Born As Kidney Donor For My Sister

“Ellen, are you okay?”

The man in front of me sounded anxious, his eyes filled with concern as he gently picked me up.

I buried my head in his chest, numb and unwilling to speak or respond, feeling abandoned by the whole world.

His repeated mistrust had shaken my faith in him.

“Am I just a pawn in your plan?”

My muffled voice came from his arms.

Jamie paused, lowered his head, and gently nuzzled my forehead.

“When you’re rested, I’ll explain everything,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of gardenias. He used to carry the smell of sandalwood. Maybe there was no need for explanations anymore.

The crimes of The Harrises, The Cresses, and The Romeros were exposed to the public, with irrefutable evidence. Like The Riley family back then, they vanished overnight.

Jamie’s methods were merciless.

I hid at home for days, and Jamie waited outside all the while.

The housemaids had been dismissed, and the food in the fridge was nearly gone.

I took a shower, put on makeup, and changed clothes. Meeting an ex required a certain level of dignity.

His tall figure reflected in the floor–to–ceiling windows. I sat across from him, no longer as defiant as before.

I couldn’t help but say, “Congratulations, you got what you wanted.”

And then, “I heard you’re getting engaged, but I have nothing left.”

I pushed the diamond earrings I had taken earlier toward him. “Consider this my wedding

The housemaids had been dismissed, and the food in the fridge was nearly gone.

I took a shower, put on makeup, and changed clothes. Meeting an ex required a certain level of dignity.

His tall figure reflected in the floor–to–ceiling windows. I sat across from him, no longer as defiant as before.

I couldn’t help but say, “Congratulations, you got what you wanted.”

And then, “I heard you’re getting engaged, but I have nothing left.”

I pushed the diamond earrings I had taken earlier toward him. “Consider this my wedding gift. I won’t be attending.

Jamie stood up, his eyes reddened with emotion. “Ellen, let me explain. I owe Sylvia too much; she has suffered so much with me over the years.”

I looked down and smiled bitterly. “Yes, while you both suffered, I lived as the pampered heiress of The Harris family, enjoying a life of luxury.”

What he didn’t know was that during that time, guilt kept me up every night.

Knowing it was my father who caused his family’s ruin, I felt like an accomplice to murder, with endless remorse driving me to madness.

The diagnosis Sylvia had revealed about my visit to the psychiatrist–it was true.

The day my mother died, I went to find him.

He was celebrating the launch of his first company with his employees, Sylvia by his side, the perfect pair.

When I returned home, I went mad, smashing everything in sight.

Yet, even then, I never wanted to make things difficult for him.

Jamie’s brows furrowed slightly as he spoke, every word earnest.

“I will make it up to you. Whatever you want.”

“Except marriage,” I cut him off coldly, finishing the sentence for him.

I got up, grabbed the most expensive bottle of wine from the cabinet, opened it, and poured two glasses.

“It’s been ten years. Let’s end it tonight, and from now on, we owe each other nothing.”

Jamie took the glass, downed it in one gulp, then snatched the bottle from my hand and drank two more glasses in quick succession.

I chuckled. “This wine is expensive, and you’re wasting it like this.”

A fleeting glimmer crossed his eyes–calm, resigned, indifferent.

As we raised our glasses, he said, “Ellen, in this life, I owe you. In the next, I will repay you.”

I rolled my eyes. “How can you be sure I’d even love you in the next life?”

He forced a smile, awkwardly admitting, “That was presumptuous of me.”

I lifted my chin with pride. “A woman like me is out of your league.”

The first bottle of wine ran dry, then the second, and the third…

We moved from the floor–to–ceiling windows, to the sofa, and finally to the bedroom.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

The aftermath of a hangover was a pounding headache–and a blurry memory.

Clothes scattered across the floor, disheveled sheets, empty wine bottles rolling around…

Was it irresistible passion c. a drunken mistake?

I glanced at Jamie, still asleep, and couldn’t find the answer.

I hastily threw on some clothes and tiptoed out the door.

With no time to fix my messy hair or my tired face, I went straight to the airport.

“One ticket to the Vatican.”

As I sat on the plane, watching the clouds pass by, I finally felt a bit of peace.

I had run away, becoming a deserter in the battlefield of love.