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!—"

A week passed.

Nellie walked in, guilt all over her face.

"Mrs. Palmer's funeral is over. Don't you... want to say goodbye?"

I lay in the hospital bed, barely there. Shook my head.

"No point. I don't deserve it. Seeing me now... it'd only hurt her. Why did you save me? I should have died."

Nellie pulled me into a hug, patting my back gently. "It's not your fault. Please stop blaming yourself. Let's get out of here for a bit. Anywhere you wanna go?"

I stared out the window, eyes dull.

An hour later, I was in a wheelchair, rolling through the garden below Pedro's old house.

"This used to be our spot," I said. "When we were kids. Every time we played hide-and-seek, I'd pick the bushes. He always found me but never said a word. He proposed to me right here, too."

Nellie wrapped her arms around me from behind, camera angled at my face.

"Just try one more time—for him. Please."

I looked back at her, voice soft.

"Then take a photo. I don't wanna forget this place."

I insisted on the swing.

Two swings in, and I collapsed.

The video froze mid-air—me flung up, face caught in this weird, goofy expression.

Nellie's face drained. She bolted over.

"We're going back. Now. This is my fault—I never should've brought you here."

I wiped her tears, managing a smile.

"Silly. Why are you crying? Even if I'd stayed in that hospital bed, it'd still end the same."

Her voice shook as she spoke.

"Pedro's been grinding nonstop. He's in talks with this small medical startup. If he lands funding, his dream might actually happen. You've gotta hold on—just till then."

I blinked.

"A medical startup? He'll need a test subject, right? I couldn't save his mom... but maybe I can still help him build what we dreamed of."

That night, I made my first-ever post.

Used the swing photo—midair, frozen in that ridiculous smile.

Pedro's friend liked it.

Then the call came.

My heart stopped.

"Ruth. My mom's dead and you're out taking joyrides? When did you get so cold? Maybe I was just blind. But one day—you'll regret this."

Click.

Call ended.

Tears rolled down.

"Too late... I already do."

I regretted not marrying you sooner.

Regretted not holding on just a little longer.

After signing the body donation papers, I kept going—two more weeks of treatment.

It didn't matter.

My body was shot.

I drifted in and out, faces fading, memories slipping like water.

When Nellie came by to film again, I smiled weakly.

"What kind of girl visits a patient with empty hands?"

She saw right through it—laughing and crying all at once.

"Get me out of here," I said. "I want to plan my own funeral. I don't have anyone left."

Nellie cracked. "Don't say that. I'll help you—I'll stay until you get better."

"You know that's not happening. Just help me with this one last thing, okay?"

I picked the same funeral home where Mrs. Palmer was buried.

It took three coughing fits and a trail of blood just to get there.

The staff looked uneasy when they realized the girl planning the funeral was the one dying.

A few of the older ones already had tears in their eyes.

I waved it off, slapped my card on the counter.

"Doesn't matter if it's ten grand or five hundred—just make sure I'm cremated. Throw in some glitter with the ashes. Girls like sparkle."

I grinned. "Since cremation's free now, let's splurge on dresses. Princess gowns. I never got to wear one.

"Make them white. Wedding-dress white. Can't be worse than the one Pedro designed. Actually—never mind. You won't get my taste. I'll pick myself."

My shaky fingers swiped across the tablet.

Stopped on a gown.

"This one. Looks a lot like the one Pedro made. That way... he'll recognize me when it's his turn."

I looked up.

"Let me try it on first."

***

In a rental apartment.

Wearing the funeral dress was easy.

But with no hair, the veil had nothing to cling to.

The girl in the mirror—slumped in a wheelchair—was a ghost of the one in the bridal shop.

I tried to smile. It came out worse than a frown.

"Forget it. Pedro will be old by then too. He won't have the right to complain. If he doesn't recognize me, I'll punish him—make him play hide-and-seek. I won't let him find me."

The smile faded.

My hand slipped off the wheelchair.

"Ruth—"

"Quick, get help!"

"No... it's too late. She's not breathing."

My eyes stayed open, locked on the mirror—on that dream of happiness.

One tear slipped down.

Pedro, you better marry me in the next life.

Everything I owe you... I'll pay it back then.