“Mira,” the doctor said gently, yet there was no hiding the weight behind his voice. “The bone marrow therapy has stopped responding. The transfusions are only delaying the inevitable. Without a transplant—and soon—your body won’t be able to hold on.”

I nodded as if I understood, though my thoughts had already drifted somewhere far away. My hands shook as I reached for my phone. I dialed Ethan’s number.

My husband.

The man I’d spent five years of my life loving.

The call rang. Once. Twice. Then again.

No answer.

I tried again. Still nothing.

A third time—straight to voicemail.

The ache in my chest deepened, sharp and suffocating. I stared at my screen, waiting, hoping he’d call back. Instead, my phone vibrated.

An Instagram notification.

I opened it without thinking.

A photo filled my screen. Liora—my cousin. Freshly returned from overseas, always talking about her big dreams, her future in fashion, how she was finally living the life she wanted. In the photo, she was glowing. Smiling brightly. Her fingers were intertwined with a man’s hand.

The watch on his wrist caught the light.

I didn’t need to look twice.

I knew that watch. I had clasped it around his wrist myself.

Ethan’s.

The caption felt like fire against my skin.

The person I’ve loved quietly for so long is finally mine. Even if this is only a dream, I pray it never ends.

My thumb slipped.

I hit “like.”

Less than a minute later, my phone started ringing nonstop. His name flashed across the screen again and again.

I answered.

“Mira—don’t hang up,” Ethan said quickly, his voice tight, almost panicked. “Please. I know what you saw. Just… give me a chance to explain.”

I said nothing.

He rushed to fill the silence. “This isn’t what it looks like. Liora told me she’s willing to be your donor. She really is. But she set a condition.” He inhaled sharply. “She said she’d only do it if I agreed to be with her. Just for a month. One month, Mira. I didn’t have a choice. I did this for you. Everything I did—I did it because I love you.”

My throat burned. “Ethan… are you telling me the truth? Or is this just the version you want me to believe?”

“It is the truth!” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. “Mira, you’re my whole world. You know that. I’ve said it a thousand times. I can’t lose you. If something happens to you, I won’t survive it.”

“Then why,” I asked quietly, “does it feel like you didn’t hesitate at all when she asked?”

Silence answered me. All I could hear was his breathing.

Memories came rushing in, uninvited.

The boy who once drove across the city in the middle of the night because I mentioned craving dumplings and couldn’t sleep through the pain.

The boy who surprised me with shoes I’d casually admired months earlier.

The boy who knelt beneath glowing lanterns on my twenty-second birthday, holding out a ring with shaking hands and saying, Marry me after you graduate. I want a lifetime with you, Mira.

I had believed him.

Everyone had.

Ethan Marlowe—aloof, distant, untouchable to everyone else. But with me, he had been gentle. Warm. Mine.

When I was diagnosed with aplastic anemia six months ago, he squeezed my hand so tightly it hurt. Tears filled his eyes as he said, “If you leave this world, I’m coming with you. Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

He searched endlessly for a donor. He called hospitals, pleaded with strangers, volunteered his own blood even when it wasn’t enough. Once, I saw a document on his desk—his will. He was ready to give everything away.

He even paid Liora. I saw the proof myself.

Four hundred million dollars.

Funding for her dreams, in exchange for her bone marrow.

But that wasn’t all she wanted.

For the fourth time in half a year, Liora delayed the procedure again. Every time, there was a new reason. And every time, Ethan stayed beside her—as if she were the one lying in a hospital bed, fading.

The first time, she fainted and claimed her blood sugar had dropped. Ethan stayed in the hospital with her for three nights straight.

The second time, she said her anxiety was overwhelming, that she couldn’t sleep. Ethan attended therapy sessions with her, holding her hand until dawn.

The third time, she developed a sudden fever. Ethan left my bedside—right after I collapsed during treatment—to care for her instead.

And now, she had raised the stakes.

She told him she’d only donate if he agreed to be her boyfriend for one month.

I lay on the hospital bed, gripping the blanket as my hands trembled. When I spoke, my voice was quiet, but it cut deep.

“Ethan… give her more money. I don’t care how much. Pay her whatever she wants. Just don’t do this. Don’t be with her. Please.”

The line went still. I could hear him breathing, but he didn’t answer.

After a long moment, he spoke softly. “Mira… we already owe her so much. I don’t want to pressure her. She’s helping you. We should be thankful.”

I clenched the blanket harder, rage pounding in my chest with nowhere to go.

“Owe her?” I whispered. “For the money? Or… is there something else you owe her?”

Before he could respond, another voice slipped into the call—sweet, delicate, false.

“Ethan,” Liora said lightly, “I burned my hand. It hurts. Come here.”

His tone changed instantly. Concern replaced everything else.

“Mira, I’ll call you back later, okay? Liora needs me.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone until the screen dimmed and went black. My chest felt empty, as though something vital had finally collapsed inside me.

I turned toward my doctor.

“If I don’t get the transplant… how much time do I have?”

He sighed, sympathy heavy in his eyes. “At most, one month. You’re weakening quickly. If the transplant happens before then, there’s still hope. Otherwise—”

“I understand,” I whispered, stopping him. “Then… I won’t be getting it.”

I knew Liora too well. She was never going to save me. She would keep postponing, keep finding reasons—just to keep Ethan tied to her.

And I was done waiting.

That evening, I returned home. The sky glowed in shades of gold and orange, so peaceful it almost felt like a farewell. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if this was mercy—one last gentle gift before the end.

Then I opened the door.

And everything shattered.

Ethan was sitting on the couch when I stepped inside. Liora was tucked comfortably against him, close enough that their shoulders touched. She was holding a fork, lifting pieces of fruit to his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her laughter was light, victorious—like someone who had already claimed her prize.

“Mira!” Ethan sprang to his feet the moment he saw me, relief flashing across his face as though he’d been waiting all along. He rushed over and pressed a small box into my hands. “I bought this for you. If you accept it… it means you’re agreeing to everything. You’ll let me stay with Liora for a bit so she can help with the transplant. Please. Just say yes.”

I looked at the box but made no move to take it. My fingers curled at my sides. My lips shook, yet when I spoke, my voice sounded eerily calm.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” I said. “I’ll agree even without a gift.”

His eyes widened, disbelief washing over his face. “You… you’re serious?”

“Yes,” I answered softly, each syllable cracking something open inside my chest.

Liora immediately rose from the couch and linked her arm through mine, pressing close as if we were inseparable. Her smile was dazzling—too dazzling.

“Then we’ll all get along, right, cousin?” she said sweetly. “No resentment, no drama. Ethan’s just helping me live my dream. He promised me this month, and after that, you’ll be fine.”

I gently but firmly slid my arm out of hers. “I won’t resent you.”

Ethan visibly relaxed. He hurried into the kitchen and returned moments later carrying a bowl of steaming soup. His expression was proud, almost eager, as he held it out to me.

“I cooked this for you myself,” he said. “It’s good for improving your blood. Please, eat a little.”

The scent was rich and comforting. For a brief moment, I wanted to trust him. I lifted the spoon and took a single sip.

Pain exploded in my throat.

“No—” I choked, clutching at my chest as a burning sensation spread. My skin went clammy, my vision swimming. “Shrimp? Ethan… you put shrimp in this? I’m allergic. How could you forget? I told you—”

He froze, horror flooding his face. “I—I thought it was peanuts! I swear, I thought that was what you couldn’t eat!”

Liora spoke up gently from behind him, her voice smooth and precise. “No, Ethan, you’re mistaken. I’m the one allergic to peanuts. You remember—I mentioned it just last week.”

Dark spots swam before my eyes as the pain sharpened, slicing deeper into my chest. He remembered her allergies. He remembered everything about her.

Just not me.

The last sound I registered before everything faded was Ethan screaming my name in terror.

When I regained consciousness, I was back in bed. Ethan sat beside me, his eyes bloodshot, his face drawn. He clutched my hand tightly, as though afraid I’d vanish if he let go.

“Mira, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “This was my fault. A stupid mistake. Please forgive me. I canceled everything else. For the next few days, it’s just us. I promise you—I’ll never let something like this happen again. Never.”

I turned my face away from him. My voice was quiet, steady, and empty.

“You don’t need to say sorry,” I murmured. “You already chose Liora. Just remember what she likes now. Take care of her properly. And Ethan… after this, stay away from me. Completely.”

Confusion flashed across his face. “What are you talking about? What’s between me and Liora isn’t real. It’s temporary. Just one month. I’m only playing a role so she’ll agree to save you. Don’t twist this into something else. You’re my wife. You’re the one I love.”

He reached for my face, but I turned away and pulled the quilt up to my chin.

“I’m exhausted,” I whispered. “I need to sleep.”

His hand hovered awkwardly in the air before dropping back to his side. He exhaled slowly. “Alright. Rest.”

The door clicked shut behind him. The sound was heavier than any argument. Once I knew he was gone, I opened my eyes. Tears slid silently down my temple, soaking into the pillow beneath my cheek.

I didn’t have much time left.

The disease was winning.

With trembling effort, I forced myself out of bed and pulled an old box from the far corner of the closet. Dust coated its surface. Inside were the fragments of a life we once shared—movie stubs from our first date, a cheap bracelet he bought me at a night market, faded Polaroids from trips where he always held me close and I always smiled like the future was guaranteed.

My chest tightened painfully. I stayed up through the night, sorting through everything, touching each item as though memorizing its weight. As dawn broke, I carried the box outside. I lit a small brazier in the backyard.

One by one, I fed our memories to the flames.

The fire was still burning when a sharp voice pierced the air.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Before I could react, Liora rushed toward me and shoved me hard. The brazier tipped over, scattering glowing embers. Several struck my arm. Pain tore through my skin, and I cried out.

“Liora—” I staggered back, clutching my arm.

She advanced on me, eyes wild. “If you don’t want me living here, just say it! Why would you destroy my things like this?”

Her tone was wounded, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.

The commotion drew Ethan outside. He ran straight to her, immediately pulling her behind him, shielding her with his body. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Liora grabbed onto his shirt, tears forming instantly. “Ethan, Mira hates me so much she started burning my belongings! She doesn’t want me here at all!”

He turned to me. For the first time in weeks, his gaze fully settled on my face. But there was no warmth in it—only disapproval.

“Mira,” he said heavily, “how could you do this? After everything Liora has done for you… after she agreed to help with your treatment… is this how you repay her?”

My chest constricted. I bent down and retrieved a blackened scrap from the ashes. My hands shook as I held it up.

“Look carefully,” I said, my voice trembling. “These aren’t her things. They’re mine. Ours.”

The fragment was from a photo taken last winter—Ethan wrapping his scarf around me, my cheeks flushed from the cold, my eyes bright with happiness.

He went completely still. “Why… why would you burn these?”

“Because they’ve gone bad,” I replied, tears blurring my sight. I dropped the photo back into the fire. “I don’t want them anymore.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “These belong to us. You said we’d look at them together when we were old. Why would you throw that away?”

I smiled weakly. “Don’t you understand, Ethan? I’m dy—”

“Ethan… my hand,” Liora interrupted softly. “I think it got burned when the brazier fell.”

His attention snapped to her instantly. He released me without hesitation and took her hand instead. “Let’s go inside. I’ll treat it.”

With his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, he led her back into the house.

He never looked back.

I remained standing there alone, shaking, watching the last of the flames die down.

My arms burned where the embers had struck, the pain sharp and persistent—but I barely cared. I returned to my bedroom, pulled the first-aid kit from the drawer, soaked cotton with alcohol, and pressed it against the raw skin. The sting hit hard, stealing the air from my lungs.

Still… it wasn’t anywhere near as painful as watching the man I loved erase me, little by little.

There was a time when Ethan hovered over me like I was fragile glass. Even the smallest cut sent him into a panic. He’d grab my hand, drag me off to the infirmary, his face pale as if he were the one bleeding out. I used to tease him for being ridiculous, but deep down, I cherished it. He made me feel treasured. Chosen.

Now… he didn’t even see the burns on my arm.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t pause.

He simply walked away—Liora tucked safely at his side.

That night, I finally let myself break. The tears I’d been holding back slipped free, trailing down my cheeks and dripping onto my injured skin. The sting was immediate and vicious. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. But even that sharp pain couldn’t compare to the dull, crushing ache spreading through my chest.

---

The following two days made one thing painfully clear: I had already fallen out of Ethan’s world.

Liora stayed glued to him, clinging as though afraid he might disappear if she let go. She followed him everywhere.

At the dining table, she leaned toward him with a pout, nudging his arm playfully. “Ethan, can you feed me the shrimp? Please? It tastes better when you do it.”

I sat across from them in silence, pushing food around my plate, while Ethan actually lifted the shrimp and brought it to her lips. She smiled, pleased, leaning into his shoulder—completely unbothered by my presence.

Later, while a movie played softly in the background, she curled up against his chest on the couch. “Hold me tighter,” she murmured. “The loud scenes scare me.”

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

Every time I passed by, Liora would tilt her head and smile at me—sweet, sugary, sharp. “Mira, you promised, didn’t you? You said you wouldn’t mind if we acted close like this.”

Each time, I answered the same way. A small smile. A gentle tone.

“Of course not.”

Eventually, I wasn’t sure whether I was lying to her—or to myself.

What I couldn’t deny was that my body was failing faster than I wanted to admit.

Liora was meant to be my donor. My cousin. My blood. The only person who could save me. Yet she treated it like a bargaining chip, dangling my survival just out of reach, enjoying the control.

---

That evening, I stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. Pale. Thin. Unsteady. I realized I might soon lose the strength to even stand.

That was when I decided.

Before my body completely gave up, I wanted one final photograph.

A picture for my funeral.

So even if Ethan forgot my face someday, he would still see me once more—smiling, breathing, alive.

At the photo studio, the photographer smiled kindly. “You have such delicate features, miss. Is this picture for an ID? Or a graduation photo?”

I looked straight into the lens. My voice was calm, detached. “It’s for my funeral.”

His hands trembled so badly I thought the camera might slip. He didn’t ask anything else. I stayed still, endured the flash, and told myself this would be the image placed beside my coffin.

While waiting for the print, laughter drifted in from the entrance.

I froze.

I knew that sound—Ethan’s low chuckle, threaded with Liora’s bright giggle.

I turned and saw them walking in together, arms linked, looking every bit like a couple out on a casual date. Liora noticed me and widened her eyes. “Mira? What are you doing here?”

I slipped the photo into my pocket. “Just needed one for my ID,” I replied evenly. “What about you?”

She leaned her head against Ethan’s shoulder, soft and affectionate. “Couples should have albums, don’t you think? We took photos a few days ago. We’re here to pick them up.”

Ethan glanced at me quickly. “She really wanted it. I just went along with it. Once you recover, we can do one too.”

I nodded, saying nothing, my chest tightening.

The staff called them over to view their pictures. I tried to step away, but Liora caught my wrist. “Mira, help us choose. You have better taste.”

Before I could refuse, she pulled me over.

The screen lit up.

Photo after photo of them together—hands entwined, smiles effortless. In one image, they kissed under a glowing sunset. In another, Ethan wrapped his arms around her from behind, both dressed in white, looking perfectly matched.

Each image pierced me.

Liora’s voice rang beside me, bright and cutting. “Which one do you think makes us look happiest?”

I opened my mouth—

And then chaos erupted.

A loud crash echoed through the studio as shelves toppled over.

Ethan reacted instantly, throwing himself over Liora, shielding her completely.

I wasn’t so lucky.

The sharp edge of a metal shelf slammed into my shoulder. Pain exploded through me as fabric tore and warm blood spilled down my arm.

“Ethan, it hurts!” Liora cried, clutching her arm where there was barely a mark.

He panicked immediately. “You’re bleeding. We need to go to the hospital.” He scooped her into his arms and rushed for the exit.

He paused once.

Turned back.

His eyes met mine—me pinned beneath the shelf, blood pooling as I struggled to pull myself free. Our gazes locked for a second… maybe two.

Then he looked away.

And left.

I dragged myself upright, shaking, and made my way to the hospital alone.

As the doctor stitched my wound, he frowned. “Why didn’t someone bring you here? You lost a lot of blood. This could’ve been dangerous.”

I clenched my teeth as the needle pierced my skin. “There was no one to bring me.”

He hesitated. “That’s odd. A young woman came in earlier with a small scrape. Her boyfriend was frantic—demanded extra tests.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “That man… was my boyfriend too.”

The doctor froze. He didn’t ask anything else. He finished in silence.

Late that night, as I struggled to change my bandage alone, the door finally opened.

Ethan stepped inside—and stopped short.

His eyes widened when he saw the wound. “Mira… what happened to you?” His voice broke as he rushed toward me.