My girlfriend had always been drawn to powerful men, yet she was perfectly content to keep a useless intern on her payroll.

She said she loved me with her whole life. When a routine health screening showed that the intern and I shared a rare blood type, she chose to keep him close.

She claimed it was just a precaution, a backup source of blood in case I ever needed it.

She cooked for him, took him on trips, made him gifts by hand, and fussed over him at every turn. She insisted it was all for my sake.

To build good karma for my future.

Then I was in a car accident. She arranged for blood to be brought in from over 60 miles away rather than let the intern donate a single drop. She said he had a cold and worried his blood might make me sick.

The next day, the intern was diagnosed with uremic nephropathy. My girlfriend drugged me and had me wheeled into the operating room to donate a kidney before I could say a word.

Her voice was gentle when she explained it afterward. "Daniel is our trump card. He has to stay healthy. He can only be used when your life is genuinely on the line, not wasted on every small setback. I had you donate the kidney for your own future, so you would stop overthinking everything. Once you are out of surgery, I am marrying you."

What she did not know was that I already had mid-stage leukemia. The surgery accelerated its spread. I was dying, and I would never have the chance to marry her.

"Mr. Wilford, your blood cancer was already at a mid-stage. The kidney surgery has accelerated its spread. We're looking at ten days, at best. You need to keep your spirits up and…"

The rest of the doctor's words faded into silence.

I forced myself out of bed, crossed to the window, and lit a cigarette. The long-forgotten sharp, acrid taste hit me, and my eyes watered before I could stop them.

Ever since my rare blood type came to light, my girlfriend, Winona Elstein, had kept me away from cigarettes and alcohol. She feared I would fall ill, that there would be no compatible donor when I needed one, and that I would die and leave her to grow old alone. I had not minded the rules. I quit both without much resistance.

Now, at the end of my life, none of that mattered.

Through the curl of smoke, I thought back to the car accident. The blood cancer diagnosis had followed soon after, and I had not found the right moment to tell Winona. Then she walked in with Daniel Lowe's test results in hand. He had uremic nephropathy, confirmed, and she asked me to donate a kidney.

I refused on instinct. She did not press. Instead, she told me she had bought an apartment near the office so I would not have to commute anymore, no more accidents. She framed it as a gift.

Only when they wheeled me into the operating room did I understand. What I had signed was not a property transfer agreement. It was an organ donation consent form.

The doctor watched me smoke, shook his head, and quietly left the room.

A second later, Winona's voice came from the doorway, warm with concern. "Doctor, how is Jordan doing?"

The doctor looked uncomfortable. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

I turned from the window and said, "I'm fine."

Winona's eyes curved into a smile. "I knew it. I take such good care of you. Even losing one kidney won't make a difference."

She didn't mention the consent form or the lie. It was as if none of it had happened.

The cigarette burned down to my fingertips. I flinched and pulled my hand back.

Winona's brow furrowed. She turned and told the nurse to sweep up the ash. Then she reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out the rest of the pack, and dropped every cigarette into the trash.

"I told you to stop smoking. Danny has rhinitis. The smoke bothers him," she said evenly.

So the rule had never been about my health. It had always been about Daniel's sinuses.

Behind her, Daniel came through the door, carrying a stack of items so tall it nearly hid his face.

Winona rushed over to help him and spread everything across my hospital bed.

Daniel looked at me and said, straight-faced, "Sorry, Jordan. I had no idea Winnie would trick you into donating. These are all gifts she gave me. Take whatever you want. Consider it my apology."

I looked at the pile: a hand-knit scarf and matching sweater Winona had made, a watch worth 200,000 dollars, a car key for a car worth 2,000,000 dollars, and a villa deed, all offered as an apology.

It felt more like a display. After all, Winona had never given me anything close to this. She always said we were past that stage, that our relationship did not need any fuss over gifts.

The old me would have squared up and gone toe to toe with him.

Instead, I said quietly, "No thanks."

Winona caught my hand. "Jordan, look how thoughtful Danny is. He considers you a friend. Don't embarrass him like this."

Her voice was gentle, but her grip was firm. She could not stand the idea of Daniel feeling even slightly slighted.

I gave in and pointed at the scarf.

Last winter, Winona had knitted it until all ten of her fingers were raw and blistered. For once, I had assumed she was making me an anniversary gift. I had even saved up to buy a coat to match.

Then I watched her wrap it around Daniel's neck with her own hands, and I realized I had been reading too much into things.

Maybe it was the fact that I was dying, or the unfinished business weighing on my chest. Either way, as I looked at the scarf now, a sudden, almost desperate urge rose in me to take it, just to have it.

Winona followed my gaze, and her expression changed. "No. That scarf is warm, and Danny runs cold. Besides, I made it myself. He would hate to part with it. Pick something else."

"I want it," I insisted.

Perhaps I needed to know. Some part of me still wanted proof that I meant something to her.

Winona's face flushed. "Jordan, Danny is going to save your life one day. You donated a kidney to him. That makes you even. You never cared about material things before, so why are you suddenly trying to take something he loves?"

I laughed. The sound came out hollow.

She was not even trying to hide it anymore.

A year ago, Daniel joined the company and went through the standard employee health screening. Winona discovered that his blood type matched mine. From that day on, she made him her project.

At work, she promoted him, gave him raises, and credited him with results from my projects. He became the office favorite. At home, she cooked for him, did his laundry, and showed up whenever he called.

Any time I pushed back, even slightly, she accused me of being petty. She told me Daniel was my future lifesaver, that I owed him my life, that I had a debt to repay. She piled one moral obligation on top of another until the weight became absurd.

Through all of it, I kept telling myself she still cared about me.

Now, standing here days from death, I could finally see her clearly. Everything that had kept me awake at night, every moment I could not reconcile, had never been what I wanted it to be. I had simply refused to face it.

"I'm kidding," I said. "Why would I take something he loves?"

I let out a short, dry laugh and dropped it—the scarf, the hope, all of it.

Daniel immediately looked wounded. "It's fine, Jordan. I know you have money. I know my things aren't up to your standard. I get it. I'm just a blood bag. I should not have expected to be treated like a real friend."

Winona's face filled with concern. "Don't say that, Danny. There's an auction today. I'll take you right now, and we'll find something better."

She turned and told her bodyguard to collect everything from the bed, ensuring I could not quietly pocket anything on my way out.

At the door, she stopped, as if something had just occurred to her.

She came back, closed the window, draped my jacket over my shoulders, and spoke softly. "Jordan, I didn't invite you because I don't want you exhausting yourself. I love you most. You know that. Tell me what you want, and I will bid on it and bring it back as a wedding gift. Sounds good?"

Then she left with Daniel.

I stood at the window and looked down at the street. In the car below, Winona leaned across and buckled Daniel's seatbelt for him.

Daniel said something and pointed at the passenger sun visor. It held our photo, mine and Winona's.

A second later, it came out the window and landed on the pavement.

The car pulled away. The rear tire rolled straight over it.

That was her love. That was her heartache on my behalf.

"Winona, I don't have long left. And I don't want to marry you anymore."

I pulled the curtain closed and went to find the doctor to ask for discharge.

"Mr. Wilford, under palliative care guidelines, I have no grounds to stop you. But without treatment, I'm afraid..."

I pulled my mouth into something that did not resemble a smile. "Doctor, my only request is that you write me a ten-day prescription for painkillers."

I would not spend my last ten days in a hospital. Both of my parents had died in one, and I had never shaken the dread the place left behind.

I had barely cleared the front entrance when Winona called.

"Why did you check yourself out?" she asked.

"I'm bored. I hate lying around," I replied.

She started to argue. "That's not acceptable…"

Then Daniel's voice cut in, close enough to her ear that he had to be standing beside her. "Winnie, this couple's ring is gorgeous…"

"Then we'll go all in!" she told him, before speaking to me again. "Jordan, you're an adult. Take care of yourself."

She tossed out a few hollow words and hung up without waiting for a response.

I remembered how it used to be, before Daniel. A work dinner had landed me in the hospital with a stomach bleed. When the doctors told her my blood type was rare and that I needed to be careful, she had not slept for days. She had cried and begged me not to leave her

After that, she barely let me out of her sight. A paper cut on my finger would be enough to send her into a panic.

Now I had lost a kidney, yet she couldn't be bothered to stay on the line.

I told myself I was over it. Still, something in my chest, a small, involuntary ache, had not gotten the message.

I laughed at myself and blocked her number.

The first thing I did that day was hire a cleaning crew. I had them clear every trace of me from the house, including the ceramic couple figurines I had painted by hand and the 20,000 photographs from seven years together. I burned everything, along with the villa key.

On the second day, I hired a funeral service and arranged for the collection of my body.

On the third day, I went from one party to the next with friends. At one of them, I lost a round of truth or dare and ended up toasting with a pretty woman, our arms linked, glasses touching.

The friend beside me went pale. "If your girlfriend sees this, she'll kill me."

I smiled easily in the noise and neon. "Doesn't matter. I don't care anymore."

That night, Winona could not hold back. She sent me a photo taken in the dim light of the venue. The woman and I stood mid-toast, arms linked.

Winona: [Jordan. Come home, get on your knees, and explain yourself.]

…

I went home on the fourth day, but not because she scared me. A package I had ordered had arrived.

Maria, the housekeeper, opened the door. She pulled me aside and whispered, "Sir, please don't argue with her tonight. Just admit you were wrong and be done with it."

I walked in to find Winona on the sofa, her arm around Daniel as he cried. He wore pajamas and clutched a dark navy burial suit in both hands. A matching couple's ring caught the light on his finger.

I was still trying to make sense of it when he saw me and cried harder. "Jordan, I know you can't stand me. I know you don't want me living here. But you didn't have to curse me. You sent me a coffin suit."

He had moved in while I was gone. I had no idea.

Winona's brow tightened. "Jordan, I thought you were better than this. You walk out and do whatever you want, and I say nothing. All I did was ask Danny to stay so I could look after him. Was that really worth this?"

I crossed the room without a word and took the coffin suit from Daniel's hands.

"Who said it was for you?" I slipped it over my clothes and turned to check my reflection in the full-length mirror.

It fit well.

I used to be afraid of dying. I was afraid that if Winona left me, I would not survive it. Now, as I stood at the edge of it, I saw clearly that I had given myself far too much credit.

Winona's face went rigid. She stood and reached for the buttons. "Jordan, have you lost your mind? Take that off. Right now."

I stepped aside.

Her expression hardened. "Stop running from the problem. Stand there and apologize to Danny properly."

Before I could respond, she exhaled slowly and unclenched her hands. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out several documents.