The weight on my chest made it hard to breathe, like someone had placed a boulder there.

David must have already taken Ava to Central South. They hadn't found a match.

This was almost certain. The first step in kidney matching follows blood transfusion principles, and Ava was type O.

Type O is the most common blood type, making up about 47% of the population.

Type O is called the universal donor—A, B, and AB recipients can all accept type O blood without rejection issues.

But as a recipient, it's the opposite. Type O patients can only receive type O blood and organs.

This means that among patients needing kidney transplants, type O recipients have the lowest chance of finding a match—only 47%, matching their population percentage. Other blood types have at least a 70% match rate, with AB having nearly 100%.

Kidney donors are already incredibly scarce, and matching is complex. Ava's blood type automatically eliminated 53% of potential donors, making her chances of a match practically zero.

For Ava to get a kidney, there was only one real option: directed donation.

Someone with type O blood would need to specifically donate their kidney to her!

That's why David had come to me.

"I'm type O," I said, taking a deep breath and holding his gaze.

Lying would be pointless. If David was asking, he already knew my blood type—we'd been married for five years.

But precisely because we'd been married for five years, even though I already knew what he wanted, I needed to hear him say it out loud.

Could you really say it, David?

He could.

With a casual expression, he said, "What if you donated one to her?"

I felt ice run through my veins as I stared at him in disbelief.

David looked at me intensely. "You have two kidneys. Giving her one to save her life isn't that much to ask, is it?"

Something caught in my throat. Finally, I managed to speak. "David, have you lost your mind?"

"Lost my mind how?"

David's face was full of self-righteousness. "You're a doctor. Isn't saving lives your calling? Don't you doctors always say people can live normally with just one kidney?"

"What, is that just something you tell other people to convince them to donate? When it's you doctors' turn, suddenly it's different?"

I looked at him sadly—this man who should have loved and protected me was scheming to take one of my organs.

Yes, with proper diet, lifestyle, regular exercise, and checkups, one kidney is enough for normal bodily functions.

In fact, some people are born with just one kidney—about one in every 1,200 people—and most never even know they have a solitary kidney.

But why should I? Why on earth would I give my kidney to my husband's mistress?

My colleagues at the hospital started giving me strange looks.

They'd gather in corners whispering, exchanging meaningful glances whenever I walked by.

Occasionally I'd catch snippets of their conversations.

"What's going on with Dr. Porter's husband?"

"He's got a mistress, obviously."

"Having a mistress is one thing. But bringing her to our hospital and flaunting their relationship? That's just cruel."

"I heard Dr. Porter did something to deserve it. They've been married five years and still no kids."

"She's busy, and she's only 28. Not wanting children yet is normal."

"No, that's not it. You know how much she loves children. I heard she wants them but can't have them."

"Really? Why not?"

"Well, female infertility comes down to a few things, doesn't it? Congenital issues, or not taking care of herself..."

Weathering these strange looks and knowing sighs, I headed to Ava's room. The moment I pushed open the door, I found her nestled in David's arms, the two of them completely wrapped up in each other as if no one else existed.

Ava now needed dialysis twice a week. Her complexion had turned ashen, and her body appeared swollen.

David was feeding her home cooked chicken soup—nutritious and flavorful without needing much salt or seasoning, perfect for someone with uremia like Ava.

David was feeding her with a meticulousness and patience I'd never seen from him before.

"She doesn't need that much help. She has kidney failure, not quadriplegia," I said coldly.

"Look at her condition, and you still say things like that? Do you have any heart left?" David showed zero guilt at being caught. His face hardened as he demanded, "Where have you been these last few days?"

"I've been treating other patients. She's not the only person in the world with kidney disease," I shot back.

David's eyebrows shot up as he fumed, "I asked the nurses. They said you haven't even been at work."

I couldn't take it anymore. "Maybe I couldn't show my face, okay? Maybe I didn't want to watch you two playing house in my workplace, with you feeding her soup lovingly. Did you think of that?"

"Dr. Porter, you've got it all wrong. David and I are just old classmates. He's only taking care of me out of pity. There's nothing between us," Ava chimed in, turning to David with a helpless expression. "David, forget it. I'm giving up treatment. Don't blame Dr. Porter. Without a donor, there's nothing she can do. If anyone's to blame, it's me for getting this death sentence of a disease."

Ava struggled to get up, but David pushed her back down. "Ava, focus on getting better. Don't worry about anything else."

He turned to me, his face twisted with rage. "Layla, what kind of person are you? Do you want her to die? What's so hard about donating a kidney to save her?"

David's eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me. "After five years of marriage, I never knew you could be so vicious. What kind of doctor are you?"

"Ha!" I laughed bitterly.

How absurd that a man scheming to force his wife to donate a kidney to his mistress would have the audacity to call her vicious.

Blood rushed to my head as I made a decision. "David, don't say I didn't give you and your 'old classmate' a chance."

"When I said we'd start matching with you, I wasn't kidding. Your blood type is also type O!"

I pulled out two organ donation consent forms and threw them in David's face.

"You sign, then I'll sign!"

The papers hit him with a sharp slap. David looked stunned.

He glanced down at the forms, confusion and panic flickering in his eyes.

"What are you doing? To save Ava, we only need one kidney. Why two forms?"

I replied with mockery in my voice, "David, kidney transplants aren't just about matching blood types. To ensure viability, we need to match HLA antigens—the more matches, the higher the success rate."

"Beyond blood type and HLA, there's another crucial factor: the lymphocyte cytotoxicity crossmatch test. This step is absolutely critical and determines whether the transplant can proceed."

"Generally speaking, married couples often test negative—meaning compatible for transplant—due to body fluid exchange," I added meaningfully.

David avoided my gaze. He leaned down and gently wiped the corner of Ava's mouth.

"Ava, what would you like for dinner? How about some broccoli soup?"

Ava wasn't falling for it. Her eyes lit up as she grabbed David's hand. "David, would you donate your kidney to save me?"

David tried to subtly pull his hand away, avoiding eye contact. "Of course I want to save you, but a man's kidney is important. I've heard it affects male... performance. I should discuss it with my wife."

"Right, Layla?" He looked at me.

"That's a myth!" I responded without hesitation.

"I'd agree no matter what!" I twisted the knife deeper.

David froze, then growled under his breath, "Layla, have you lost your mind?"

"Whether I've lost my mind doesn't matter. You're not refusing to donate, are you?"