The day felt like a twisted déjà vu, a nightmare that had come back to claim me again.

My son's swollen body lay limp in the passenger seat, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him. His face was bloated from nephritis, so much so that the delicate features I used to kiss were now unrecognizable. Panic clawed at my chest, constricting every breath as I tried to free him from the seatbelt. My hands shook, the belt jammed by his swollen frame. I screamed his name, my voice hoarse and trembling, but he didn't stir. His little chest was still, too still.

The screeching of tires and the jarring impact echoed in my mind, but it was the deafening silence that terrified me more. My fingers fumbled as I desperately tried to call for help. Sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes. When a passerby approached, I barely managed to get the words out, pleading for their assistance as I fought to dial emergency services.

Ayden's name flashed on my mind as I was about to press the emergency number. His betrayal seared into my memory—the way he had twisted his medical authority to save Iris instead of our son. My fingers hovered over his name for a heartbeat too long before I bit my lip, swallowing the anguish that threatened to choke me. I couldn't call him. Not now.

A familiar voice answered on the other end of the emergency line, a woman I had met before—one of Ayden's university classmates. She was brisk, cold and the irritation in her voice dripped like venom.

"Mrs. Thomas, Dr. Thomas isn't at the hospital today. Stop acting. As for where he is, I have no idea. If you need something, call him directly. This line is for emergencies, not your drama."

Her words sliced through me and anger bubbled up. "My son was in a car accident! He needs emergency care! You don't get it. His nephritis—it can't wait! There's a kidney at the hospital and I—"

"Nephritis?" she interrupted, her tone cruel and dismissive. "You still haven't picked up his test report, have you? Making things up again? You must really enjoy putting on this show. Dr. Thomas didn't even want me to tell you where he was because he knew you'd make a scene like this. Honestly, I have no idea why he chose you in the first place."

My blood turned to ice as the reality of her words settled over me. Desperation gave way to a burning fury. "I don't give a damn where Ayden is! My son needs help. I need an ambulance now!" I shouted into the phone, my voice trembling with rage.

Her response was filled with exasperation, like I was some unhinged woman trying to stir up trouble. "What's your problem? You're acting like you're the only person with a sick child. You were sent home with medicine yesterday! How serious could it be? You curse Ayden and still expect him to save your son?"

The phone clicked off, her disbelieving scoff echoing in my ears. The sound was like nails on glass, sharp and grating. My vision blurred with tears, not just from anger but from the raw, helpless pain of knowing that my son's life was hanging by a thread and I was being stonewalled by indifference.

Bystanders had gathered around the car, their expressions torn between concern and helplessness. Some had their phones out, calling emergency services again, their voices strained with frustration as each call resulted in the same response: "Stop wasting emergency resources."

The futility of it all clawed at me, but I wasn't giving up. My hands trembled as I fumbled through the glove compartment, finally pulling out the utility knife I had used to open a package earlier. Gritting my teeth, I leaned over my son's limp form, carefully cutting through the seatbelt that held him in place. Every movement felt like it took a lifetime.

When I finally freed him, his body was heavier than I remembered, lifeless. Blood soaked my hands as I cradled him, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. With trembling hands, I dialed the hospital's disciplinary committee, my voice barely recognizable through my tears and fury as I reported Ayden and the emergency center's negligence.

The ambulance arrived what felt like hours later, its sirens blaring as the paramedics rushed to lift my son onto a stretcher. His body, so small and fragile, looked lost amidst the sea of blood-stained gauze. His skin had turned an ashen shade, his face deathly pale. I followed them, my breath shallow, my vision swimming with flashes of what had happened in my previous life.

The ambulance sped through red lights, a frantic blur as it raced toward the hospital, but no matter how fast we moved, I couldn't shake the dread coiled tightly in my chest. I had been given another chance, but this world still seemed determined to crush us under the weight of fate.

As soon as the doors to the operating room closed behind my son, the weight of everything finally hit me. My knees gave out and I collapsed into the hard plastic chair, sobs wracking my body as I let go of the last shred of control I had been holding onto. The sterile hospital lights above seemed to blur through my tears, casting cold, unfeeling shadows over the linoleum floor. My heart was breaking—shattering—as I waited helplessly.

Moments later, the disciplinary committee staff who had taken my call earlier rushed into the waiting area. Their presence was a stark contrast to the apathy I had been met with before. They immediately turned to the emergency medical staff, their faces hard with anger.

"What kind of attitude is this?" one of the committee officers barked, his voice reverberating through the quiet corridor. The few nurses and staff around stiffened, eyes darting toward him. "How dare you hang up on an emergency call? If you don't want to do your job, I can fire you right now! You'll never work in the medical field again!"

His words cut through the air like knives and the tension in the room thickened. Each accusation landed like a blow, leaving the staff scrambling. The nurse who had originally ignored my calls was nowhere to be seen, her absence only fueling the committee officer's rage.

"Who took the first call? Bring them here!" he demanded, his voice rising. "The patient's family said you ignored their calls after that. Who gave you the nerve? If the family hadn't reported this to us, were you planning to let this life slip away? At the very least, this is negligence—at worst, intentional murder! The family was in a panic and you couldn't tell? Get the person who was on duty, now! Hiding won't fix this!"

Every word was like a physical blow to my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands shook as I wiped my tear-streaked face, trying to steady myself. The reality of the situation was a suffocating weight on my chest. Even a stranger—a passerby—had done more for my son, threatening to call the police and expose the hospital's negligence online. But the man I had called my husband for six years, my son's biological father, was willing to ignore us. He was out there, with another woman, while I was here, drowning in fear and despair.

The sharp pain in my chest intensified as I thought about the promises Ayden had made—the vows we exchanged, the life we had built together. All lies. Betrayal, like a dagger, twisted in my heart. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, my vision swimming as the grief threatened to consume me entirely.

The emergency staff scrambled, their faces pale with fear. They hurriedly called out the female colleague who had answered my earlier call—Molly Carr. Her footsteps echoed down the hall as she was brought forward, her head hanging low, her entire demeanor a far cry from the arrogance she had shown on the phone. Now, tears streamed down her face and she bowed repeatedly in apology, barely able to speak as she stammered out her excuses.

She handed me my son's diagnosis report, her hands shaking. I was too consumed with wiping away my tears to take it and the papers fell from her trembling grasp, scattering across the floor. As the sheets fluttered down, the words "chronic nephritis" leapt off the page, making my heart ache even more.

Molly's face turned ashen when she glanced at the report, her regret painfully clear. In a desperate attempt to prove her innocence, she immediately dialed Ayden's number, putting the call on speaker for everyone to hear.

The phone rang once before Ayden's voice cut through the silence, cold and impatient. "Haven't I told you not to pay attention to Linda? She's always using our son's health as an excuse," he snapped. "Why are you copying her nonsense? I thought you were different, but all women are the same. I'm out here saving lives. Don't bother me unless it's important! Give her the test report and tell her to go home and stop embarrassing me at the hospital!"

The casual cruelty in his voice sent a chill down my spine. I wanted to scream, to rip the phone from Molly's hands and demand answers. But before I could say anything, I heard another voice—soft, vulnerable. It was Iris.

"Ayden, am I going to die?" Her words were faint but laced with fear.

"No, you won't. As long as I'm here, you'll be fine…" Ayden's voice softened, filled with tenderness. The warmth he offered her was a dagger to my already bleeding heart.

The call ended abruptly, the silence afterward suffocating. Molly stood there, her hands still clutching the phone, her expression frozen in place. She didn't dare look me in the eyes.

Just then, the operating room door swung open and the doctor emerged. His face was grim as he spoke. "The patient's internal organs have multiple ruptures. We've just discovered that his nephritis has caused an infection. He needs a kidney transplant immediately. I recall the hospital recently received a kidney donation. We need to do a match quickly."

The words hung in the air, but no one moved. No one dared say it aloud, but I knew—I knew Ayden had already taken the only available kidney for Iris.

Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees in front of the doctor, my voice trembling, my hands clasped in a desperate plea. "The kidney has already been illegally taken by Ayden. Can you please check with nearby hospitals? I'll do anything. I'll sell my house, my car, anything—I'll pay any price. Just please, save my son!"

Tears streamed down my face and I felt my whole world slipping away. If I could have ripped out my own kidney at that moment, I would have. But I knew it wouldn't match. It hadn't in my previous life and fate was cruel enough to remind me of that now.

The doctor's face softened, but his expression remained serious. "Please don't worry, but buying and selling organs is illegal. We'll handle this."

He shot a sharp look at Molly, who, under the pressure of both the disciplinary committee and the gravity of the situation, immediately began making frantic calls. But one after another, the answers were the same—no available kidneys. The hope in my chest dimmed with each call, my stomach sinking deeper into despair.

Inside the operating room, alarms began to sound, beeping frantically as my son's condition worsened. The medical staff hurried inside, their voices urgent, their steps quick. I couldn't stand it any longer. I thought of Ayden, of the kidney he had secured for Iris. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the phone from Molly and dialed him myself.

As soon as the call connected, I didn't give him a chance to speak. "I know Iris needs the kidney, Ayden," I said, my voice cracking with desperation. "I'm not asking for hers. I'm begging you—can you come to the hospital and match with our son for a transplant? He's still in the operating room and he needs you. Please, I'm begging you!"

I choked on my sobs, my words a broken plea. "If you save him, I'll disappear from your life. I'll leave with nothing in the divorce. I'll never bother you again. Just please, save our son! He's my whole world. Please…"

But even as I begged, even as I stripped away every ounce of pride I had left, I could hear it in his voice—the disdain. He thought I was being unreasonable. He still saw me as the problem.

Ayden's voice on the phone was cold and dismissive, each word digging into me like a shard of glass. "Are you done? Isn't it just childhood diabetes? He can take medication—why do you need a kidney transplant? Can you stop making a scene?" His tone was sharp, indifferent, as though our son's life wasn't hanging by a thread. My chest tightened at the coldness in his words, at how easily he brushed off the gravity of the situation.

"Every time something happens with Iris, you freak out like this. It's been six years—if something My voice trembled, still pleading, "Ayden, it's not just—"

But he cut me off, his voice tinged with frustration. "Every time something happens with Iris, you freak out like this. It's been six years—if something were going on between us, wouldn't you have noticed by now? So, the car accident wasn't enough and now you've moved on to needing a kidney transplant?" His words were dripping with sarcasm, as if my desperation was some sort of game to him.

I gripped the phone tighter, knuckles white, unable to stop the tears streaming down my face. His dismissal of everything—our son, our marriage—pierced my heart like a knife.

"I'm not even at the hospital today," he continued, irritation clear in his tone. "So what are you trying to do by going to my workplace? I'm warning you—stop embarrassing me! Go take care of our son right now, or don't blame me if I stop his medication next time!" His threat hung in the air, heavy and cruel. My stomach churned, a hollow ache spreading through my chest.

And then, as if flipping a switch, his tone immediately softened, all his venom vanishing as he spoke to Iris. "Don't worry," he whispered to her with a tenderness that made my heart clench. "The surgery won't hurt. I'll make your favorite porridge and once you're done, you can have it. I'll be waiting outside for you, okay? Be good." His voice, so soft and soothing, was filled with a warmth I hadn't heard in years.

I couldn't hold back the sobs any longer. My breath came in ragged gasps as my tears blurred the cold, clinical walls of the hospital waiting room. The betrayal, the agony, all of it overwhelmed me. Before I could say another word, before I could beg him to reconsider, the lights outside the operating room flickered and went dark.

The doctor emerged, his face a mask of sorrow. His steps were slow and deliberate, as if each one carried the weight of the news he had to deliver. When he shook his head in regret, it felt like my entire world shattered in that single gesture.

The phone slipped from my trembling hand, crashing to the floor with a hollow thud, the sound barely registering in the haze of my grief. My legs buckled and I collapsed, the sterile hospital floor cold against my skin. I couldn't process the words, the reality of what was happening. The disciplinary committee staff gathered around, murmuring softly, but their voices were muffled, distant. It was as if I had been plunged underwater, my mind unable to process the world around me.

In my unconsciousness, memories from my past life flooded back, bitter and vivid. Back then, after the car accident, I had been just as desperate. I had called Ayden, my voice frantic, pleading for help. But then, he had come. He had rushed to the hospital, his face pale with worry, his arms wrapping around me in a protective embrace as we waited for news. He had been my rock, my support. When the doctor finally told us that our son had survived the kidney transplant, we had both cried tears of relief.

But by the time Ayden returned to Iris, she had already died—alone in her home, her body cold and lifeless. His grief had been silent but deep. He had handled her funeral with quiet reverence and when he came back to me, there was guilt in his eyes.

"I don't blame you," he had said, his voice steady but filled with sadness. "It was fate. You and our son are the most important things in my life now." He had looked at me with such sincerity that, for a moment, I believed him.

After our son was discharged, Ayden had suggested a birthday party to celebrate his recovery—a gesture I hadn't expected. I had assumed his heart was finally turning back toward our family. Eagerly, I had booked a hotel, baked a cake myself, filled with hope that maybe, just maybe, our lives could return to normal.

But that night, he had struck me from behind, knocking me out cold. When I awoke, bound and helpless, I found myself at Iris's grave.

My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled against the ropes, but I was too tightly bound. I could barely move.

And then I saw him. Ayden stood over our son's limp body, a scalpel in his hand, blood staining his clothes. My son's heart—his precious heart—was torn from his chest, his organs methodically removed one by one. The kidney meant for Iris lay discarded, crushed into a bloody mess on the ground.

Ayden's face was contorted with madness, his eyes filled with a hatred so deep it twisted his once-handsome features into something monstrous. There was no trace of the man I had loved for years. He was gone, replaced by someone I no longer recognized.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he turned to me, a crazed smile twisting his lips. "Isn't it just a chronic illness? It's not fatal, so why did he have to take Iris's life-saving kidney?" His voice was eerily calm, as if he were explaining something mundane. "He's still young—he would've had plenty of chances to be saved. But now… now it's all ruined."

I wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, but my voice failed me. The horror of the scene before me paralyzed me.

"Do you know how much pain Iris was in when she died?" Ayden's voice grew bitter, his hands trembling as he held the bloodied scalpel. "She called me dozens of times and I didn't answer. Her last voice messages… she was still crying, still saying she didn't blame me. Even in her final moments, she loved me."

Tears welled in his eyes, but they were tears of rage, not grief. "But I blame myself. I hate myself for letting you and that bastard ruin everything!" His voice rose into a shrill, hysterical laugh.

Without warning, he drove the scalpel into my throat, the sharp blade tearing through flesh. I gasped, choking on blood, the taste of iron filling my mouth. The pain was searing and darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.

As my life slipped away, I saw Ayden turn the scalpel on himself. He plunged it into his own chest, the blade sinking deep into his heart.

The last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was his blood splattering across Iris's gravestone, mingling with mine. And in that final moment, I realized just how foolish I had been.