Chapter 4

Olivia POV

The nursery was stripped bare.

I had hired a moving crew while Michael was at work. They had swept through the house like a quiet storm, clearing everything in two hours. The crib, the rocking chair, the mobile with the little silver stars-all gone.

It was just a white room now. A blank canvas.

I sat in the living room, staring at the envelope Ms. Albright had sent via courier.

*Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.*

I signed it. My signature didn't shake. The ink flowed smooth and dark; it was the firmest thing I had done in years.

The front door burst opened. Michael walked in, looking frantic.

"Liv? Where are you?"

"In here," I said.

He rushed into the living room. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair wild and unkempt, his collar unbuttoned.

"I need to talk to you," he gasped. He didn't notice the echo inside the empty house. He didn't notice the envelope on the table.

"What is it?"

"It's Selena," he said, pacing the room like a caged animal. "She's sick. Really sick. It's an acute blood disorder. Leukemia complications. She needs a bone marrow transplant immediately."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, my voice flat.

He stopped pacing and swung around to look at me.

"I need you to get tested."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You have the same blood type," he said quickly, the words tumbling out. "I remember from your medical file. O negative. It's rare. You could be a match."

"Michael," I said slowly. "You want me to undergo a surgical procedure for your mistress?"

"She's not my mistress!" he shouted, veins bulging in his neck. "She's my friend! She's dying, Olivia! How can you be so selfish?"

My mother, Elizabeth, walked in from the kitchen. She had come over to help me pack the last of the boxes.

"Absolutely not," Elizabeth said, her voice like cold steel. "She is recovering from a concussion. And she is pregnant, Michael. You cannot ask this of her."

Michael ignored her. He didn't even flinch at the word 'pregnant.' He dropped to his knees in front of me.

"Please, Liv. I will do anything. I will sign whatever post-nup you want. I will buy you that villa in Italy. Just save her."

He was begging. Not for us. For her.

I looked down at him. This man who had promised to love me in sickness and in health.

"I have a question," I said.

He looked up, desperate hope in his eyes.

"If we were both in a burning building," I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "If we were both dying, and you could only save one of us. Who would it be?"

The room went silent. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, marking the seconds of a marriage dying.

He didn't even hesitate.

"Selena," he whispered. "I have to save her. She has no one else."

Pain washed over me, sharp and sudden, but it was followed by a strange, euphoric relief.

He had said it. Finally. The truth.

I smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the brittle smile of someone who has just survived a crash.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?" he asked, stunned.

"I'll do the test."

"Olivia!" my mother gasped.

I held up a hand to silence her.

I wasn't doing it for him. I wasn't doing it for Selena.

I was doing it because I needed to know that when I walked away, I had given him everything. I had given him my money, my youth, my heart, and now, my blood.

When I left, I would leave with a clean soul.

And he would be left with his choice.

"Thank you," Michael wept, burying his face in my lap. "Thank you, Liv."

I didn't touch his hair. I looked out the window at the gray sky.

I was already gone.