Chapter 2

I tried again the next day, desperate.

A nurse, sympathetic, let me slip past when Eleanor and Brittany were gone for coffee.

Ethan was alone, staring out the window.

"Ethan," I said softly, my hand on my aching side where my kidney used to be.

He turned, his eyes narrowed. "You again? I told them to keep you out."

"Please, you have to listen. I'm the one who gave you my kidney, Ethan. We've been together for ten years."

He looked confused for a second, a flicker of something.

Then his face hardened. "Brittany is my fiancée, she gave me her kidney. My mother told me."

"They're lying to you, Ethan. Your mother, Brittany, they planned this."

My voice cracked, "I love you, I saved your life."

He shook his head slowly. "You're sick. You need help."

Just then, Eleanor and Brittany returned.

Brittany gasped dramatically. "Ethan, darling! Is she bothering you?"

Eleanor' s eyes were like chips of flint. "How did she get in here?"

Brittany rushed to Ethan's side. "She's been saying awful things, claiming she's your donor, that I'm lying."

Eleanor pointed a finger at me. "She's a disturbed woman, Ethan. Obsessed."

Ethan looked from them to me, his face clouding with anger.

"You come in here, upsetting me, upsetting my fiancée?" he said, his voice rising.

"I'm telling you the truth!" I cried out, my body trembling.

He stood up, unsteady but furious.

"Brittany is the one who loves me, who saved me," he yelled.

Then he did something I never thought possible.

Ethan slapped me. Hard.

The force sent me stumbling back, my hand flying to my cheek.

The shock was colder than any fear.

"Get out," he seethed. "And don't ever come near me or Brittany again. If I see you, I'll have you arrested for harassment."

Eleanor smirked. Brittany clung to Ethan's arm, looking triumphant.

I backed away, tears streaming down my face, the pain in my heart far worse than the sting on my skin.

They forced me out of the hospital, no belongings, no money.

Somehow, I made it back to the penthouse Ethan and I had shared.

The key still worked.

I walked in, hoping for a moment of sanity, a piece of our old life.

The apartment was different.

My clothes were gone from the closets, my books from the shelves, my paintings from the walls.

All replaced by Brittany's expensive, flashy things.

Perfume I didn't recognize hung heavy in the air.

It was like I had never lived there.

My side of the bed was pristine, untouched, while Ethan's side was rumpled, with a silk nightgown thrown carelessly on the floor next to it. Brittany's.

The erasure was complete, brutal. I sank onto the unfamiliar sofa, numb.

Brittany arrived a few hours later, humming.

She stopped when she saw me. Her eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing here? This is my home now."

"I lived here for five years," I said, my voice flat.

"Not anymore." She walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of juice.

"Ethan wants you to pack whatever trash is left of yours and get out. He said you could stay one night, out of pity."

Pity. From the man who once adored me.

She then "accidentally" spilled her orange juice on the white rug.

"Oh, clumsy me," she said, not looking clumsy at all. "Clean that up, will you? Like a good little ex-assistant."

I stared at the stain, then at her.

The urge to scream, to fight, was immense, but I was too broken, too tired.

My body still ached from the surgery.

Slowly, I got on my knees and started cleaning her mess.