She Died Giving, He Lived Regretting

Adrian tossed the blue folder onto the kitchen island. The sound was soft, but in the dead silence of our apartment, it rang out clear as a bell.

I didn't look up. I kept staring into my black coffee.

The surface was perfectly still, reflecting my pale, distorted face.

"Sign it, Eve."

The chair scraped against the floor as he sat down across from me, fingers interlaced on the counter.

His signature negotiation pose—usually reserved for stubborn shareholders, now turned on his own wife.

"For Clara's sake. And for yours. There's no need to make this ugly."

I took a sip of coffee, bitterness spreading across my tongue. "Ugly?" I looked up at him. "You mean you shacking up with my sister, or cutting off my lab's funding?"

Adrian frowned, loosening his silk tie, his tone growing impatient and weary.

"Don't mix those up. If you weren't so jealous of your sister, I wouldn't have tied the investment to the kidney donation. And honestly, your lab isn't even top tier. They've gotten more than enough funding already. No need to waste more."

I set down my cup. "So you're saying, as long as I sign the divorce and agree to give Clara my kidney, my team gets to stay?"

"If you cooperate," he leaned in, eyes softening with that nauseating faux affection, "everything stays the same. Your lab, your projects, even your shares in the company. I'm not trying to ruin you, Eve. I just want to help you atone."

"Atone."

I rolled the word around in my mouth. Funny.

He, and my dear parents, all thought I was born with original sin. My existence was proof of what Clara had suffered.

I used to wonder why, always begging for an explanation.

But now I get it.

No explanation needed.

It's just because I'm not Clara.

I reached for the blue folder.

Right beside his hand—barely two inches away—sat another folder: my medical file. The bright red "URGENT" stamp was almost brushing his sleeve. If he'd bothered to glance sideways, or cared why I'd lost so much weight my rings wouldn't fit, he'd have seen it.

But he didn't.

His eyes were locked on the divorce papers.

"Clara's not doing well," he pressed on, thinking my silence was resistance. "She couldn't sleep again last night. The doctors say we're out of time. You're the only match. I know you hate that she took your parents' attention, but this is a life. Don't be selfish."

"I'll sign." I cut him off.

Adrian froze. He'd come armed with speeches—morality, responsibility, bargaining. He was ready for a breakdown.

"What?"

"I said I'll sign." I opened the folder and uncapped the pen.

He watched me.

Watched me scrawl my name without hesitation, without argument, without even reading the fine print.

My unnatural compliance unsettled him, but his concern for Clara drowned out any doubts.

He said coldly, "The new round of funding will hit your account immediately."

I pulled my hand back, dodging his touch. The things I'd once craved meant nothing now.

"You're right. This is best for everyone."

Adrian exhaled, relief washing away his unease. He gathered the papers, a victorious smile on his face.

"You made the right choice. When you calm down, you'll thank me. And..." He paused, as if bestowing mercy. "Even after the divorce, we're still family. I'll take care of you."

I looked at him. This man was standing at the end of my countdown, talking about a future that didn't exist.

"That," I pointed to the forgotten medical folder, "aren't you going to look?"

Adrian glanced at it, shoved it aside to make room for the divorce agreement, like dusting off a crumb.

"Your test results? Just send them to the transplant center. As long as the kidney's healthy, I don't care about the rest."

As long as the kidney's healthy.

I lowered my gaze, hiding the bitterness in my eyes. "Sure. As long as the kidney's healthy."

"I'm heading to the hospital to be with Clara." He stood, straightening his suit. "You should come soon. Mom and Dad are waiting for you to sign the surgery consent."

The door closed behind him.

I picked up the medical file no one had bothered to read and tossed it in the trash.

The Cross family house was overheated, the atmosphere festive—like some twisted holiday.

In the study, it was just my father, mother, and my sister Clara, curled up on a recliner.

As soon as I walked in, my mother shoved a thick stack of papers toward me.

"Adrian said you agreed?"

There was no question in her voice, only urgency. She didn't ask if I'd eaten, or if I was cold.

"Yeah." I pulled out a chair and sat.

"Wonderful!" Clara peeked out from her cashmere blanket, eyes red, milking that helpless act she'd perfected over twenty years. "Sis, I knew you'd help me. I'll remember this forever."

My father cleared his throat, opened a drawer, and slid a check across the desk.

"One million." His tone was that of closing a business deal. "For your recovery. After the surgery, you can vacation in Europe, buy some clothes, whatever you want. We won't shortchange you."

I stared at the number. One million. The price of half my life, or maybe the last scrap of dignity. That's all I was worth to them.

"Where's the consent form?" I asked, ignoring the check.

"Here." My mother shoved another paper at me, finger pressing hard on the signature line. "Doctor says you have to be 'fully willing.' If anyone asks, you know what to say, right?"

"I know. I'm donating voluntarily. No pressure, no payment." I recited the lines they'd drilled into me.

"Exactly." My mother nodded, satisfied. "Also, you'll stay here this week. We need to monitor your diet. The doctors say the donor's health affects the transplant. We're not paying top dollar for a defective organ."

Defective.

My fingers tightened around the pen.

"Mom's just looking out for you," Clara piped up, voice frail. "You look so pale lately—are you still pulling all-nighters on your AI stuff? You don't have to work so hard anymore. Adrian will take care of you... Oh, right, you're divorced."

She covered her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.

The winner's smirk.

I signed my name. The last stroke was so hard it nearly tore the paper.

"Take the check." My father rapped the desk. "It's protocol."

"No." I stood.

"Take it!" His voice was sharp, authoritative. "I don't like owing favors. Especially not to you. Take the money. This is a deal. Don't use your kidney as leverage over Clara."

I looked at my father, then at my wary mother and smug sister.

So, in their eyes, I wasn't sacrificing for family. Just closing a fair, clean deal.

They were afraid I'd survive, afraid I'd cling on, so they made sure to tie up every loose end.

But I won't survive.

"I don't want your money." My voice was soft, but it cut through the room. "Because I'm not selling it to you."

"What do you mean?" My father stood, face darkening.

"I mean, I'll give you what you want. Just don't regret it later."