Chapter 1

My husband was Gerald Yeats. His first love, Sylvia Jennings, got liver cancer, and he forced me onto the operating table to donate my liver to her.

I begged him, telling him I was already six months pregnant.

But he just looked at me with pure disgust.

He said, "You've done everything you could to take me away from Sylvia for five years. Isn't that enough? Can't you stop being so vicious?"

In the end, I gave up on everything, and that surgery took my life right there in the hospital.

*****

After I died, my soul was bound to Gerald.

He was the man responsible for my death, but he was also the one I'd loved for five years.

Gerald was visibly anxious, pacing restlessly back and forth outside the operating room.

Whoever was inside was clearly someone he cared about more than anything.

Seeing him like that, I couldn't help but let out a bitter smile.

We'd been married for five years, and whenever he was with me, he was always in control, never letting anything slip.

His face stayed emotionless, never showing a hint of feeling.

But whenever Sylvia, the woman he'd secretly loved for years, was around, he'd suddenly turn into someone overflowing with emotions, just like any ordinary man.

Just moments ago, I died along with our unborn child on an operating table, right under the same roof as him.

But he chose to stay by Sylvia's side, the woman he'd loved for so many years.

Of course, how could I ever compare to the one he truly loved?

After what felt like forever, the light above the operating room finally went out.

The doctor stepped out and told Gerald that the liver transplant was a complete success.

He went on to say that the donor liver Gerald had arranged was a perfect match. There wasn't even the slightest adverse reaction.

Gerald paused for a second when he heard that, but as soon as he saw Sylvia being wheeled out, every other thought disappeared. All he cared about was carefully escorting her back to her hospital room.

Once Sylvia woke up, Gerald sent me a message right there with her watching. [Let's get divorced. The divorce agreement is already on its way to you.

[Since you gave your liver to Sylvia, I'll offer you a bit more compensation, for you and the baby.]

When Gerald brought up the baby, his fingers paused on the keyboard for a second.

Then he added: [You'd better dispose of it. I don't want things to get complicated for Sylvia.]

After sending the message, Gerald turned right to Sylvia, swearing to her that he'd make a clean break with me within the next couple of days.

I floated in the air, watching Gerald do everything he could to distance himself from me, and a flood of complicated emotions washed over me.

The child I waited for all these years was just a thing to Gerald, something to be disposed of. How pathetic.

There was nothing left to be disposed of. Not me, not the baby.

Sylvia, acting all sweet and fragile, wrapped her fingers around Gerald's hand, her voice barely above a whisper. "Gerald, don't fight with Shelly because of me. After all, you two have been married for five years.

"I... I really don't want her to feel hurt."

Sylvia's eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at Gerald, her gaze soft and gentle.

That look made Gerald's heart melt. He forgot about everything else.

He reached out and gently stroked Sylvia's hair, feeling nothing but pity for her.

He said, "Sylvia, you're too soft-hearted. You always think about everyone else, but Shelly is selfish and always lying. She never cares about you.

"When she found out you were sick, she wouldn't even spare a single bit of her liver for you."

Gerald let out a couple of cold snorts, his face twisted with disgust.

He spat, "If I hadn't dragged her onto that operating table myself, you would've died because of her."

Gerald's words sent a cold chill through me.

So it really was Gerald who forced me onto that operating table.

I pressed my hand to my aching chest, totally confused.

I couldn't figure out why Gerald hated me this much, or why, even after dying, my heart still ached.

I stared at Gerald, feeling utterly disappointed.

Memories from just before I died came rushing back.

An overwhelming sense of dread and fear consumed me as I lay strapped tightly to the operating table.

I was blindfolded with a black cloth and my mouth was gagged. The only thing I could hear was the constant shuffle of footsteps and murmured voices nearby.

And then, the torment began.

I could feel it all—the baby leaving my body, and the cold scalpel cutting into my body. Every second etched in pain.

It hurt so much.

I didn't know who hated me so much, or maybe I was just too tough, but I forced myself through that surgery without a single drop of anesthesia.

In a haze, I caught the sound of someone making a call. "Mr. Yeats, we're delivering the healthy liver now."

"Good. Make it quick," someone replied.

That voice on the other end of the line was so familiar.

It was the man I'd shared a bed with for five years.

In that moment, everything became painfully clear. Once the surgery was over, it was like I'd become invisible. No one in the room even remembered I existed.