Chapter 3

I used the five hundred dollars I'd saved in prison to rent a single room in the slums that never saw sunlight.

My criminal record barred me from all decent jobs, so I could only haul cargo at a warehouse in the suburbs.

I started before dawn. My right hand was useless, so I relied entirely on my back and waist.

After unloading each truck, my damaged lung felt like it would explode.

Jennifer's calls came like death warrants, ringing constantly.

I watched her name flash on the screen, going from initial sharp pain to eventual numbness.

I declined, blocked her. She'd call from a different number, and I'd block that too.

The cycle repeated endlessly.

I never opened the text messages she sent either.

Mia's messages came one after another too.

First accusing me of betraying Jennifer's devotion, then softening her tone to ask if I could do compatibility testing for Anthony.

Mia remained completely blind to my ten years of suffering and my injuries.

Watching those messages felt like slow torture with a dull blade.

Finally, I dragged her number into the blacklist too.

I thought if I hid like a rat in the gutter, they'd eventually leave me alone.

But I was wrong.

Today, I arrived at the loading dock early as usual, waiting for work assignments.

The boss walked over with a dark expression and viciously threw crumpled bills in my face.

"Take your dirty money and get lost right now!"

I froze, staring at him in confusion.

"What are you looking at? Murderer! Bastard who won't even save a dying man!" The boss spat on the ground, undisguised disgust in his eyes.

The other workers all looked over, their gazes strange, whispering among themselves.

A coworker I was somewhat familiar with shoved his phone in my face, righteous indignation burning.

"Playing dumb? Your brother is waiting for your kidney to save his life, and you won't give it! Are you even human?"

"Bah! And you call yourself a soldier—you heartless bastard!"

On the phone screen, the social news headline was a bolded, glaring title:

[Soldier Refuses to Save Dying Man—Critically Ill Brother's Life Hangs by a Thread]

Below were two photos: one showing Anthony in a hospital bed covered in tubes in close-up.

The other was actually me from years ago in military uniform with medals on my chest after receiving an award.

[Article by: Jennifer]

The comments were already flooded with insults. My heart felt like it was being squeezed tight—I couldn't breathe.

She actually fabricated lies to manipulate public opinion, putting me on a moral execution pyre.

I didn't defend myself. I had no strength to defend myself.

I bent down, hands trembling as I picked up the four hundred dollars scattered on the ground.

Step by step, I walked back to my rental.

As soon as I reached the alley entrance, I sensed something was wrong.

Several people carrying cameras were blocking my rental door, peering around.

My heart sank, and I instinctively turned to leave.

"Hey! There! That's Robert!"

At that shout, the group swarmed like sharks smelling blood.

Long lenses and short cameras surrounded me completely, blinding flashlights making it impossible to open my eyes.

"Mr. Robert! We heard you were in prison for getting your comrades killed?"

"What do you know about Anthony's condition?"

"Jennifer says you agreed to remarry but then backed out—was it to avoid donating your kidney?"

Each question was sharper and more malicious than the last.

I kept my head down, shielding my face with my arm, trying to push through.

"No comment! Let me through!"

"Robert, do you feel guilty?"

"Anthony is only thirty-five years old—can you bear to watch him die?"

"Do you think having a prison record means you can abandon all responsibility, even basic humanity?"

I was like a cornered clown with nowhere to hide, completely disheveled and wounded.

The gathering crowd pointed and whispered. Not a single person dared approach.