The day Pedro Palmer's mom was supposed to get my kidney, I ghosted.

He waited outside the OR for ten hours. What did he get? A death notice.

After that, he went full beast mode on his career.

Five years later, his company blew up. Media darling. CEO. Power suit. And yeah, he was holding another girl's hand, all smiles for the cameras.

"Do you have anything to say to Ruth Rackham? We heard she supported your early days," a reporter asked.

Not even a pause. "Yeah. Thanks for vanishing. For letting my mom die with questions. For wrecking me. She taught me not to trust anyone."

He stepped in closer, eyes cold. "This is what you wanted, Ruth? Too bad. Love's gone. And you? Not even worth my hate."

That's when Nellie Lyon, the reporter, went pale.

"Mr. Palmer... Ruth Rackham died five years ago. She was the test subject. She donated her body—before she passed..."

Pedro Palmer's face twitched—panic, just for a second.

Then it vanished. He smirked.

"What, Ruth send you? Tell her it's too late. She's nobody to me now. She could drop dead in front of me and I wouldn't blink."

The room exploded.

Whispers flew.

"She bailed before the surgery, right? That's why his mom died?"

"No wonder he went full machine mode. Dude was out for revenge."

"With that empire he built? She's probably rolling in her grave. Faking her death? Talk about drama."

Pedro's jaw tightened. His whole vibe shifted.

Wendy Brown, sitting next to him, caught the change. She gave his hand a light pat—quiet comfort.

Nellie Lyon, the reporter, shifted, uneasy. Then, finally, she spoke.

"This video... Ruth asked us to film it before she passed. She didn't want you to see it. But we're showing it anyway. Sorry, Ruth."

She bowed. Three times.

Then hit play.

The screen lit up behind her.

It was a bridal shop.

There I was, glowing in the wedding dress Pedro designed—grinning like I had forever.

"Pretty, right? My boyfriend made it. Said I'd wear it on our big day. It just got finished. See the diamonds? He sewed them on one by one. Super rare, huh? Too bad... I won't get to wear it. Snuck in without telling him. Don't rat me out, okay?"

I stared at my reflection. Eyes rimmed red. "He's so good to me... too good.

"People say childhood sweethearts don't stand a chance, but Pedro's always been solid. Never once flinched.

"We've known each other forever. I don't even remember not knowing him.

"Sorry, I'm rambling. Sounds like I'm showing off, huh? But it's fine. I'll be gone soon. This kind of happy only gets to live in memories."

Then came the cough. Sharp. Brutal.

I clutched my chest.

The hat slipped off.

My scalp—bald and patchy—exposed.

Off-screen, Nellie's voice cracked.

"Ms. Rackham, don't think about that right now. There's still time. You'll be okay."

I smiled, soft and steady. Picked up the hat, slipped it back on like nothing.

"Why wouldn't I think about it? I'm happy. And happy things... they're meant to be shared."

But the tears on my face told the real story.

The video froze.

Pedro snatched the remote.

"What a performance. Ruth really thought this little act would erase what she did? Forget it. I've got Wendy now. We're getting married. We're fine."

The crowd lit up, echoing his rage.

"Right? He's getting married, and she drops this? What is she, the side chick?"

"Sweetheart or not, if she really loved him, why'd she let his mom die? She promised that kidney, then ghosted. Worse than betrayal!"

"Now his company's killing it and she wants back in? Typical."

"I know girls like her. Probably hiding out somewhere, loving the chaos. Bet she's not even dead."

None of them knew what I went through.

Mrs. Palmer raised me. After my parents died, she was it—my only family.

Watching her fade away hurt like hell. Maybe more than it did for Pedro.

And yeah, I was a match. But I couldn't help. My body was failing, and I hated myself for it.

Even if Pedro forgave me... I never could.

Pedro's expression hardened. He stood to walk.

Nellie blocked him.

"This interview was planned, Mr. Palmer. Please, just finish it. What Ruth went through—it wasn't any easier than your side of the story."

Nellie snatched the remote back. The video rolled on.

I was in a food delivery uniform, weaving through high-rises on an e-bike.

People kept staring—my face was pale, swollen. Tired.

The bike jerked to a stop. Camera steadied.

My expression? Blank. But my voice had edge.

"What do you want from me? Quit following me. I'm not getting treatment. Don't you have other patients?"

"Sorry," Nellie said, voice small. "I'm just an intern. You're the only case I was cleared for. I won't get in the way. I just... I want to document what it's like. Late-stage kidney failure. That's it. Legal and everything."

I sighed. Long and flat. "Fine. Film whatever. But your studio better cough up $500K."

Nellie froze. Totally speechless.

I laughed and twisted the throttle. The bike shot off.

After a hundred deliveries, I was done. Slumped over the handlebars, gasping.

Then the sky cracked open. Rain came down hard, soaking me in seconds.

My stomach twisted.

An umbrella suddenly popped open above me.

"Ms. Rackham, I'm just an intern—I don't have that kind of pull. But I swear I'll do this right. If the doc gets traction, I'll fight for funding."

I looked up at her—serious face, kind of like mine back then. And I laughed. "You don't give up, huh?"

Then my body quit.

I dropped.

Blood poured from my mouth, washed away by the storm.

"Ms. Rackham!"

Her cry sliced through the rain.

Cut to black.

Three days later, Nellie showed up again.

The camera swept across my tiny, cluttered rental.

Her voice sounded tired. A little lost.

"Ms. Rackham, why won't you get treatment? This place isn't helping. You've turned down therapy, but you keep showing up at the hospital. Were you hunting for a kidney match?"

I raised a brow, smirking. "Why aren't you at some Fortune 500 gig? Don't tell me it's by choice. Don't poke around my life. I told you—I don't want attention. If I did, I'd be livestreaming this mess for cash."

Nellie awkwardly sat down, handing me a water bottle. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to pry. I just... this is my first gig. If I screw it up, I'm out. You said you needed $500K. So why not livestream?"

I sighed and made a call right in front of her.

Pedro's voice came through, soft.

"Babe? You hungry? I've got more work, but I'll order you something. Got a meeting tonight, so I might not make it back. Take care, okay?"

Call ended.

A chat window popped up with a video.

Pedro sat behind a mountain of paperwork. Below his monitor? Sticky notes. Tons of them. All labeled with my meal times.

Different food for every day. Even the drinks were mapped out.

I gave a tired smile, shaking my phone.

"My boyfriend just launched his business. He's swamped. I can't be another weight on him. Not like I could drink any of that anyway."

I looked at Nellie.

"Good thing you're here. Take them later—call it a thank-you. There's something I've never told him. But maybe it's time."

I paused.

"His mom has cancer. Mid-stage. She's doing low-key treatment. Made me promise not to tell him. Didn't want him worrying."

I turned toward the cramped kitchen, voice dropping.

"How do you even say that to someone? He's in his twenties. It'd wreck him..."

My shoulders shook as I washed veggies, trying to keep it together.

I cooked for Mrs. Palmer like always. Memories hit me hard.

And for the first time, I cracked. "Mrs. Palmer's amazing. She raised both of us alone. I don't want her hurting anymore. I sold our house to pay for her care.

"You can't tell anyone, okay? Pedro's been sleeping at the office. He doesn't know yet.

"I don't know how long I can keep this up..."

The screen froze as I stepped out with the meal.

Half a month later.

The place was wrecked. I was curled up in the corner, hugging my knees, crying like I couldn't stop.

Ten days. That's how long Pedro and I hadn't spoken.

He found out about his mom.

Nellie stepped in, awkwardly dodging piles of clutter, trying to find somewhere to stand.

She hesitated. "You told him the truth, right? So why'd you break up?"

I lifted my head. Eyes puffy, voice raw. "I was a match for his mom. Pedro wasn't. Just me. Tell me that's not the cruelest joke."

I wiped my nose.

"He dropped to his knees at the hospital. Begged me to donate. Said once it was over, we'd finally get married."

Nellie's eyes widened. "You said yes?"

I forced a cracked smile, lips dry.

"I couldn't say no. He looked so desperate. But my body... I could only run. Like a coward. Am I useless?"

Nellie set the camera down and pulled me into a hug.

"You tried. This isn't on you. Things'll get better, okay?

"I've got a relative at the hospital. I'll ask him to look into donors. Someone out there's gotta be a match.

"Just... promise me you won't give up. You said it—you don't want him losing someone else he loves."

Her words made me laugh, tears still streaking down my face.

"What kind of intern jumps into a story like this? You're terrible at being a reporter. But thanks. I'll help you with the filming. Just promise me one thing—don't let Pedro see it."

A week later, Nellie came back with news.

"There's a match? You're not messing with me?"

My heart, dead quiet for so long, kicked back to life.

Even with the swelling, I couldn't hide the smile.

"It's real. Everything's set. You can tell your boyfriend now. Let's go to the hospital—together. Don't give up."

Tears spilled. For the first time in forever, I could finally breathe.

The joy barely lasted three days.

The food container slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor. My scream echoed down the hallway.

"You lied? I said yes to the surgery—where's the kidney? You said she could be saved! I'm done. No more treatment. I want out!"

The last strand of hair had fallen. My skin was breaking down, the stench unbearable.

Nellie grabbed me, holding on tight, voice shaking. "I'm sorry—I don't know what went wrong. Someone else got it.

"Maybe the name change didn't go through fast enough. Another patient couldn't wait.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Please, don't quit. Mrs. Palmer's been through enough. You can't give up too. You still have someone who loves you. Are you really gonna crush him like this?"

I shattered. Threw my phone. Ran back to the room.

Even under the blanket, the sobs wouldn't stop.

Pedro's messages lit up the screen:

[Where are you? The surgery's starting. We had a deal.]

[My mom's crashing. Please, Ruth. I'm begging you.]

[If you're leaving, at least say why. Why vanish like this?]

[Twenty years. Everything she did for you—doesn't that matter? Just tell me why.]

[Ruth, she's gone. The wedding's canceled. We're done. I never want to see you again.]

Below that—my own messages. Dozens.

All failure to send. He blocked me.

Pedro had blocked me the day Mrs. Palmer died.

Nellie's hands shook as she shut off the phone.

She reached for the blanket bundle, pulling it close.

No sound.

Just silence. Still. Dead still.

A chill ran through her.

"Ms. Rackham? Ruth? Ruth, say something!"

She yanked the blanket back.

Blood-soaked sheets.

And me—what was left of me—shattered.

"Ruth!—"