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By my fifth year married to Edward Grant, after eight failed IVF rounds, I finally got pregnant—with twins. But just four months into my pregnancy, Nina Thompson, the woman Edward could never get over, was diagnosed with kidney failure and flew back from overseas for treatment. From then on, Edward stopped coming home after work. He spent his nights at the hospital instead. The parenting books on his desk were soon replaced by medical ones. One day, after disappearing for a while, Edward suddenly came home. He was thrilled, wrapping his arms around me. He said, "Allison, you're my lucky star. Out of thousands tested, only you and Nina are a match. "If you donate your kidney, she'll live." I thought I'd misheard him. Carefully, I asked, "You mean... you want me to end my pregnancy to give Nina a kidney?" Edward was still lost in his excitement. "We can always try for another baby," he said. "Nina's health comes first." I stared at Edward in disbelief; his excitement, mixed with such heartless words, made me wonder if he even knew what he was saying.