Chapter 1

When I took my five-year-old son for his annual checkup, I found an extra kidney function test on his chart.

"This is the screening for a living kidney donor evaluation. Weren't you aware?"

I frowned at the nurse's explanation.

"I didn't book that. Is there a mistake?"

The nurse checked her system.

"This test was added by Ms. Claire Bennett."

Before I could press further, she shuffled the paperwork. A loose medical document, mistakenly slipped into Owen's file, slid across the counter.

Diagnosis: ADPKD.

Patient: Noah.

Emergency Contact: Claire Bennett.

I stared at those lines, my chest caving in like I'd been hit by a sledgehammer.

"Why would Claire arrange this for another child?"

The nurse immediately snatched the paper back, her expression turning guarded.

"I apologize, sir. I can't disclose his medical information. For the screening, please speak to his attending."

I pulled out my phone and dialed my wife, Claire Bennett.

"Claire. Why is there a living donor workup listed on Owen's chart?"

The line went dead silent for three seconds.

Claire finally spoke. "The nurse must have made a mistake. I'm swamped right now. Don't call me unless it's an emergency."

I let out a short laugh. "Alright."

After hanging up, I turned to the nurse.

"Where is this boy's room?"

The nurse shifted, deeply uncomfortable.

"Sir, that file does not belong to you. Please do not enter other patients' rooms or interfere with their treatment."

"I understand."

I glanced down at Owen's chart, dropping my voice to a quiet murmur.

"But since my wife is listed as the emergency contact, and I'm her husband, it's only right I check on our relatives."

The nurse looked at Owen's chart, then caved.

"Third floor. Room 312."

"Thank you." I gave a nod, scooped my son into my arms, and headed for the elevators.

As the doors slid shut, the mirrored steel reflected my rigid jawline.

Owen rested his head on my shoulder, his small arms wrapped tight around my neck.

"Daddy," he asked in a small voice, "is doing that... matching test a bad thing?"

My arms tightened instinctively around him.

A five-year-old didn't know what a donor evaluation meant, but he was smart enough to read the tension in the adults' voices.

"Yes."

My voice sounded completely devoid of warmth.

"People who love you wouldn't make you do it."

"Then why did Mommy want me to?"

The elevator dinged. Third floor.

I looked down into his clear eyes and forced a faint smile.

"Let's go find out."

The corridor reeked of antiseptic.

A security guard escorted me to the public waiting area outside Room 312, reminding me not to cross the threshold.

The door was cracked open.

Just as I stepped closer to check inside, a man in a crisp, light-gray button-down walked out.

I took him in with a single glance.

Clean-cut, composed, projecting a steady demeanor. Exactly Claire's type.

"Can I help you?"

The man's eyes darted to Owen in my arms, and the color instantly drained from his face.

"I'm Ethan Carter. Claire Bennett's husband."

I introduced myself with absolute calm.

"I'm here to find out why my wife is listed as the emergency contact for your son."

The man quickly pasted on a cautious smile.

"Oh, Claire's husband. I'm Marcus Reed. Claire's my distant cousin. We live in Manhattan, but she knows people at this hospital and offered to help us get admitted. That's why she put her name down..."

"Is that so?"

I didn't bother hiding my skepticism.

Marcus shifted his weight, subtly blocking the doorway.

"This is a patient room. The boy needs his rest."

The security guard, seeing that I was strictly staying in the public area, made no move to stop me from looking.

I didn't cross the line, but I had a clear view inside.

Lying in the hospital bed was a boy around six years old, flipping through a comic book.

Hearing the voices, he looked up.

For a split second, my lungs stopped working.

The straight nose. The eyes. He was a carbon copy of Claire.

"Dad, who are they?" The boy's voice drifted out.

Marcus hurriedly turned and stepped back into the room.

"This is Ethan, Claire's husband. And that's Owen. Say hello, Noah."

"Hello, Mr. Carter," Noah said politely, his eyes drifting to Owen.

Owen wiggled down from my arms, looking around the hospital room with curiosity.

His gaze swept over the bedside table, and his eyes suddenly lit up.

"That's my necklace!"

I followed his pointing finger.

Resting on the table was a custom silver protective pendant, complete with a specialized safety clasp. Because Owen was always losing things, I had commissioned that exact piece specifically for him.

"That's mine..."

Owen reached out to point again.

Marcus practically lunged for the nightstand, snatching the silver up.

"It's just a kid's toy. A cheap knockoff," he babbled with a forced laugh, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. "Noah's been sick, so I grabbed it for him on a whim."

"Is that so?" I asked softly.

I remembered the exact day that pendant went missing. Owen had come home from kindergarten crying his eyes out.

We tore the house apart looking for it, until Claire finally scooped him up and said:

"Mommy will buy you a better one."

I had been buried in a project at the time and thought nothing of it.

Looking back now, that was the day Claire had conveniently left work early and come home.

Owen looked up at me.

"Daddy, it looks exactly like mine..."

"Yours is at home."

I patted his head, then shifted my gaze back to Marcus.

"What exactly is Noah sick with?"

"ADPKD."

Marcus's voice dropped.

"The doctors say... he needs a transplant."

"I see."

I gave a slow nod.

"Get some rest. We won't disturb you."

As I turned to leave, I heard Noah's frail voice ask:

"Dad, when is Mom coming?"

The heavy hospital door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the rest of the sentence.

I held Owen's hand, walking down the long corridor step by step.

My stride was steady. My hands weren't shaking.

But something in my chest was freezing over inch by inch, spreading from my heart straight to my limbs.

Back in the car, I buckled Owen into his car seat and put on his favorite cartoon.

"Daddy needs to make a phone call. Watch this for a bit, okay?"

"Okay."

Owen nodded obediently.

I stepped out into the parking area by the private hospital courtyard and dialed my personal assistant, Kevin Brooks.

"Mr. Carter?"

"Kevin."

My voice was unnervingly flat.

"I need a full sweep of Claire's movements in Manhattan over the last seven years. Dig into any communications and financial transfers between her and a man named Marcus Reed."

Chapter 1

When I took my five-year-old son for his annual checkup, I found an extra kidney function test on his chart.

"This is the screening for a living kidney donor evaluation. Weren't you aware?"

I frowned at the nurse's explanation.

"I didn't book that. Is there a mistake?"

The nurse checked her system.

"This test was added by Ms. Claire Bennett."

Before I could press further, she shuffled the paperwork. A loose medical document, mistakenly slipped into Owen's file, slid across the counter.

Diagnosis: ADPKD.

Patient: Noah.

Emergency Contact: Claire Bennett.

I stared at those lines, my chest caving in like I'd been hit by a sledgehammer.

"Why would Claire arrange this for another child?"

The nurse immediately snatched the paper back, her expression turning guarded.

"I apologize, sir. I can't disclose his medical information. For the screening, please speak to his attending."

I pulled out my phone and dialed my wife, Claire Bennett.

"Claire. Why is there a living donor workup listed on Owen's chart?"

The line went dead silent for three seconds.

Claire finally spoke. "The nurse must have made a mistake. I'm swamped right now. Don't call me unless it's an emergency."

I let out a short laugh. "Alright."

After hanging up, I turned to the nurse.

"Where is this boy's room?"

The nurse shifted, deeply uncomfortable.

"Sir, that file does not belong to you. Please do not enter other patients' rooms or interfere with their treatment."

"I understand."

I glanced down at Owen's chart, dropping my voice to a quiet murmur.

"But since my wife is listed as the emergency contact, and I'm her husband, it's only right I check on our relatives."

The nurse looked at Owen's chart, then caved.

"Third floor. Room 312."

"Thank you." I gave a nod, scooped my son into my arms, and headed for the elevators.

As the doors slid shut, the mirrored steel reflected my rigid jawline.

Owen rested his head on my shoulder, his small arms wrapped tight around my neck.

"Daddy," he asked in a small voice, "is doing that... matching test a bad thing?"

My arms tightened instinctively around him.

A five-year-old didn't know what a donor evaluation meant, but he was smart enough to read the tension in the adults' voices.

"Yes."

My voice sounded completely devoid of warmth.

"People who love you wouldn't make you do it."

"Then why did Mommy want me to?"

The elevator dinged. Third floor.

I looked down into his clear eyes and forced a faint smile.

"Let's go find out."

The corridor reeked of antiseptic.

A security guard escorted me to the public waiting area outside Room 312, reminding me not to cross the threshold.

The door was cracked open.

Just as I stepped closer to check inside, a man in a crisp, light-gray button-down walked out.

I took him in with a single glance.

Clean-cut, composed, projecting a steady demeanor. Exactly Claire's type.

"Can I help you?"

The man's eyes darted to Owen in my arms, and the color instantly drained from his face.

"I'm Ethan Carter. Claire Bennett's husband."

I introduced myself with absolute calm.

"I'm here to find out why my wife is listed as the emergency contact for your son."

The man quickly pasted on a cautious smile.

"Is that so?"

I didn't bother hiding my skepticism.

Marcus shifted his weight, subtly blocking the doorway.

"This is a patient room. The boy needs his rest."

The security guard, seeing that I was strictly staying in the public area, made no move to stop me from looking.

I didn't cross the line, but I had a clear view inside.

Lying in the hospital bed was a boy around six years old, flipping through a comic book.

Hearing the voices, he looked up.

For a split second, my lungs stopped working.

The straight nose. The eyes. He was a carbon copy of Claire.

"Dad, who are they?" The boy's voice drifted out.

Marcus hurriedly turned and stepped back into the room.

"This is Ethan, Claire's husband. And that's Owen. Say hello, Noah."

"Hello, Mr. Carter," Noah said politely, his eyes drifting to Owen.

Owen wiggled down from my arms, looking around the hospital room with curiosity.

His gaze swept over the bedside table, and his eyes suddenly lit up.

"That's my necklace!"

I followed his pointing finger.

Resting on the table was a custom silver protective pendant, complete with a specialized safety clasp. Because Owen was always losing things, I had commissioned that exact piece specifically for him.

"That's mine..."

Owen reached out to point again.

Marcus practically lunged for the nightstand, snatching the silver up.

"It's just a kid's toy. A cheap knockoff," he babbled with a forced laugh, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. "Noah's been sick, so I grabbed it for him on a whim."

"Is that so?" I asked softly.

I remembered the exact day that pendant went missing. Owen had come home from kindergarten crying his eyes out.

We tore the house apart looking for it, until Claire finally scooped him up and said:

"Mommy will buy you a better one."

I had been buried in a project at the time and thought nothing of it.

Looking back now, that was the day Claire had conveniently left work early and come home.

Owen looked up at me.

"Daddy, it looks exactly like mine..."

"Yours is at home."

I patted his head, then shifted my gaze back to Marcus.

"What exactly is Noah sick with?"

"ADPKD."

Marcus's voice dropped.

"The doctors say... he needs a transplant."

"I see."

I gave a slow nod.

"Get some rest. We won't disturb you."

As I turned to leave, I heard Noah's frail voice ask:

"Dad, when is Mom coming?"

The heavy hospital door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the rest of the sentence.

I held Owen's hand, walking down the long corridor step by step.

My stride was steady. My hands weren't shaking.

But something in my chest was freezing over inch by inch, spreading from my heart straight to my limbs.

Back in the car, I buckled Owen into his car seat and put on his favorite cartoon.

"Daddy needs to make a phone call. Watch this for a bit, okay?"

"Okay."

Owen nodded obediently.

I stepped out into the parking area by the private hospital courtyard and dialed my personal assistant, Kevin Brooks.

"Mr. Carter?"

"Kevin."

My voice was unnervingly flat.

"I need a full sweep of Claire's movements in Manhattan over the last seven years. Dig into any communications and financial transfers between her and a man named Marcus Reed."