cardiac teams in the country came through. Millions in treatments bought me time, but my rare blood type made finding a donor nearly impossible.
I understood the odds better than anyone. When I’d given Alexander my heart, our matching blood type had seemed like destiny. Maybe it was just not in the way I’d thought.
Then one morning, he said they’d found a match. Before I could ask questions, I felt the
needle in my arm.
As consciousness faded, I saw him in surgical gear, touching my face with heartbreaking tenderness. “She chose death to save me. Now it’s my turn. Let’s begin.”
I woke to find Rachel with a detective. The truth was brutal: Emily had ordered the hit. Alexander had killed her in retaliation. Knowing prison awaited, he’d spent his final hours returning my heart to me. He signed everything over to me before dying on the operating
table.
I buried him in the plot I’d chosen for myself. Come spring, it will burst with wildflowers.
I think he would have liked that.
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