Chapter 2
A lump formed in my throat. A mix of shock and despair washed over me.
If the match was him, there was no way he'd donate a liver to my sister.
I let myself fall onto the bed, every ounce of strength gone.
In the dead of night, lost in a haze, I found myself remembering the last phone call I had with Lauren, five years ago.
With his only family gone, his voice had been hoarse with hatred. "Claire, what gives you the right to keep breathing?"
Like a recurring nightmare, the memory haunted me.
It wasn't until dawn that Ethan called me, his voice buzzing with excitement. "The donor just called out of the blue.
"He confirmed he's willing to go through with the transplant!"
I could hardly believe it. "Dr. Parker, how is that even possible?"
Ethan's tone was unusually light. "Mr. Bennett is a renowned philanthropist.
"He runs a pharmaceutical firm and has helped countless people. He has a heart of gold."
My heart was in my throat.
After a moment of delusional joy, a wave of guilt and panic washed over me.
It took a long while before I managed to ask, "Does he... know about my sister's situation?"
Ethan replied, "We showed him some of the medical records.
"But all the personal info was kept strictly confidential."
Just as I thought.
Lauren had agreed because he didn't know.
If everything went smoothly, he'd never know who the recipient was until it was over.
I sat on the bed, my fingers clenched silently in my palm.
My mind was in turmoil.
Finally, I forced myself to thank him and agreed to bring my sister back home for the transplant.
No matter what, I just couldn't stand by and watch my sister die.
Ethan handled the arrangements. That afternoon, he flew us back to the States and got my sister transferred to a Northern City hospital.
Perhaps it was the joy of being home after five years, but once my sister was settled, she regained some color.
When I told her we'd found a matching liver, her expression grew anxious. "Liver donation is risky, Claire.
"And the surgery is incredibly expensive. We can't afford that."
I fumbled for the bank card in my pocket and shoved it into her hand. "You forgot. We have money. We can afford whatever it takes."
She acted as if I'd handed her a hot coal. She slapped the card away, sending it clattering to the floor.
Her pale, thin hand gripped mine. "Claire, that's not our money. We can't use it. I'm fine. Now that he's dead, I can die in peace..."
My eyes burned, and I finally cracked. "I won't let you die! This card was given to me.
"I did what Victoria asked five years ago. Why shouldn't I spend it?"
Claire looked anxious, like she was desperate to say something more.
I squeezed her hand and begged, "Don't leave me. Michael is finally dead. Please stay with me... let's just live, okay?"
Tears welled in her eyes. She looked at me, torn, before turning her head to the window in silence.
I turned around, knelt down, and with shaky hands, picked up the bank card from the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a pair of black dress shoes standing in the doorway.
I thought it was Ethan coming back with paperwork, so I stood up and looked up.
Instead, I locked eyes with that familiar, gentle face.
Only now, his eyes were cold as ice.
Five years.
I'd imagined reuniting with Lauren countless times. But I never expected it to catch me this off guard.
My body was glued to the floor. My instinct screamed to run, but I couldn't move.
It wasn't until my sister asked, "Claire, what's wrong?" that I snapped back to reality.
I wanted to look away and pretend I hadn't recognized him.
His gaze swept over the bank card in my hand, then to the room number on the door.
He spoke, his face impassive. "Isn't this room 607?"
He was holding a thermal lunchbox, likely visiting a friend.
Aside from the chill in his eyes, he was calm. He really didn't seem to recognize me.
My mind was a mess.
After a long pause, I put on a calm front and said, "This is room 617."
Lauren nodded, turned, and walked away. He didn't spare me a second glance.
I stood there, staring at his tall figure as he walked away. For a moment, I thought I heard a faint, mocking laugh.
Maybe I just misheard.
The last thing I saw was the diamond ring on his left ring finger.
Years ago, in our tiny apartment, he wore a ring too.
It was a matching set, a plain band that cost less than three hundred dollars.
Clients used to mock him for it, but he never took it off.
Now, he had clearly upgraded.
I looked away, a sharp pang of sadness hitting me.
The surgery was scheduled for a month later.
I was scared to bump into Lauren again. What if he found out the truth and decided not to go through with the donation?