She Gave Him Her Heart , He Gave It to Someone Else

The ring hit the metal tray with a soft “clink.”

It cut through the tenderness on the other side of the sterile curtain.

Daniel finally turned his head from behind the curtain, the trace of a warm smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

The moment he saw me, his brow creased.

But I didn't reach for his hand the way I always had before, desperate for comfort.

Before every surgery, I used to cling to his hand and plead sweetly.

“Daniel, you have to stay with me in the recovery room afterward, okay?”

This time, I just lay there. Quiet. Alone.

Tears streaming down my face, and not a single sound.

……

His expression stiffened for a moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something.

In the end, all he gave me was one long, unreadable look.

Then his voice came, calm and brooking no argument:

“Begin the procedure.”

The same cold tone as always.

The last words I heard before consciousness left me.

The anesthesia seeped into my spine, and the searing pain dragged memories up with it.

Seven years with Daniel Vance. From eighteen to twenty-five.

In front of me, he was always the same: composed, unsmiling, severe.

Even when he was good to me, there was always a layer of restraint. A coolness he never quite shed.

At our wedding, the whole room was beaming. He alone remained perfectly controlled.

“Congratulations, Professor Vance! You and Sybilla are such a perfect match.”

Surrounded by well-wishes and praise, he offered only a slight nod.

But whenever Hope Price won some new honor, or whenever it was Hope's celebration—

He'd carry that smile all day long.

Pride and warmth written across every line of his face.

That kind of tender smile. I never got it. Not once.

In undergrad, when my heart treatments were at their most frequent—

Daniel studied my treatment plans every day, came to my hospital room every night.

Hope watched how attentive he was to me, raised an eyebrow, and teased:

“Looks like Sybilla's heart isn't just a heart. It's a leash that's got you tied down.”

Daniel didn't even lift his head. His voice carried no warmth:

“That heart of hers will be yours soon enough.”

I was half-conscious after a procedure when those words drifted in, hazy and half-formed.

I thought it was just Daniel joking to bring the two of us closer.

“Sybilla, the artificial heart is more stable. I just don't want you to suffer anymore.”

He stood at my bedside, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I believed him. Blindly, completely. Never imagining that all of it was a lie.

A shrill alarm tore me back to consciousness, pain piercing through my whole body as if I'd been run through.

Darkness dragged me down, and I could feel my blood leaving—fast, too fast.

Through the chaos, I heard Daniel's voice:

“Keep the transfusion going for Hope. I'll close up on Sybilla.”

Then came Dr. Lawrence's voice, urgent, nearly begging:

“Dr. Vance, you can't! Dr. Fox just received the artificial heart—her body is still critically weak. This volume of blood loss could kill her! Her pressure's been dropping nonstop. She won't survive this!”

Daniel was silent for one beat amid the relentless wail of the monitors.

His gaze dropped behind his surgical goggles, settling on my lifeless face.

“Hope's rejection response can't wait. Sybilla's blood has to go to her.”

A long, hollow ringing filled my ears.

In that single instant of despair, the only thought I had was: at least I took the ring off before surgery.

At least I wouldn't die still wearing that disgusting ring.

The ventilator was still running, but I was losing the ability to breathe.

The air in my chest grew thinner and thinner, and I lay curled up in the apartment Daniel had arranged for me, convulsing.