Chapter 1
The monitor by my brother's bed showed a flatline. His hand, which had been gripping mine, slipped away and went limp.
Three hours ago, the heart he'd waited three years for was taken away by my husband, Michael Foster, and sent to the operating room next door.
Inside lay Eric Woods, the brother of Michael's newly recruited intern, Emily Woods.
I dialed Michael's number, but it was Emily who answered.
"Sarah, Michael said this heart was meant for our family," Emily said.
I watched Andrew's face drain of color. Then I turned around and sent the report I'd kept hidden for a month to the hospital's deputy director.
*****
The day my brother, Andrew Summers, finally got a donor heart match after three years of waiting, Michael called me himself.
"Sarah, the donor heart will arrive at eight tomorrow morning, and the surgery is scheduled for ten. Go home tonight and pack a few sets of clean clothes for Andrew, as he'll need them after the operation," he said.
His tone was as steady as ever, like he was talking about any ordinary surgery.
I hung up, so happy I almost started running down the hallway.
It had been three years. One thousand and ninety-six days.
Every day, Andrew was fighting to stay alive.
I picked up a bag of fruit from the hospital store and pushed open the door to the ICU.
"Andrew, I've got news," I said.
Andrew was leaning against the headboard, his face pale and gray, but when he heard me, his eyes suddenly lit up.
"Really?" he asked.
"Really. The donor heart will be here tomorrow morning, and Michael will be the one performing the surgery," I replied.
Andrew gave a faint smile, like ink seeping into paper. "Looks like I need to survive till morning."
"Don't talk like that." I peeled an apple and handed it to him. He took a bite, but after a couple chews, he didn't have the strength to finish.
"Sarah, once I get my new heart, I'll take you to see the ocean."
"Okay."
"We'll go to the farthest beach I can find."
"Whatever you say."
That night, I went home and carefully folded Andrew's clothes, laying each piece out neatly.
I even washed the blue hoodie he wanted to wear when he got out of the hospital.
I didn't sleep a wink that night.
*****
Early the next morning, I rushed to the hospital. The electronic screen outside the operating area was lit up.
I scanned the list, searching for Andrew's name, but it wasn't there.
I searched again, but still couldn't find it.
The heart transplant scheduled for ten o'clock was listed under Eric's name.
I stood frozen in front of the screen, unable to believe my eyes.
I dialed Michael's number.
Instead, a young woman's voice came through the line. "Sarah, Michael's in the middle of surgery right now.
"As for Andrew, he said there was some last-minute problem with the donor heart, but he'll try to sort something out later."
It was Emily.
She was the young intern Michael had taken on last month.
There was an unmistakable lightness in her voice.
"Who is Eric to you?" I asked.
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"He's my brother. Sarah, he's been waiting a long time too. After Michael looked at everything, he said Eric was the best fit for the donor heart," Emily replied.
She spoke slowly, enunciating each word with careful precision.
My hand started shaking as I gripped my phone.
I ran to the operating room door. The red "in surgery" light was on.
The door was locked.
I banged on the door three times, but no one came.
A nurse blocked my way. "Family can't go in."
"What about my brother's surgery? The ten o'clock heart transplant for Andrew, where is it?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
The nurse glanced at the schedule screen, looking uncomfortable.
"Andrew's surgery... It's been canceled. There was a change in the donor allocation. If you want the details, you'll have to ask Michael," she replied.
For a moment, the whole hallway seemed to spin around me.
Andrew was still waiting in the ICU.
He believed today would be the day he'd finally get his new heart.
He dreamed of seeing the ocean.
I'd been married to Michael for six years.
People who didn't know us always said I was lucky.
I was married to the youngest director of Cardiothoracic Surgery in the city, living in a luxury riverside apartment, and I had a car and driver whenever I needed.
While others had to wait three months to get an appointment with a specialist, all I had to do was say the word.
But the people who really knew us saw things differently.
When Michael was twelve, his drunk father almost beat him to death and dumped him at a construction site.
My dad was passing by, saw him covered in blood, and picked him up, carrying him home on his back.
From that day on, he became a part of our family.
My dad put him through school, college, grad school, and even his PhD.
He didn't let us down. He worked his way up to a PhD in cardiothoracic surgery, and by thirty-two, he had become the head of the department.
My dad would tell anyone who'd listen, "Michael's almost like my own son."
Michael never denied it.
He called my dad "Dad," and Andrew "Drew."
Every New Year, he'd haul in armfuls of gifts. When Andrew was cramming for his SATs, he took a whole week off to help him study.
Everyone said he was the kind of guy who never forgot a favor.
But only I knew the truth. He never once said he liked me.
I was the one who confessed first.
The year I graduated college, I got a little tipsy, my cheeks flushed, and blurted out, "Michael, I like you."
He looked at me for a long time, then finally said, "Okay."
Even when it came to getting married, I was the one who brought it up first.
And like before, he gave me the same answer.
Life after marriage wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either.
Michael was always busy with surgeries, papers, and working toward promotions.
I quit my job and stayed home, waiting for him so we could eat dinner together.
When Andrew was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, I quit my last part-time job and started shuttling between the hospital and home.
He promised me he'd take care of Andrew.
He said it with the same steady, matter-of-fact tone he always used before surgery, so calm and certain, it left no room for doubt.
I believed him.
Like I believed him when he said he and Emily only had a normal teacher-student relationship.
A month ago, I was bringing Andrew some food at the hospital when I passed by Michael's office.
The door was barely open.
Emily was leaning on his shoulder, crying, her shoulders trembling.
He had his hand on her back, gently comforting her.
He was so practiced at it.
He moved with a familiarity that made it obvious this wasn't some awkward first encounter.
I stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the food container. Neither of them noticed I was there.
It wasn't until I turned to leave that the container accidentally hit the doorframe.
He looked up, saw me, and immediately pulled his hand away from her.
That night, when we got home, he brought it up himself.
He said, "Her brother also has a heart condition. She's been under a lot of stress lately. I was just supporting my student.
"Don't think too much into it."
As he said that, he tried to light his cigarette three times, but the lighter wouldn't catch.
I didn't think much of it.
Honestly, my biggest problem in life is that I never question things enough.
But now, I stood outside the OR and stared at those two words, Eric Woods, on the screen.
Suddenly, I remembered that day in Michael's office. Emily had been sobbing, saying her brother was running out of time. Michael's hand was on her back, comforting her like he'd done it a thousand times before.
That same hand was holding the scalpel right now, putting the heart that was meant for Andrew into her brother's chest.
I crouched down in the hallway outside the OR, and my phone slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a thud.
The corner of the screen cracked.
Emily's last message was glowing on the screen. [Sarah, don't worry. Michael won't leave Andrew behind. He'll find another donor heart.]
Another donor heart?
Andrew had already waited three years.
How much longer could he really wait?