He saw us come out and quickly hit pause on whatever he was watching, scrambling to his feet.

The instant Diana spotted him, she shoved me aside and rushed forward.

"Slowly! What's the rush? Don't you know you just had surgery? You need to be careful with every little movement!"

Diana transformed in an instant. The rage was gone, replaced by something soft and playful, her voice taking on the lilting warmth of a woman besotted.

"Diana, don't worry, I'm fine. But I heard everything you and Nathan were saying just now."

"Nathan, what happened here is all on Diana. She did this without telling me. When I found out, I felt terrible. I had no idea she'd go to such lengths for my sake. I'm honestly devastated, and I feel so guilty. What if I did this, what if I got down on my knees and thanked you properly, from the bottom of my heart?"

Vincent Ward had just come through major surgery, yet his color was rosy and full.

That was the health I had been waiting so long to reclaim. And now he stood here, claiming he had not known a thing.

I stared at him, the blood gone from my face, not blinking.

I was just about to speak when another voice beat me to it.

"Vincent! What's all this talk about kneeling? Why would you kneel to him?

"Nathan has been sick for a long time. He's used to it by now. Don't blame yourself. What you need is rest. Go lie back down. I'll go pick up a whole chicken later and make you a proper restorative broth.

"Diana, you've already done so much. This whole month, you've been taking care of me around the clock. Your own mother said she couldn't have done it better.

"You even put me in a VIP room and cooked for me every day in that little kitchen, experimenting with all those nourishing recipes. I don't even know how to begin to thank you."

Vincent's voice cracked with emotion. He stepped forward and seized my hand.

"Nathan, I genuinely envy you. A wife like Diana, she's remarkable. You can't keep taking her for granted the way you did before. She deserves better."

My heart was bitter as gall. I pulled my hand free.

Was I taking Diana for granted?

When my illness worsened, when I was at my most fragile, when I needed her most… she had been at Vincent's bedside, night and day, barely sleeping, barely stopping.

All because Vincent had only just been diagnosed. He was scared. He was in pain. He could not take it.

The donor kidney I had fought so hard and waited so long for, she had tricked the doctors into transferring to him instead.

Every word out of Vincent's mouth felt like a blade twisting in my chest. And Diana was the one who had handed him the knife.

I smiled–a hollow, wretched thing. "Is that so? If she's that wonderful, she's all yours."

I turned and walked toward the door.

This apartment was suffocating me. If I stayed any longer, I wouldn't make it out alive.

However, even now, Diana would not let me go.

The moment my fingers touched the door handle…

Her voice rose behind me.

"Nathan, are you out of your mind? What filth is coming out of your mouth? Is that really how your mind works? You think everything is dirty?

"Vincent and I are nothing more than friends, the purest kind!"

The pale smirk on my face deepened. "The purest kind? Sure."

Smack!

My head snapped to the side. I slowly lowered my gaze.

Diana stared at her own hand in disbelief, then looked at me in panic. "I… Nathan, I didn't mean to. I was just angry. Yes–you were talking nonsense, that's why I reacted!"

I blinked slowly. I wanted to hit back, but the ringing in my ears grew louder and louder.

I reached out, desperate to grab onto something, but there was nothing.

As I fell forward toward Diana, I watched–clearly, helplessly–as Vincent lunged with frantic urgency and snatched her out of the way.

"Diana, look out!"

When I came back to myself, there was a nasal cannula in my nose and something clipped to my finger.

The monitors beeped steadily at my ear.

Diana was not in the room.

I pulled off the leads and the clip and shuffled slowly out into the hallway.

The moment I opened the door, I heard sounds coming from the stairwell.

Diana's voice.

The stairwell was dim. Diana was pressed close against Vincent, his arm wrapped tight around her.

"God, Diana, I was terrified just now. I thought he was going to hit you. If he had actually laid a hand on you–kidney or no kidney, no matter what he gave up for me, I swear I would've beaten him to a pulp."

Diana's face flushed. She pushed lightly against his chest. "He'd never actually hit me. You're overthinking it, Vincent. Besides, you're right here, aren't you?"

"Diana… I've been regretting it ever since. If I hadn't left back then, if I'd stayed… would things have turned out differently? We wouldn't have missed all those years."

I let out a short, quiet laugh.

Then I watched as Vincent tilted his head down and kissed her, stopping whatever words had been rising to her lips.

"Excuse me, aren't you the patient in bed thirteen? What are you doing standing out here?"

The sudden voice behind me made the woman in the stairwell flinch.

Diana shoved the door open, not even having time to wipe the tears from her face.

She frowned at me. "Nathan, what are you doing out of bed?"

I held her gaze for a long moment, then shifted my eyes to Vincent, who was wearing a satisfied little smile.

With Diana distracted, he had finally stopped pretending.

"And what about you?" The nurse turned sharply to Diana. "How are you watching a patient? He's ripped out his cardiac monitor and wandered off, and you didn't even notice? The doctor's been calling for you, where have you been?"

Diana swallowed and said nothing.

I turned and went back to my room. Diana followed.

The doctor did not wait for her. He came to my room himself.

"Nathan, your condition is this serious. Why did you wait so long before coming to the hospital?"

I pressed my lips together, unsure how to answer.

Diana spoke up before I could, her voice carrying an air of genuine bewilderment. "Hasn't he always been like this? He's been on dialysis for years. Even in the hospital, it's just IV fluids and anti-inflammatory treatment. Isn't going to a clinic near home basically the same?"

I looked at her without expression.

All those years, I had rushed home early from appointments so she would not worry. Running back and forth to the hospital was inconvenient, and Diana had just started a new job and could not easily take time off, so I had quietly arranged to get my IV drips at a small clinic around the corner.

When I finished early enough, I would stop by the supermarket next door and buy groceries to cook her favorite dishes.

We had been married for years. And I had never known, until now, that Diana could make chicken broth.

The ache in my chest expanded, hollow and raw.

"The same? How can that be the same?" the doctor snapped. "The test results were already explained to you as his family member. His condition is very serious. His metabolism is severely impaired. How is a grown man this malnourished? Are you not feeding him at home?"

Diana stood there as the doctor scolded her, her face shifting between pale and flushed.

Of course, she would not dare tell anyone what she had done to me.

Even if I spoke up, it would not bring back the kidney that was already gone.

I lay there, exhausted, staring at the ceiling.

Beside me, Diana frowned as she flipped through my test results, page after page.

In that moment, I understood.

Before this, she had never really looked at them. She had never truly listened to what the doctor said.

Memory stretched backward, all the way to when I was first diagnosed. Diana had been impatient from the start.

She refused to accept the reality of it. She refused to hear me talk about it.

I, fool that I was, told myself she was afraid–afraid of losing me, afraid of being left alone in this apartment.

So I went to every appointment by myself. Every test, every prescription, every IV–alone. Every wave of fear and dread, I swallowed alone. I did not tell her how bad it was getting. I was terrified of watching her grieve, of watching her lie awake at night the way I did.

Then, later…

When Diana found out that her first love had been diagnosed with a similar illness, she locked herself in the bedroom and cried for an entire day and night, no food, no water.

The ridiculous part was, at the time, I thought she had learned my condition had worsened, and was worried because of me.

I stood outside that door thinking she had finally heard how serious my condition was and fallen apart over it.

I stood outside the door, coaxing her for a long time. She would not open it. She sat inside, quietly sobbing. So I sat outside, my back against the door, telling her joke after joke to cheer her up.

Just a door between us.

I thought, even if heaven had not given me a healthy body, it had given me the person I loved most. That was already more than enough.

I never imagined that even that small hope… was a lie.

When the doctor told me they had found a compatible kidney donor, that I could have surgery soon, that I would not have to keep going back and forth between the hospital and home, that I could live like a normal person again. I could take her traveling, go to all the places she had always wanted to visit. I had even made plans on my phone.

However, what I got instead… was Diana locking me in a room. And taking the kidney I had waited for so desperately, and giving it to someone else.

"How did it get this bad?"

Diana lifted her pale face and looked at me in shock.

"Diana, let me see."

I forced myself upright and snatched all the reports from her hands.

"Unless there's something else you need, please leave. I'd like to rest."

Diana’s eyes widened. "What are you doing? Vincent was just trying to help. Look at your temper–you snap at anyone you see!"

Vincent stepped forward and took Diana by the arm, right in front of me.

"Easy, Diana. I've been through it myself, I understand. These doctors love to exaggerate. They want patients like us to feel scared so we’ll cooperate with all kinds of medication and tests.

"It’s not that serious. They just make it sound worse than it is.

"Doctors in public hospitals aren’t reliable. You need someone more professional. I have a cousin who’s an expert in this field. I can send him Nathan’s medical records.

"Alright, thank you, Vincent."

Diana went with Vincent to track down a doctor and get the records printed.

I lay on the bed as a sharp wave of pain hit. My face turned pale, and sweat broke out across my skin.

I trembled, trying to sit up and press the call button. Every movement made it worse.

I was in a hospital… yet I could not move.

Just as I was staring at the ceiling in despair, the door opened again.

I looked up with everything I had left.

"It hurts… quick, call the doctor–"

Suddenly, a stack of reports was thrown hard at my face.

"Enough! How long are you going to keep pretending?"