I didn’t look up. “The shelf hit me.”

His hand hovered in the air, shaking. “I… it was chaos. Fresca was crying. I thought she was hurt bad. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

I forced a small smile. “You did the right thing. She needed you.”

“No, Claire.” He grabbed my hand tightly. His grip was warm, desperate. “You don’t understand. I only treat her well because of her bone marrow. You’re the one I love. Always you. Don’t push me away.”

My eyes burned, “I know. That’s why I didn’t blame you.”

Relief washed over his face. He carefully bandaged my wound, his fingers gentle. “Rest now. I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

For a moment, with his warm hands fixing my bandage, I almost believed it was the past again. Back when he never left my side.

But then the ringtone broke the silence.

“Beckley…” Fresca’s voice was full of sobs. “I miss you. I’m scared… I can’t find you…”

Beckley’s face twisted with guilt. “I’ll come right away.”

He hung up and looked at me, torn. “She’s alone in the hospital. She’s afraid. I’ll come back after she sleeps, I swear.”

Then he left in a rush, carrying away the last warmth in my room.

I curled up on my bed like a child, hugging my knees to my chest, my breathing uneven. It was not just my chest that hurt. It was my heart. Beckley had not come home for two days straight. At first I kept checking the clock, waiting for his footsteps, but now I just stopped caring. I swallowed my meds on time, changed the dressing on my arm when I needed to, and forced myself to heal quietly in my little corner.

....

That afternoon, I sat by the window with a book on my lap. The sunlight was warm, but my eyes felt too weak to hold it for long. My phone buzzed on the table, and when I picked it up, her voice poured through the speaker.

“Hi, Claire. Guess what?” Fresca’s voice had that fake sweetness that made my stomach twist. She was enjoying herself. “Do you know Beckley risked his life for me?”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

She giggled like a little girl showing off a prize. “I only mentioned I wanted that necklace they give to the champion of the motorbike stunt show. He signed up right away, Claire. He didn’t even hesitate. You should have seen it! He drove so fast the bike nearly flipped. He almost died, all for me. And when they pushed him into the ER, do you know what he shouted?” Her voice trembled with excitement. “He called my name. Mine.”

My book slipped shut on my lap. I turned to the window. The sun outside was too bright, it stung my eyes, but I would not let her hear me break. “So he hurt himself to make you smile,” I said softly.

“Yes,” she whispered, drawing out the word. “He needs someone to take care of him now. I thought maybe you would want to come over?”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “No, Fresca. He’s yours, isn’t he? You’re the one he chose to get hurt for. Then you should be the one to take care of him.”

Her silence lasted a beat too long. Before she could say another word, I ended the call. I dropped the phone onto the couch like it was burning my hand.

The trees outside swayed in the breeze, their leaves whispering against each other. I stared at them until my eyes blurred, then picked up my phone again.

My fingers dialed a number I had memorized weeks ago.

“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.

“Hi. This is about the double grave plot, section B, number twelve. I wanted to ask if—”

The door crashed open so loud I jumped, nearly dropping the phone.

“Claire!”

I looked up, and my heart stopped. Beckley stood in the doorway, pale as death in a striped hospital gown. His chest was thickly wrapped in bandages, but I could see the blood soaking through, spreading wider with each breath. His lips were drained of color, yet his eyes… his eyes were burning like fire.

My phone slid from my hand to the floor. “Beckley, what are you doing here? You should be in the hospital!”

He staggered a step closer, clutching the doorway for balance. “Why, Claire? Why were you trying to buy a grave?”

I forced a little smile, even though my heart stopped beating for a second. “It’s not what you think. The neighbor’s dog passed away last night. They begged me to help arrange something because they didn’t know how. That’s all, Beck.” I said it so calmly that even I almost believed it.

His shoulders sagged, but his face twisted in pain. He stumbled and caught the wall. “Motor crash.”

I rushed to him and held his arm. “Don’t talk. I’ll take you right now back to hospital.”

On the ride there, his head rested against the seat, his lashes fluttering like a boy too tired to fight. I stared at him, memorizing the shape of his face, the way his lips parted when he breathed. My voice trembled so softly only the wind could hear. “This will be the last time I worry about you, Beck. After this, I’ll already be in the grave.”

....

At the hospital, I signed the papers, tucked him into a bed, fixed the blanket like a nurse. He drifted into sleep, and I stepped into the hall with my phone. My voice stayed steady. “Fresca, can you come here in the morning? I have something important to do.”

She laughed faintly, music and chatter spilling in the background. “I’m out right now, Claire. I’ll drop by tomorrow, fine? Don’t sound so serious.”

Morning came. Fresca walked in with her designer bag slung over her shoulder, her hair perfectly done. She looked more like she was stepping onto a runway than into a hospital.

I gave her a quiet smile, hiding the ache in my chest. “You came.”

She tilted her head, lips curling. “Of course. I wanted to see how you’re doing… though let’s be honest, Claire. I’ll never donate bone marrow for you. Why would I? You know I only want Beckley. I’d rather see you gone.” Her voice was loud enough that the nurses turned their heads.

“I know, cousin. You wished I would die. Then take him. Care for him yourself.”

Something in my calm tone made her eyes flash. She grabbed my arm hard, her nails digging into my skin. “Stop acting holy. You’re trying to guilt-trip me.” She shook me so violently that pain shot through me, but I bit down on my lip and refused to scream.

The noise woke Beckley.

Fresca let go of me at once and slapped her own cheek, then burst into tears. “Beckley! Claire hit me! She was jealous of me, I swear. She told me to give her my bone marrow right now while you were asleep. She forced me to agree to surgery, but when I said no, she slapped me!” She cradled her face, crying harder, her sobs shaking the room.

My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Beck, listen to me, she—”

“Enough!” Beckley ripped the IV out and stormed to me, his face pale but furious. He grabbed my arm so hard it burned, then raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The force sent me stumbling to the floor. Warm blood rushed from my nose.

His voice broke as he shouted. “Is this who you’ve become, Claire? Forcing Fresca like that? Couldn’t you wait? Why are you like this? You’re not the Claire I loved before... Ugly.”

Behind him, Fresca covered her mouth with both hands, sobbing like a little angel, but I caught the curl of her lips through the tears.

I pressed my sleeve to my bleeding nose, tears slipping down my cheeks. I didn’t argue. There was nothing left to say. I stood slowly, my knees weak, and walked out.

Before I left the doorway, I heard his voice, gentle, full of warmth I hadn’t heard in months. “Fresca, don’t cry. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I’ll punish Claire when I’m discharged.”

I smiled bitterly through my tears and wiped them away with the back of my hand.

I get home with my face still stinging and my nose still wet, and I just drop down on the couch because everything aches and I am so tired. I wrap my hand in a towel and try to slow my breathing. I am barely holding myself together when the doorbell rings.

My heart jumps. Who would come now? I stumble to the door and open it and there she is—my mother. My mother, the woman who left me when I was a baby, standing on my doorstep like she owns the moment. She looks smaller than I imagined, like time ate her edges, but when she sees me she drops her bag and runs forward and grabs me so fast I nearly topple over.

She clutches me like she has been living for this hug forever, tears running down her face. “Oh my God, my baby, my Claire, I found you.” She whispers it like a prayer. I try to stand but my knees give out and I slump onto the couch in her arms. Everything goes a little fuzzy.

She pulls back and suddenly her face is terrified. “What happened? Why are you bleeding?” she asks, voice shaking.

I press the towel to my nose and whisper, “I have aplastic anemia. I need a bone marrow donor. I—” My words break. I can’t get the whole sentence out without coughing.

She gets pale and she grabs both my hands like she’s anchoring herself. “I will give you mine,” she says fast, like she’s afraid I’ll say no. “But you have to come with me. Come to Europe. Live with me and your two brothers. Please, Claire, say yes.”

I stare at her, my chest tight. “You left me,” I say. The words are small but steady. “You left me with Grandma. You disappeared. How do I just pack up and trust you now?”

She drops her head and the sound she makes is so full of regret it stabs me. “I worked abroad to send money home,” she says. “I had an accident, I lost my memory, I started over by mistake. I only remembered last year. I have spent months trying to find you. I am so sorry it took me so long. I never stopped being your mother, Claire. I swear.”

I want to believe her. I want to swallow the relief and sprint away with her, but my chest is hollow and the betrayal is still sticky. I whisper, “Let me think. I just met you today. I have to think.”

She nods like she expected me to say that, and she leans down and kisses my forehead softly. “Call me when you’re ready,” she says. She leaves a number and a trembling smile and then she is gone.

I barely get my head down when the house fills with footsteps. Five men burst through the back gate without knocking. They grab me, they throw a blanket over my shoulders and drag me to the yard like I’m a sack. I scream and I try to fight but my limbs are weak and it rains and everything is loud and humiliating.

One of them leans close and says, “Boss says you sleep outside tonight. Punishment for hurting Miss Fresca.” They spit the words like they imagine I deserve it. I pound on the door. I beg. “Please, please let me in, I’m sick, I need my meds.” They shove me more and one of them laughs. The sky opens and I am soaked and shivering.

My phone rings. It’s Beckley. I fumble it open with numb fingers and he sounds like someone reading off bad news. “Listen,” he says, calm and flat, “your transplant was scheduled for tomorrow. But after what you did to Fresca she’s too upset to go through with it. She’s traumatized and she will not stop crying. Think about what you did, Claire.” Then the line clicks off.

Rain mixes with my tears. I curl up on the cold grass and clutch the phone to my chest like it is the last thing that keeps me breathing. My fingers move slowly and clumsily as I dial the number my mother left.

The line clicks and then her sleepy voice answers, “Hello?”

“Mom,” I whisper into the rain, my teeth chattering. “Please come. I’ll go with you. I will come to Europe and go with you anywhere. Get me out of here.”