Chapter 1

Just before the anesthesia kicked in, I heard the lead surgeon ask, "Mr. Reed, Mrs. Reed is eight weeks pregnant. Should we still proceed with the surgery?"

Jonathan Reed's voice came through his mask, cold as a scalpel. "Continue."

"But—" the surgeon hesitated.

"I said continue," Jonathan repeated, leaning in as my eyes grew heavy. He spoke each word slowly, "Evelyn, this is the debt you owe Claire."

What? I looked at Jonathan, and all I wanted to do was laugh.

Laugh at myself for spending three years waiting for him every night, cooking three meals a day. Laugh at how I gave up my career in medicine for him.

Laugh at how I was lying here on the operating table, while he was outside, holding Claire Summers's hand.

Right before the anesthesia fully kicked in, I struggled to move my fingers.

I couldn't reach my phone, but I could feel my stomach.

Inside me, a new heartbeat had just begun, and now, it was about to be cut out along with my left kidney.

*****

The cold sting of the anesthesia hadn't yet numbed me completely when I heard his voice.

Through the thick glass of the operating room, through the sterile curtain, through eight years of marriage and all the despair I'd collected, Jonathan's voice was like a venomous shard of ice, stabbing straight through the last flicker of my consciousness.

He said, "Continue the surgery."

The lead surgeon hesitated, his hand hovering over the scalpel, worry etched in his eyes above the mask. "Mr. Reed, the ultrasound confirmed that Ms. Hart is eight weeks pregnant.

"We can already hear the baby's heartbeat. If we proceed with the kidney transplant now, the baby—"

"I said continue," Jonathan interrupted, his tone icy and indifferent, not a hint of emotion.

He didn't even look at me. Instead, he lowered his head and fiddled with his cufflinks, the sapphire ones I gave him for his birthday last year.

He'd scoffed at them, said they were cheap, and never bothered to wear them until today, all to show up with Claire at some charity event.

Right now, Claire was sitting in a wheelchair, a nurse pushing her to the observation area outside the surgery room.

She wore a spotless white hospital gown, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her face ghostly pale, but the look she shot me was full of smug satisfaction she couldn't hide.

"Jonathan..." she called out weakly, reaching for him.

Jonathan immediately took her hand, his touch gentle in a way I'd never seen before. "Don't be afraid, Claire. It'll all be over soon."

It would all be over soon. My left kidney, and the baby inside me, barely eight weeks along, would soon vanish from this world, all to save her, his so-called "fragile" beloved, who was caught by paparazzi doing drugs at a private club last week.

The anesthesia was kicking in, and the surgical lights overhead started to spin. I fought to move my fingers, to reach for something, to scream, "Jonathan, I'm pregnant. It's our baby."

But my throat felt sealed shut, and all I could do was let cold tears roll down my temples and into my hair.

"But Mr. Reed, we're talking about two lives here." The doctor's voice came.

Jonathan finally turned to look at me on the operating table.

What a look that was. His eyes were cold and hateful, like he was staring at something filthy.

"Evelyn," he said, his words cutting like knives, "This is the debt you owe Claire."

What? I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

So, I asked with my eyes instead.

What exactly did I owe her? Was it for giving her my blood after that car accident eight years ago? For staying up all night with her whenever her depression hit?

Or for letting her waltz into our living room in silk pajamas, even though she knew Jonathan was married?

Jonathan's voice pierced through the anesthetic haze. "If you hadn't manipulated your way into my bed all those years ago, Claire wouldn't have been so devastated that she left the country.

"She wouldn't have gotten into that car accident. She wouldn't be suffering from kidney failure now."

He leaned in close, behind the glass, spelling out the words for me with his lips. "This is what you deserve."

The surgical lights fractured into blinding shards.

I heard the piercing beep of the heart monitor, doctors and nurses rushing around, and Claire crying crocodile tears. "Jonathan, maybe we should stop. I can't bear to see her lose the baby."

"It's just a bastard," Jonathan spat.

Bastard. That was what he called our baby.

Just before the anesthesia swallowed me whole, I used every bit of strength I had left to reach for my stomach. It was still flat, but I knew that there was a tiny heart inside, beating faintly, stubbornly fighting to keep going.

Yesterday morning, I secretly went to get a check-up.

The doctor smiled and said, "The baby's heartbeat is strong. You're eight weeks along. Soon, you'll be a mom."

I clutched the ultrasound report, laughing and crying in the hospital hallway. I'd already decided to tell Jonathan tonight. I planned to slip the report under his bowl of soup, so when he finished, he'd find it waiting for him.

I wanted to see the surprise on his face.

I wanted to see if, even for a second, he might feel a little bit happy.

But now, there was no need for any of that.

My fingers touched the cold surgical sheet, then my skin, then my womb, where a tiny life waited, a life that had been sentenced to death.

Sorry, my baby. If there was another chance...

Right before everything went black, I caught Jonathan's final words to the doctor. "Don't waste time. Claire can't wait."

Then came Claire's gentle, coy reply. "Jonathan, you're so good to me."

So good. Yeah.

The anesthesia crashed over me like a black tide, swallowing up every sound, every bit of light, every last shred of pain.

It swallowed up the Evelyn who had spent ten years loving Jonathan. Today, that part of her was gone forever.

As the scalpel came down, I closed my eyes.

From then on, Jonathan, there was only debt between us. Pay with blood.