I thought I was doing the right thing when I donated a kidney to my best friend, Jordan Chambers. He needed it and I didn’t think twice.

But before I even had a chance to recover, the hospital hit me with another bombshell; my dad had kidney failure and he needed a transplant immediately.

It felt like a sick joke. But at least there was one bit of good news: we were a match. Without hesitation, I made up my mind. I would give him my last kidney and rely on an artificial one. It wasn’t ideal, but it was worth it if it meant saving him.

Then came the real problem—the cost. The surgery was insanely expensive, way more than I could afford. I turned to my fiancée, hoping she would help, but instead of standing by me, she kicked me out.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, she posted her marriage certificate with Jordan on her WhatsApp story.

I was completely lost. No money, no backup plan, no clue what to do next. Then, out of nowhere, my childhood sweetheart, Yolanda Sinclair, showed up with a team of top foreign doctors and promised they would do the surgery for free. I didn’t ask how or why, I was just desperate and she was my last hope.

But when I woke up after the surgery, the look on her face told me something was wrong before she even said a word.

"I'm sorry, Callum," she whispered. "Your dad had an immune rejection... he didn't make it."

I didn’t even know how to describe what I felt in that moment. Like the world had just collapsed around me. I gave up everything for that surgery. And it still wasn’t enough.

Yolanda didn’t leave my side. She brought me a bouquet of sunflowers and sat with me in silence before finally saying, "I’ll take care of you, Callum. Let me be your sun."

And for six years, I believed her.

She was there for me, always making sure I had what I needed, helping me through the struggles of living with an artificial kidney. She was the perfect wife, or so I thought.

Then, one night, I overheard a conversation that changed everything.

"You gave Callum’s last kidney to Jordan?" her best friend asked, her voice filled with shock. "Then his dad... No wonder he died that day. How could you do that?"

Yolanda didn’t even hesitate. "I didn’t have a choice. Callum had two healthy kidneys and he was the perfect match for Jordan."

Her friend sounded furious. "But Jordan didn’t even need another transplant! You—"

Yolanda cut her off. "I wasn’t going to risk it. I needed to make sure Jordan would be okay. I’d only feel at peace if I gave him both of Callum’s kidneys."

——

I felt like I was going to be sick.

Her friend tried one last time. "Callum’s blood type is rare. Do you even realize what you did? It’s nearly impossible to find a compatible kidney for him. That artificial one, it barely keeps him alive. He’s in constant pain. Even eating is hell for him. He’s your husband, Yolanda. How could you do this to him?"

For a second, there was silence. And then Yolanda said, in the coldest voice I’d ever heard, "I make sure he has the best painkillers. That’s enough."

I couldn’t breathe.

The woman who promised to take care of me, who swore to be my light, had stolen my life and left me to suffer—just to make sure Jordan was safe. And I never even saw it coming.

Sadie Stokes shot up from her chair, eyes blazing. "This isn’t about painkillers, Yolanda! Jordan guilt-tripped Callum into giving up a kidney and you straight-up stole the other one!

“His father died in agony on that operating table and you just let it happen. That was a life! Have you even thought about what’ll happen if Lin ever finds out the truth?"

Yolanda stayed silent, but Sadie pressed on. "You still have a chance to fix this. Let Jordan give Callum his kidney back. Even just one. You’ve lined up so many donors for him—"

"No!" Yolanda snapped, cutting her off. "Those are Jordan’s safety nets. None of them are going anywhere."

She let out a slow breath, then said, almost to herself, "Callum will never find out. And even if he does one day, I’ll make it up to him. Everything I have; money, my whole damn life, I’ll use it to compensate him. As long as Jordan is safe, I don’t care what it costs."

Outside the study, my fingers tightened around my coffee cup. My hands were shaking so badly that the scorching liquid sloshed over, burning my skin. But the pain barely registered.

It was nothing compared to the fire spreading through my chest. Before they could notice me, I turned and rushed back to the bedroom, barely able to breathe. My head was spinning. My stomach churned. I shoved the window open, letting the freezing air hit me like a slap.

I pressed play on my phone, over and over again, listening to the recording until every word was seared into my brain.

My father didn’t die from rejection. Yolanda never called in a medical team for him. She didn’t save me. She destroyed me.

She wasn’t my savior, she was the executioner. My father’s life, my body—just collateral damage for the man she actually loved.

A voice snapped me out of it. "Callum? Why are you standing there with the window open? You’re not in good health, you’ll catch a cold."

I turned and there she was. Yolanda. She frowned when she saw my face. "Callum, what’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?"

I forced a weak smile, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. "No," I murmured, pressing a hand to my stomach. "It’s just… my stomach hurts again."

Yolanda's eyes filled with tears as she reached for my hand. "Seeing you like this, Callum… it breaks my heart. If your dad hadn’t been in critical condition, I never would’ve let you donate your last kidney."

Hearing those words after everything I had just found out made my stomach twist. My fingers curled into the blanket, but I forced myself to stay calm.

I took a slow breath. "Yolanda… this artificial kidney… it's unbearable. The pain never stops. I don’t think I can do this anymore. Maybe Jordan could—"

"No!" Her sharp voice cut through the room like a slap.

Maybe she realized how harsh she sounded, because the next second, she softened her tone, brushing my hair back gently. "Callum, you know you can't take back something you've already donated. That’s not how it works.

“Jordan’s health is fragile and matching kidney donors are so rare. You were the only one willing to help him. Do you really want him to suffer? To die?"

She looked me straight in the eyes as she said it, her expression full of sincerity. And in that moment, I knew, she didn’t feel guilty at all.

I thought back to the night it all started.

Jordan and my fiancée at the time, Kyra Silverman, got into a terrible car accident. Jordan was badly injured and needed a kidney transplant. Kyra and Yolanda begged me to save him, making me feel like I had no choice.

It wasn’t until later that I learned the truth. The crash didn’t happen because of bad weather or reckless driving.

It happened because Jordan and Kyra were screwing around in the car—literally. And yet, I was the one who paid the price.

Yolanda stroked my face, her voice soft. "Be good, okay? You have an artificial kidney now and it's keeping you alive, isn’t it? I’ll get you two painkillers and then I’ll hold you until you fall asleep. It won’t hurt, I promise."

Yeah, right. If artificial kidneys were so great, why didn’t she make Jordan get one? Because she couldn’t stand the thought of him suffering.

That night, I made her warm milk like always, only this time, I slipped in two sleeping pills.

She fell asleep fast. Maybe too fast. Her body relaxed, her chest rising and falling steadily. And that was when I noticed it, just a small glimpse of ink peeking out from beneath her pajama collar. A tattoo.

I hesitated, then carefully unbuttoned her top a little. It was a delicate tattoo of a little princess holding a rose.

And on the petals of that rose, one name was written. Jordan.

No wonder she always insisted on wearing pajamas to bed. No wonder she never let me see her fully undressed, even when we were making love.

I had never really been her husband, just a fool she used to keep her real love alive. I used to think it was just a habit of hers, nothing more. But now, everything made sense.

Every choice she made, every careful decision—it was all a lie.

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I needed. A childhood friend. A doctor. Someone I could trust.

The call barely rang before he picked up.

"I need you to do a surgery for me," I said, my voice calm. Too calm.

A beat of silence. Then, "Callum… are you sure?"

"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "I won’t regret it. See you in three days."

If Yolanda could take my father’s life and destroy my body without a second thought, then I had no reason to accept her pity.

I set my phone down and turned toward her laptop. It was unlocked. She had always been careless with her passwords, never expecting me to look.

A folder on the desktop caught my attention. [The Beloved Rose.]

I clicked on it and my screen flooded with photos and videos of Jordan. Over ten gigabytes' worth.

File after file, endless proof of her devotion. Then, I found their chat logs. Screenshots—meticulously saved, each labeled with a date.

I scrolled through them, bile rising in my throat. She had given him everything. Watches, jewelry, luxury trips.

And then, the best part; an entire castle. Because Jordan had once texted her, [Yolanda, I think the air in Serica is terrible. What if it slows down my scar recovery? I’m your prince, right? All the princes in movies live in castles.]

And just like that, she bought him one.

I kept scrolling, coming across a newer picture—Jordan lifting his shirt, showing off his scars.

Except… there were no scars. The best plastic surgeons in Serica had already taken care of them.

Meanwhile, I looked down at my own body, at the deep, ugly scars cutting across my stomach. No fancy surgeons for me. No castle. Just pain.

I closed the folder, my breath uneven. But then, another file caught my eye. A spreadsheet.

[Jordan's Spare Organ Bank.]

I opened it, my chest tightening as I read through the list. More than a dozen names. Each with a price tag.

[No. 1: Willing to donate organs for 300 thousand dollars. A little old, temporarily for Jordan.]

[No. 2: Willing to donate organs for 600 thousand dollars. Quite greedy. Kidney health is good, but unfortunately, she’s a woman. I don’t want another woman’s organ inside Jordan’s body. Temporary backup.]

I gripped the laptop so hard my knuckles turned white. It was a damn spare parts list.

Of course, my name was on the list too.

[Callum Lister – suitable gender, suitable age, high kidney match. Jordan felt great after using one. Can take the second one. Compensation: none. Economical and affordable.]

I stared at those words, my stomach twisting. Economical and affordable.

That was all I was to her. Not her husband. Not someone she cared about. Just a convenient organ donor with a perfect match.

I felt a strange kind of numbness settle in, like my brain refused to process the betrayal all at once. Without thinking, I printed out the list, along with the divorce agreement I had prepared earlier.

Then, I sat down on the couch and stayed there all night. By morning, my back ached from sitting so long, but my mind was clearer.

Yolanda walked in, assuming I had just woken up early. She didn’t suspect a thing. As usual, she placed a bowl of porridge in front of me.

"Here, I tried a new recipe today. Let me know if you like it," she said with a smile. Because of my artificial kidney, I could only eat soft food. She made sure I had something warm and nutritious every morning, always switching up the ingredients so I wouldn’t get bored.

I used to think it was sweet. Now, it just made me feel sick.

She noticed me hesitating and frowned. "Callum, are you okay? Why aren’t you eating? Do you want me to make something else?"

My fingers brushed against the divorce papers in my pocket. "Yolanda, we need to—"

Before I could finish, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and instantly, her whole expression changed. A gentle expression appeared in her face as she quickly picked up. "Hello? Mm… Of course, I didn’t forget. Everything is ready. See you later."

She turned back to me with an apologetic smile. "Callum, something urgent came up at work. I have to go in and it might take a while. If you need anything, let’s talk when I get back, okay?"

She grabbed her coat and left before I could get another word in. I let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched porridge in front of me.

Even now, after everything, I wasn’t her priority. Even now, I was waiting for her.

That evening, my phone buzzed with a text. [Callum, it’s me. My phone is dead. Come to the Crown Hotel, I have a surprise for you.]

Yolanda.

I checked the date, it was my birthday. I almost laughed. Perfect timing. I was going to see her anyway—I still had things to say.

When I arrived at the hotel, I overheard two waiters talking near the entrance. "Ms. Sinclair really goes all out for her husband, huh?" one of them said, sounding impressed.

"Right? She booked the entire top floor and filled it with roses. Not just any roses, either, some super rare variety. She even had them flown in on private jets. Can you imagine? Just because her husband's favorite flower is roses!"

"You see that watch Ms. Sinclair just gave her husband? That thing could probably buy a whole country!" one of the waiters gushed.

The other sighed. "I know, right? I heard she got it as a welcome-home gift just for him. Seriously, how lucky can a guy get?"

And just like that, it all made sense why Yolanda never gave me roses and why she used sunflowers when she proposed.

I had asked for a rose once. Just one. She laughed, said they were too fragile, too delicate—not for me.

Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t that I didn’t suit roses. It was that Jordan did and to her, I simply wasn’t worth them.

The realization sat heavy in my chest as I stepped into the hall. That was when I saw them.

Yolanda, standing in the middle of a sea of roses, carefully fastening an expensive watch onto Jordan’s wrist. She adjusted it with a tenderness I hadn’t seen from her in years, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

They looked like they belonged there. like they were the perfect couple. Jordan noticed me then. His brows pulled together in confusion before he let out a dramatic scoff.

"What’s up with security tonight? Since when do they let beggars in?" His voice carried over the crowd, drawing even more attention my way. "Get him out of here before he ruins the party Yolanda threw for me!"

Laughter followed. Whispers spread like wildfire. I could feel their eyes on me; mocking, judging. Picking me apart like I was nothing but a joke.

"Wait a second," someone sneered, "isn’t that Ms. Sinclair’s useless husband?"

"Yeah, I heard he lost both kidneys. Now he just leeches off her, waiting to die."

"If you ask me, a guy like that should just end it already instead of dragging other people down."

"Seriously, just look at him. Weak as hell, a total disgrace. And compared to Jordan? It’s embarrassing. He must’ve tricked Ms. Sinclair into marrying him or something. And now he’s out here, making a fool of himself."

More laughter. More whispers. And Yolanda just stood there, she didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend me. She didn’t say a damn thing.