They Want My Marrow for Him Again

The anesthesia was wearing off, but the pain wasn't. Sharp, stabbing pain shot through my back where they'd drilled into my hip bone. The IV tube was still taped to my arm, and every movement sent fresh waves of agony through my body.

I was trying to sit up when I heard my eight-year-old son's voice cut through the quiet of the recovery room.

"I don't want this lady taking care of me. I want Vivian mommy."

I looked at Oliver, my beautiful boy with his pale face and tired eyes from months of chemotherapy. He was looking right at me, but there was no recognition in his gaze. No love. Just... indifference.

"Oliver, honey—" I started, my voice hoarse from the procedure.

"No!" He turned away from me completely, facing the window instead. "Where's Vivian mommy? She promised she'd be here when I woke up."

The nurse beside my bed, Sandra, gave me a sympathetic look. She'd been taking care of Oliver for weeks now. She knew who'd been here every night, who'd held his hand through every treatment, who'd donated their bone marrow to save his life.

"Your mom just went through a big surgery for you, sweetheart," Sandra said gently to Oliver. "She's the one who—"

"I said I don't want her!" Oliver's voice got louder, more upset. "I want my real mommy! Where's Daddy? Daddy said Vivian mommy would come!"

Sandra looked at me with pity.

"Mrs. Ashford, you should rest," she whispered. "The surgery was extensive. You need to focus on healing."

But I couldn't rest. I couldn't stop staring at Oliver, trying to understand how we'd gotten here. How my own son, the baby I'd carried for nine months, the child I'd nursed through every fever and nightmare, could look at me like I was nothing.

The door opened and Nathaniel walked in. My husband of nine years. Well, technically my husband for two more months before our contract expired.

He looked at Oliver first. Always Oliver first.

"Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?"

"Daddy!" Oliver's whole face lit up. "Is Vivian mommy coming? You said she'd come see me after the surgery."

Nathaniel glanced at me quickly, then back at Oliver. "She'll be here soon, okay? She's just getting you a surprise."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab Nathaniel by his perfectly pressed shirt collar and shake him. I wanted to ask him why he was encouraging this, why he was letting our son pretend that his stepmother-to-be was more important than the woman who'd just had parts of her hip bone scraped out to save his life.

But I didn't say anything. I never said anything.

"The surgery went well," I said quietly, trying to get his attention. "The doctors said the bone marrow was a perfect match. Oliver should start showing improvement in a few weeks."

Nathaniel nodded without really looking at me. "Good. That's good."

That's it. That's all I got. Good. Like I'd completed a task.

Nine years ago, when Helena Cross—my biological mother—had arranged this marriage, she'd been very clear about my role. Nathaniel needed a wife for his business image. I needed financial security for my foster mother Maggie's medical bills. The contract was simple: nine years, one child, and a substantial payout at the end.

I'd thought maybe, just maybe, we could build something real. That Oliver would love me, that Nathaniel might learn to care about me, that I could finally have the family I'd never had growing up.

How stupid was that?

"When can she go home?" Nathaniel asked Sandra, not me.

"She needs to stay overnight for observation," Sandra replied. "The bone marrow extraction is a serious procedure. She'll be in quite a bit of pain for the next few days."

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Oliver interrupted. "Can we call Vivian mommy? She makes the best grilled cheese."

I made him grilled cheese every day for these years. Every single day. Cut off the crusts the way he liked, added the little cheese shapes he thought were funny. But apparently Vivian's grilled cheese was better.

Everything about Vivian was better, according to Oliver. She was prettier, funnier, more fun to be around. She took him to the toy store and bought him things I couldn't afford. She didn't make him do homework or eat vegetables or take his medicine on time.

She wasn't his mother. She was the fun auntie who got to show up for the good parts and disappear when things got difficult.

But here I was, the woman who'd carried him, delivered him, nursed him through his first steps and first words and first heartbreak, and I was "this lady."

"I'll call Vivian," Nathaniel said, already pulling out his phone. "See if she can bring some food."

"Can I talk to her?" Oliver asked eagerly. "Can I tell her about the surgery?"

I closed my eyes and tried to block out their conversation. The medication was making me drowsy anyway. Maybe when I woke up, this would all be a bad dream. Maybe Oliver would remember that I was his mother. Maybe Nathaniel would remember that I was his wife, even if it was just on paper.

But when I opened my eyes twenty minutes later, Nathaniel was gone. Oliver was still there, but he was staring out the window, ignoring me completely.

"Oliver?" I said softly.

He didn't turn around.

"Baby, Mommy's here if you need anything."

"You're not my mommy," he said without even looking at me. "Vivian's my mommy. She told me you're just Daddy's friend who lives with us."

The heart monitor next to my bed started beeping faster. Sandra appeared at my side, checking my vitals.

"Mrs. Ashford, you need to stay calm. Your heart rate is elevated."

How could I stay calm? How could I stay calm when my own child had just told me I was nothing to him? When the woman who was sleeping with my husband had convinced my son that she was his real mother?

"I want to see Vivian mommy," Oliver announced to the room. "When is she coming?"

I stared at the ceiling, focusing on the fluorescent lights until they made my eyes water. At least then I had an excuse for the tears.

Nine years of this marriage. Nine years of trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect addition to the Ashford family. Nine years of watching Vivian—my own half-sister—slowly steal everything that was supposed to be mine.

The bone marrow extraction site throbbed with each heartbeat. This morning, I'd thought this was it. The moment when Oliver would finally understand how much I loved him. When Nathaniel would see what I was willing to sacrifice for our family.

Instead, I was just "this lady" who'd completed another task.

I was starting to drift off again, the pain medication pulling me under, when I heard the door handle turn.

When I looked up, ready to see Sandra with more medication or maybe a late dinner tray, my blood went cold.

The door was opening, and before I saw her, I heard her voice: "Task completed?"