Dawn crept in.
I woke early, as always.
The faint scent of medicine still lingered in the room—his post-surgery
smell that never seemed to fade.
On the bedside table sat a small bottle of heart medication. For five
years, I had made sure it was there, on time, every single day.
My phone screen lit up, flashing three missed calls from Lucas.
I didn’t answer.
His voice echoed in my head, that tone of entitlement I knew too well:
“Where’s my breakfast? Did you forget what you’re supposed to do?”
Outside, the sky was the color of ash.
I had once begged hospitals for donor lists, fallen to my knees for his
sake.
I would have given him my own heart if I could.
That year, when the doctor said the match was too low, I stood outside
the operating room, crying until I couldn’t breathe.
And now, he was alive and well—
ordering me around like I was a servant.
When the phone rang for the fourth time, I hung up.
A moment later, the door swung open.
Lucas strode in, anger shadowing his face.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Don’t forget who you are.”
I didn’t reply.
I lifted my gaze to him, to the face I once knew better than my own.
But all I felt now was emptiness.
The heart I’d fought so hard to save was beating in his chest—
but it no longer belonged to me.
“Lucas,” I said quietly, my voice calm, almost cold.
“I won’t be making breakfast for you anymore. It’s time you learned how
to live on your own.”
He froze, then sneered.
“Learn to live? Don’t forget who saved me. If you weren’t my wife, I’d
be dead by now.”
I closed my fingers around the cup in my hand, lips curling into a
faint, bitter smile.
“Yes, I saved you. I just never realized every beat of your heart would
depend on someone else’s indifference.”
His eyes darkened.
Before he could respond, the sound of soft footsteps came from the
dining room.
Nova appeared, sauntering in.
Her silk nightgown shimmered under the morning light, every line of her
body steeped in intimacy.
“Oh, another round of the married couple drama?” she teased, leaning
against the doorframe. “Lucas, breakfast’s ready. I boiled eggs for you.
The doctor said your heart needs special care.”
I caught the emphasis on “heart,” and it felt like a blade twisting
through my chest.
My fingers tightened; I almost crushed the bowl in my hand.
“You should feel lucky,” I said with a sweet, venomous smile. “If you
hadn’t been so desperate to find a donor back then, Lucas wouldn’t even
be alive today. But it’s ironic, isn’t it? The heart you saved now beats
for someone else.”
The world seemed to freeze.
I could hear the kettle boiling, my own breath breaking into ragged
pieces.
The spoon slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the table, the sound
ringing sharp in the silence.
Lucas frowned, his voice hard. “That’s enough. Stop acting out.”
“Acting out?” I laughed, though my voice trembled. “I spent five years
taking care of you—begging doctors, begging for a match, staying up
through endless nights to feed you medicine. And the first thing you did
when you got better was bring another woman into our home.”
Nova tilted her head, utterly unfazed.
“Women who feel too much are sick,” she said lazily. “You should be glad
you still have time to take care of him. Without you, his heart might
not even be beating right now.”
“Enough!”
My voice cracked, tears shining in my eyes.
“Stop talking about that heart! I already gave it back to him. But my
own heart—”
I pressed a trembling hand to my chest—
“—died a long time ago.”
The air froze.
Lucas’s face turned pale, his fists tightening at his sides, yet he said
nothing.
I turned away and went into the kitchen to turn off the faucet.
Only then did I realize the water had overflowed, running down the white
tiles and pooling at my feet.
Suddenly, a hand reached from behind me and twisted the valve shut.
Lucas’s voice brushed against my ear, low and tight with restraint.
“Are you really going to leave?”
I didn’t look back.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I already gave you my heart. What else is there
for me to stay for?”
He was silent for a few seconds.
When he finally spoke, his tone was a bitter blend of laughter and sigh.
“You’re too naive, love. Without me, you’re nothing.”
I turned to face him.
“Then after I’m gone,” I said, meeting his gaze, “let’s see whose heart
stops first.”
I picked up my bag and walked to the door.
The moment it closed behind me, a gust of wind swept in, brushing
against my face.
And right then, I understood—
I had once saved his heart, but now, I was finally learning to save my
own.
Nova’s laughter still lingered in the air, sharp and thin, pricking at
my eardrums like needles.
I stood there, barely breathing.
That dress.
That color.
That fragment of a past he had once buried—
now draped across another woman’s body.
It hit me then: this house had never belonged to me.
I had lived here for five years—
washing his shirts, cooking his meals, sorting through his files—
a machine disguised as a wife, programmed to serve.
And even that title, wife, turned out to be nothing more than a
convenient lie.
Nova leaned against his chest, her face upturned, smiling.
Her lips brushed his jaw in a featherlight kiss.
“You once told me,” she murmured, “that after your surgery, you never
wanted to remember those dark days again.”
“Yes,” Lucas answered quietly, his gaze soft, almost tender—so tender I
barely recognized him.
“I just want to live again.”
For a moment, I nearly laughed.
Live again?
The only reason his heart still beat today was because I had spent those
endless nights begging, pleading, searching for a way to keep him alive.
I remembered that snowy night at the hospital—
the hallway lights going out one by one,
my knees pressed against the freezing tiles as I signed the
authorization form.
“Are you willing to donate part of your own tissue? The match rate is
low, but it might save him.”
I hadn’t hesitated.
Back then, I believed love meant giving away pieces of your heart—
even if it had to be cut out by hand.
But now, that same heart gave me no warmth at all.
“Me?”
Nova’s voice pulled me back from the memory.
She tilted her head, lips curling in that sugar-sweet, taunting smile.
“Do you think this dress is pretty? Lucas said this color reminds him of
spring—fresh, young, alive.”
Alive.
I almost laughed again.
So that’s what I was now—
an empty shell of the woman who once saved him.
“It’s pretty,” I said at last.
Then I lifted my head, meeting her gaze, my tone calm—almost gentle.
“But that color’s too bright. It’s not really suitable for being around
a heart patient. It might... excite his heartbeat.”
The air went still.
Nova’s smile froze on her lips.
Lucas’s brows drew together, a faint twitch betraying the discomfort he
didn’t want to show.
I looked at him and added, almost casually,
“Didn’t the doctor say your heart still can’t handle too much
stimulation?”
His expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.
That was the past he never wanted mentioned again—
the night of the failed heartbeat, the surgery that nearly ended him,
the same fear I had lived with for five long years.
He never thought I’d bring it up.
Not in front of her.
I stepped forward and gently picked up the coffee cup on the table.
“The temperature’s just right,” I said, handing it to him with a faint
smile. “Don’t let it get cold.”
In that moment, I looked exactly like the woman I had been five years
ago—
obedient, quiet, considerate.
Only this time, my heart was empty.
“I…” He started, his tone laced with something complicated. “Maybe you
should get some rest.”
I nodded.
“All right.”
I set down the cup and walked toward the door.
My shadow stretched long in the morning light spilling through the
window.
“Lucas,” I said softly, stopping in my tracks. My voice was so light it
almost dissolved into the air.
“Five years ago, I saved your life.”
He froze.
“But now,” I continued, “it’s time I saved my own.”
The door closed behind me, and I heard him take a long, heavy breath.
Nova leaned toward him, her voice a whisper, tinged with amusement.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just jealous.”
I didn’t look back.
Sunlight poured through the glass window, falling across the back of my
hand.
The scar there still burned faintly—
a mark left from the day I signed the surgery consent form five years
ago.
A seal that would never heal.
Kendall—
her smile faltered, cracking at the corners. My words had stolen
whatever composure she had left.
Lucas stood beside her, brow furrowed, his expression outwardly calm,
yet betraying a trace of unease.
The air hung silent for several seconds.
The kettle in the kitchen kept boiling softly.
While they said nothing, I untied my apron, turned around, and left.
My footsteps were light, yet carried a weight of finality I hadn’t felt
in years.
Back in the bedroom, I leaned against the door and took a deep breath.
The divorce would take effect in a week.
Seven days—
after that, I would no longer be Mrs. Lucas.
I picked up my phone and scrolled through rental listings, one after
another.
Old apartments on the edge of town, single rooms, shared flats…
Each title looked like an escape route, a map leading out of this life.
Just then, Lucas’s voice came from outside the door—low, cold.
“I’m going to the office this afternoon. Kendall will stay here. My body
hasn’t fully recovered—you’ll take care of me.”
I looked up, my tone so even it barely carried emotion.
“Take care of you? Are you sure I’m your maid… or your nurse?”
He hadn’t expected me to answer that way. His face changed slightly.
“Have you forgotten,” he said after a pause, voice heavy with warning,
“who allows you to still live here?”
That familiar note of threat—low, deliberate—
sank between us like the echo of a locked door.
I gave a small, tired smile. “I haven’t forgotten. But I also remember
the doctor saying that day—
I nearly went into cardiac failure saving you.”
He froze, a flicker of stiffness flashing through his features.
It was the one memory he could never bear to face.
“Don’t bring that up again,” he said coldly. “You saved me, and I gave
you five years of life.”
I lifted my head. For the first time, there was no fear in my eyes.
“Five years?” I said quietly. “That wasn’t life. It was imprisonment.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
His expression twisted—part anger, part guilt—
but the flicker of remorse vanished almost instantly.
“When I’m gone,” he muttered, his voice sinking into a low, restrained
growl,
“don’t cause trouble. If anything happens to Kendall…”
He paused.
“You know the consequences.”
Then he bent down and kissed Kendall on the forehead.
That scene—
one I had imagined in countless dreams—
was never meant to belong to anyone else.
The door closed.
He was gone.
