My Husband Stole My Daughter's Heart for His Mistress

The smell of disinfectant was so strong it sat in the back of my throat.

I stared at the hospital bed. Lily was buried under a mess of tubes and machines, her tiny body barely making a shape under the blanket. Her face was white, except for an ugly flush across her cheeks that had nothing to do with health.

I was back here. This room, this bed, this god-awful smell — all of it. I'd lived through this before. I'd died after this. And somehow, I was standing here again.

My hands were shaking when I reached for her. Her fingers were warm. Still warm.

The tears came before I could stop them.

"Alright, Elena. We need to step out." Markus's voice, right behind me. Calm. Steady. Like he was running a meeting.

The nurse waved us toward the door. I forced myself to let go of Lily's hand and followed him into a small office down the hall.

He put a pen in my hand and pointed at the form on the desk.

"You saw her yourself. Every minute she stays on life support is just dragging out her suffering." He tapped the paper — an organ donation consent form. "Sign it. Let her go in peace."

That tone. That flat, rehearsed tone.

Something snapped inside me. My tears dried up like someone had flipped a switch.

I slammed the pen on the desk and shoved his hand off my shoulder.

"I'm not signing. Lily is not brain-dead."

He froze.

"Elena — we talked about this. You saw the diagnosis yourself. This is the best hospital in the city. What more do you want?"

What more did I want?

I looked into his eyes — those eyes doing their best impression of shock and concern — and I could see right through them. I could see the snake underneath.

Last time around, I believed every word out of his mouth.

Lily had been admitted for her autoimmune condition — the same thing she'd been treated for before. It was never supposed to be dangerous. But the night I left the hospital, her condition tanked out of nowhere and she ended up in the ICU.

By the time I got back, her doctor, Dr. Sarah Jenkins, told me Lily was brain-dead.

Dr. Sarah Jenkins. Markus's college girlfriend. I didn't know that part until much later.

Before I could even process what was happening, Markus was already dragging me to this desk, pushing this pen into my hand.

"Lily was always so kind. Her life can still help others. She would've wanted this."

I was destroyed. Half-bullied, half-convinced, I signed.

What I didn't know was that the second they pulled the ventilator, Lily's heart went straight into Sarah's son — a boy born with a bad heart.

While I was drowning in grief, Markus moved on like nothing happened.

Then one day, at an art show in a neighboring city, I spotted him. He had a little boy on his shoulders. Sarah was leaning into his arm. The three of them walked out of the gallery laughing, looking like the perfect family. The boy's surgical scar peeked out above his shirt collar.

I followed them. I confronted them. They shoved me off the rooftop terrace.

Three stories. Concrete. I hit the back of my head first.

I was still holding Lily's hair tie when I died. A little pink band with strands of her hair still on it.

There were so many times I'd wanted to give up. But in that final moment, seeing the smiles on their faces, the rage burned through everything soft in me.

And now here I was. Back at this desk. Pen in my hand. Form on the table. Markus waiting for my signature.

I threw the pen down and pushed him away.

"I won't sign. And I'm transferring Lily to another hospital. Now.