Chapter 1
Fireworks exploded outside, their booms shaking the air. I lay curled up on the cold operating table, blood streaming down my legs and pooling on the floor.
The baby we'd waited five years for was slipping away from me, silent and unseen.
On Christmas Eve, when families were supposed to be together, I was trembling as I called my husband, Liam Smith, the head of surgery.
When he finally picked up, his voice was low and impatient. "Ava's dog swallowed something and is at the vet for emergency treatment. Can you not cause drama right now?"
"But I..." I started to say.
"Enough! If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't spoil Christmas for us," he snapped.
The dial tone cut through me like a knife to the heart.
The nurse rolled a gurney over, her eyes full of sympathy. "Has your family arrived to sign the consent yet? If we don't operate soon, your life is in danger."
I wiped the blood from my lips and stared out the window at the dazzling fireworks, my gaze empty and lifeless.
"No need to wait," I replied quietly. "Just bring me the body donation form. I'll sign it."
*****
The nurse froze mid-step.
She looked at me, her sympathy almost spilling over.
"Ms. Johnson, did you really just say that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
I lifted my head, the pain in my stomach so sharp I couldn't even force a smile.
Outside, the fireworks burst again, their dazzling light washing over my face, leaving it ghostly pale.
"I said, bring me the body donation consent form," I repeated myself, my voice soft but every word crystal clear. "I'll sign the surgery consent form and this one together."
The nurse's lips moved, but no words came out. She'd seen her share of life and death, but never a pregnant woman, abandoned by her husband on Christmas's Eve, so calmly making such a request.
She turned and left, then quickly returned with two documents.
One was the surgery consent form.
The other was the organ donation registration form.
I picked up the pen, my hand trembling, not from the cold, but from the pain.
My baby was saying goodbye to me, his life so brief that it was barely there.
I'd imagined it a thousand times: Liam, with those steady surgeon's hands, signing the record of our child's birth.
But in the end, it was me, my hand bruised and swollen from IV needles, signing the notice of his death.
[Emma Johnson.]
I slowly wrote my name in the family section, careful with every stroke.
What a cruel irony.
The only family I had was myself.
Next was the organ donation form.
[After my death, I voluntarily donate my corneas, heart, liver, kidneys...]
I checked the box for "all organs and tissues."
Liam was the head of surgery. Maybe someday, he'd be the one to transplant the organs I donated, giving someone else a second chance at life.
But he would never know that this heart had once beat for him, passionately, for a whole decade.
I was wheeled into the operating room.
The surgical lights blazed on, their glare so harsh that I couldn't even open my eyes.
Cold instruments probed my body, and I heard the doctor calmly calling out numbers.
"Blood loss, 300cc."
"Blood pressure dropping, 80 over 50."
"Prepare for a blood transfusion."
I couldn't feel the pain anymore, just an endless, all-consuming cold.
I remembered five years ago, right after we got married, when Liam took my hand and said, "Emma, let's have a baby. I hope it's a daughter as adorable as you."
I remembered three years ago, every time a pregnancy test came back negative, how he went from comforting me to getting impatient.
"Emma, can you stop being so sensitive? It's just one setback," he'd say. I remembered a year ago, when Ava returned to North City, and he started coming home late, always smelling of unfamiliar perfume.
"It's not easy for Ava to be alone in North City. I should take care of her," he'd say.
Now, the baby we'd waited five years for had finally come, only to leave in such a brutal way.
And meanwhile, my husband was giving all his tenderness and patience to Ava's dog.
The anesthesia was injected into my veins, and my consciousness slowly faded away.
Just before I slipped into unconsciousness, I caught a glimpse of the fireworks outside the window one last time.
They really were beautiful.
It was a shame I would never see them again.
When the surgery ended, dawn was breaking outside.
I was wheeled back to my room, left alone on that cold bed.
The nurse came in to change my dressing, her movements gentle.
"Ms. Johnson, you're awake. How are you feeling?" she asked, concern clear in her voice.
I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry that I couldn't make a sound.
The nurse quickly handed me a glass of water and helped me sit up.
"Your husband... hasn't come by yet," she said quietly, her voice tinged with sympathy.
I nodded. I'd expected as much.
"Well..." the nurse hesitated, then finally spoke up.