Chapter 4

"Divorce?" Anthony echoed, as if the word didn't register. His eyes went wide under his wet hair, stunned, with a flicker of sudden anger, as if he'd been slapped. "Zora‌, what are you saying? You're talking about divorce over something like this?"

"Something like this?" I repeated, my voice barely more than a sigh, but the words hit the room like a hammer.

The dead ashes in my chest scattered, and all that was left was a cold, hard core. "You call secretly getting tested, planning to donate your kidney, and supporting your ex-wife for five years 'something like this'?"

"I wasn't hiding anything," Anthony shot back, his neck stiff with defiance. Whatever guilt he had left was burned away by what he saw as my unreasonable attitude, replaced with pure self-righteous indignation.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? Yeah, I admit I didn't talk to you about the transfers or the testing first. That was my fault. But it was an emergency. Jennie can't wait.

"Zora‌, we're talking about someone's life. Can't you show a little compassion? Do you have to pick a fight with me right now?" he added.

Compassion. Here we went again with that word. Like, if I didn't immediately bow down and cheer for his so-called great sacrifice, I was some cold-blooded monster.

I suddenly felt bone-deep exhaustion, as if the tiredness were leaking out from every part of me. Fighting about it felt meaningless now.

"Anthony, I'm not picking a fight with you." I walked to the entryway and took my bag from the coat rack, my movements slow but steady. "I'm letting you know.

"The moment you decided Jennie's life mattered more than our marriage, more than respecting me, this was always going to be the end."

Anthony rushed over and grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt. His skin was still damp, the scent of his body wash clinging to him. Once, that scent made me feel safe. Now, it suffocated me.

"Zora, don't do anything rash. Let's talk this through. Yeah, I messed up by keeping it from you, and I'm sorry. I'll change. But the surgery can't wait. The doctors say this is our best shot.

"Can you wait until after the surgery, until I'm back on my feet, and then we'll talk about all this? I promise, I'll never have anything to do with her again," he explained.

His palm was burning against my skin, his voice edged with panic, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked genuinely desperate, almost heartbreakingly sincere.

If this had been before, I probably would've caved. Now, I only find it ridiculous.

His promises were as flimsy as a soggy piece of paper compared to five years of secret payments and the surgery that's about to happen.

"Let go," I said, her voice flat.

Anthony didn't loosen his grip. Instead, he held on tighter, as if he were clinging to the last straw. "Zora, don't do this. I know you're pissed.

"Hit me, yell at me, whatever. But divorce... After three years together, after everything we've built, are you going to throw our home away like it meant nothing?"

"Home?" I looked around. From the construction to the furnishings, every single detail here bore the mark of my effort and care.

I picked out the curtains, chose the sofa, kept the plants alive. Our wedding photo hung on the wall: me smiling like I had the world, and him with his arm around me, his gaze gentle.

But now, I couldn't help but wonder whether that tenderness had always been a mask for his guilt and feelings for someone else.

This place was nothing but a stage I'd set up, pouring my heart into every act while he was going through the motions, his mind always somewhere else, chasing another story.

"Anthony, this place never felt like home to me." I pried his fingers off one by one. He was strong, but I dug my nails into his skin, and he flinched, loosening his grip.

"This place is nothing but a charity house for you and Jennie." Angry red marks stood out on my wrist. I jerked my hand away, not bothering to look at his pale, stunned face.

"Tomorrow at three, Central City Organ Transplant Center, right?" I pulled the door open, and the cold hallway air rushed in, washing away the cloying, nauseating warmth that lingered inside.

"Don't worry, I won't interfere with your so-called life-saving mission. But Anthony, remember this. From this moment on, whatever you do or say has nothing to do with me, Zora, ever again," I added.

"Zora," Anthony called out behind me. His voice was shaky and rough, full of frantic desperation. "Where are you going? It's so late."

I didn't look back. The hallway lights flicked on with every step I took, then faded out behind me, leaving Anthony and his world of lies lost in the darkness.

The elevator descended, the cold metal walls reflecting my blurry shadow.

My face was dry. There were no tears. It turned out that when the pain cut deep enough, tears wouldn't come.

The streets were empty and desolate in the dead of night, the early winter wind biting at my face like a knife.

I walked aimlessly. My phone kept buzzing in my bag. I didn't have to check to know who it was. I turned it off.