Chapter 1

Years into our marriage, when the critical condition notice for me arrived, Caleb Reed didn’t hesitate. He suggested mortgaging our house.

To cover the sky-high medical costs, he, who once held himself so high, now toiled day and night, stripped of his pride.

I couldn’t bear to be a burden on him and was preparing to give up on treatment.

Then, a financial headline froze me in place.

*“Reed Empire’s Heir Returns for Love! Takes Control of Multi-Billion-Dollar Company to Save His Beloved’s Life!”*

The photo in the headline showed Caleb’s tired but deeply affectionate profile.

I trembled, thinking this was his final desperate fight for *me*.

But then the camera panned, and the woman in the sterile hospital gown was the same girl from the faded photo tucked away in his wallet.

And I, I was foolish enough to believe he truly loved me.

When Caleb pushed open the door, a chill from the late night swept in with him.

He took off his cheap jacket, his face etched with exhaustion.

“How are you feeling today?”

He expertly poured a cup of hot water and brought it to my bedside.

I shook my head, too weak to even speak.

He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling my forehead to check my temperature.

“The doctors say the situation isn’t optimistic, but Claire, don’t be scared. I’ve already sorted out the money.”

He pulled a document from inside his jacket, carefully unfolding it.

“I’ve already… mortgaged the house.”

My heart constricted sharply.

“You…”

“Don’t say anything foolish.”

He cut me off, as if expecting me to be moved by his gesture again.

“Nothing is more important than you. As long as you get better, I’d be willing to sleep under a bridge.”

He spoke with such earnestness, such deep affection.

If I hadn’t seen that news just a few hours earlier, I would have believed every word.

Caleb Reed, the scion of Reed Industries.

My husband, who had played the role of a broke student for five years.

“Caleb, do we… really have to come to this?”

I asked, my voice dry.

He was silent for a moment, then pulled out another document.

It was a voluntary organ donation agreement.

“Claire, the doctors said that given your condition, we might need to prepare for the worst.”

His voice was light, but every word pierced my heart.

“I know you’re the kindest person. The doctor told me today about a girl named Sarah Miller. She’s been waiting for a suitable heart for a very, very long time.”

Sarah Miller.

He finally said the name.

The girl in the faded photo in his wallet’s hidden compartment, worn smooth from countless touches.

“She’s really pitiful. She’s been sick since childhood, always living in pain.”

He calmly recounted someone else’s story, a story that was, in fact, about my life and death.

“If you… I mean, *if* you were to donate your heart to her, it would be a continuation of life, wouldn’t it?”

I looked at this man who seemed to be losing his patience, not even bothering to craft another lie.

He knew I was terminally ill and couldn’t afford the exorbitant treatment costs.

He also believed, with certainty, that I loved him beyond words and would fulfill his every request.

“So, mortgaging the house was to prepare for *her* surgery?”

I asked bluntly.

He paused, seemingly not expecting such a direct question.

Then, he offered a sorrowful smile.

“Claire, how could you think that of me? I’m doing this to cure *you*!”

He became deeply affectionate again.

“But your illness… you know, hope is slim. I just thought, on the off chance, if we fail, as the doctor said, we could save another life. It would be a way for a part of you to live on, wouldn’t it?”

He held my hand, his hands warm and strong.

“Just for my sake, okay? I don’t want you to leave with regrets.”

“Sign this first, then we’ll fight together, alright?”

I pulled my cold hand away.

“I’m tired. I want to sleep for a bit.”

A flicker of impatience crossed his face, but it was quickly masked by tenderness.

“Okay, you rest. Don’t overthink things.”

He placed the agreement and a pen neatly on my bedside table.

In a spot I’d see the moment I opened my eyes.

He got up, put on his jacket, and prepared to leave.

At the door, he suddenly turned back and added,

“Oh, and the doctor introduced me to the patient, Sarah. She’s in the VIP room on the top floor. If you want, I can arrange for you two to meet. She’s a really sweet girl.”

With that, he closed the door.

I stared at the agreement and the pen he’d left behind.

It felt like a sharp blade, slowly carving into my heart.