The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the hospital air as rain lashed against the windows, a storm mirroring the chaos that had torn Mary's world apart. On the white bed, her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Machines beeped beside her, cold and unfeeling. Her once-vibrant body, now weakened, trembled beneath the thin hospital blanket.
She was dying.
But not just from illness—from betrayal.
Outside the room, voices whispered, decisions were made. Her husband, James Green, a man she had once trusted with her life, stood by the hospital director and a panel of doctors. Their words were laced with tension and formality, but the cruelty in them was inescapable.
"She's a match," the doctor confirmed. "The transplant can be done immediately. It's the only chance for Susanna Bredford to survive."
Susanna. The mistress. The woman James had chosen over her. The woman who now—by some cruel twist of fate—needed Mary's heart.
Mary hadn't volunteered. She hadn't agreed. Her voice, weak but resolute, had been drowned in bureaucracy and legal manipulation. James had power, and in a world where power dictated life and death, Mary's will was nothing more than a paper to be overruled.
She stared at the ceiling, tears silently falling as the sedation started to cloud her mind. She heard the nurse murmur softly, almost sympathetically, "You'll be helping save a life."
But whose life was worth more—hers, or the woman who had stolen her husband?
The last face she saw before slipping into darkness was George, her little boy, being held back by the nurses. He was screaming, thrashing, begging them to stop.
"Mama! Mama!"
His cries echoed in her soul as everything went black.