His Choice Was Her

“Claire, your bone marrow treatment isn’t working anymore. The transfusions can only hold you for so long. You need a transplant soon, or your body won’t make it.”

I nodded, even though my mind wasn’t really here. I just reached for my phone with trembling fingers and called Beckley. My husband of five years.

It rang. And rang. Then it cut off.

I tried again. No answer. Tried a third time. Nothing.

My chest hurt more than before. I stared at my screen like maybe he’d call me back. Instead, my phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram.

It was a photo. Fresca. My cousin. The one who just came back from abroad, the one who bragged she was finally chasing her dreams in fashion design. But now... She was smiling, holding hands with a man. His watch flashed under the light. I knew that watch by heart.

Beckley’s.

The caption burned through me. “The person I’ve secretly loved is finally mine. Even if it’s a dream, I hope it never ends.”

My thumb slipped, and I hit the like button.

Not even a minute later, my phone exploded with calls. His name lit up the screen.

“Claire, wait! Don’t hang up.” His voice cracked, desperate. “I know what you saw. Let me explain, please.”

I stayed silent.

He rushed on. “It’s not what you think. Fresca… she told me she’s willing to be your donor. But she said the only way she’d go through with it is if I gave her a chance. She begged me to be her boyfriend for just a month. Just one month. I swear I only did this for you, Claire. For you.”

My throat closed up. “Beckley… is that really true? Or is that just what you’re telling me?”

“Of course it’s true!” he shouted, then softened. “Claire, you’re my everything. You know that. How many times have I told you? I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it if something happens to you.”

“Then why does it feel like maybe… maybe you wanted to say yes to her?”

Silence. Just his breathing on the other end.

I thought back. All the little things he used to do. The boy who stayed up all night just to drive across the city and bring me hot dumplings when my body hurt too much to sleep. The boy who surprised me with a pair of shoes I had only mentioned once in passing. The boy who knelt down beneath the lanterns on my 22nd birthday and held out a ring. He said, “Marry me when you graduate. I want forever with you, Claire.”

I believed him. Everyone believed him. Beckley Huntman, cold and untouchable to the world, but soft and warm only for me.

Six months ago, when the doctor told me I had aplastic anemia, he held my hand so tight I thought he’d crush it. He said with tears in his eyes, “If you leave me, Claire, I’ll go too. Don’t you dare give up.”

So he searched everywhere, begged hospitals, called strangers, even offered his own blood. I saw him drafting something once... his will. He wasn’t afraid to give everything away.

Beckley paid her too, a huge amount. I had seen the check with my own eyes. Four hundred million dollars. Money for her dreams, in exchange for her bone marrow.

But she wanted something else too. Him.

For the fourth time in six months, Fresca backed out again. She always had another excuse, and Beckley always stayed by her side like she was the one dying.

The first time, she fainted and said her blood sugar was too low, and Beckley slept in the hospital with her for three nights.

The second time, she said her anxiety gave her nightmares, and Beckley sat through therapy with her, holding her hand until morning.

The third time, she suddenly had a fever, and Beckley left me, even though I had just collapsed during treatment, just to take care of her.

And now… she wanted something new. She told Beckley that if he agreed to be her boyfriend for one month, she would finally donate her bone marrow.

I lay there on my hospital bed, my hands shaking as I held the blanket. My voice came out soft but sharp.

“Beckley… give her more money. I don’t care how much. Just pay her. Don’t… don’t be her boyfriend. Just tell her to do it now. Please.”

The line went silent. I could hear him breathing, but he didn’t answer right away.

After a long pause, he said quietly, “Claire… we already owe her so much. I don’t want to push her. She’s helping you in the first place. We should be grateful.”

I squeezed the blanket tighter, my heart pounding with anger that my body was too weak to release.

“Owe her? Four hundred million? Or… is there something else you owe her?”

Before he could answer, I heard Fresca’s voice in the background. Sweet and fake, like honey poured over poison.

“Beckley, I burned my hand! It hurts, come here!”

Beckley’s voice changed instantly, full of worry.

“Claire, I’ll call you later, okay? Fresca needs me.”

Then the line cut.

I stared at my phone until the screen went dark. My chest felt hollow, like the last pieces of me were crumbling.

I turned to my doctor.

“How long… if I don’t get the transplant?”

He sighed and looked at me with pity.

“A month at most. You’re getting weaker every day. If you get the transplant before that, there’s hope, but if not—”

“I get it,” I whispered, cutting him off. “Then I guess… I won’t have it.”

I knew my cousin too well. Fresca wasn’t going to save me. She was just going to keep delaying, so she could keep Beckley. And I… I was done waiting.

.....

That evening, I went back home. The sky was painted gold and orange, and for a moment, I thought maybe God was showing me a glimpse of peace before the end.

But when I opened the front door, the sight crushed me.