Chapter 3

Mark's accusation echoed in the cafe, long after he was gone. Greedy liar. The words clung to her, heavy and suffocating. The other customers were staring, their faces a mixture of curiosity and judgment. She felt their eyes on her, branding her with the shame of the scene Mark had created.

She looked down at the crumpled ball of paper on the table. Her truth, dismissed as a cheap forgery. The injustice of it was a bitter pill in her throat. He had her kidney inside of him, functioning perfectly, giving him the life and success he now flaunted, and he was calling her a liar for needing the same salvation.

A wave of bitter, hopeless resignation washed over her. What was the point? He was insulated by his wealth and his new life, shielded by a woman who would stop at nothing to keep Sarah's truth buried. He would never believe her.

She picked up the crumpled paper, her movements slow and tired. She smoothed it out on the table, the black and white letters spelling out her death sentence.

A thought, cold and sharp, cut through her misery. If she was the greedy gold-digger he believed her to be, then let her be that. Maybe that was the only language he understood anymore.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers moving with a strange, detached calm. She found his number and started typing a message.

You're right. I am a liar. I do want your money. How much is your peace of mind worth to you, Mark? How much to make me disappear for good?

She stared at the words, her heart aching. It was a grotesque parody of her reality, a confession to a crime she didn't commit. But it was easier than fighting a battle she had already lost. It was a way to take back a tiny sliver of control, to play the role he had assigned her to its bitter end.

Before she could hit send, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was Jessica.

Sarah' s thumb hovered over the decline button, but a morbid curiosity made her answer.

"What do you want?" Sarah asked, her voice flat.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," Jessica said, her voice oozing a sickly-sweet sympathy that was more insulting than her earlier cruelty. "Mark is so upset. He really doesn't handle stress well, you know. It's bad for his health."

The reference to his health was a deliberate, calculated jab.

"I'm sure he'll manage," Sarah said.

"Well, that's the thing," Jessica continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He feels guilty. Despite everything you did to him, he still has a soft spot. He's talking about... I don't know, setting up some kind of fund for you, out of pity. But I told him, that's not what you want, is it? You don't want charity. You want a clean break."

Sarah said nothing, waiting for the trap to spring.

"Listen," Jessica said, her tone becoming brisk and business-like. "He's a public figure now. He can't have his crazy ex-girlfriend popping up and causing scenes. It's not a good look. So, what's your price? Name a number. A reasonable number. And in exchange, you sign a non-disclosure agreement and you never come near us again."

It was exactly what Sarah had been about to propose in her text, but hearing it from Jessica's lips made it feel infinitely more sordid.

"So this is your idea, not his," Sarah stated.

"Let's just say I'm helping him make the smart decision," Jessica said smoothly. "He's too emotional about this. I'm just... protecting him."

A sudden, sharp pain shot through Sarah's side, making her gasp. It was more intense this time, stealing her breath. She pressed a hand against her back, trying to breathe through the agony.

"Are you still there?" Jessica's voice was impatient.

Through the haze of pain, a single, devastating thought pierced through Sarah's mind. Mark. He hadn't even proposed this himself. He had left it to Jessica. He was so completely detached, so thoroughly convinced of her malevolence, that he had outsourced her dismissal. He was washing his hands of her, once and for all.

"Tell Mark," Sarah said, her voice a strained whisper, "that I'm done. He doesn't need to pay me off. He's won. Tell him I'll never bother him or his perfect new life again."

She hung up before Jessica could respond. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the table.

The pain in her back was no longer a dull ache. It was a searing, relentless fire. It spread through her torso, making it hard to breathe. The cafe started to spin, the faces of the other patrons blurring into indistinct smudges of color.

She tried to stand up, to escape the public eye, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She slumped forward, her head hitting the table with a dull thud. The last thing she saw was the smoothed-out letter from her doctor, the words blurring into an incomprehensible mess.

Her mind, detached from her failing body, drifted back again.

The day after her surgery. She was alone in a hospital room two floors down from Mark's. Every muscle screamed in protest. The nurses told her the anonymous donation had been a success. The recipient was recovering well. A wave of profound, painful relief had washed over her. It was worth it. He was going to live.

She had checked herself out against medical advice, using the money Mark' s parents had given her-a guilt payment she'd twisted in her farewell note into a selfish bribe-to buy a bus ticket to another city. She had to disappear completely for the lie to hold. For him to accept the gift without the burden of knowing its source.

The irony was crushing. She was lying here, in a public cafe, her body failing because of the kidney she had given him, and he was out there, living the life she had bought for him, hating her for the very act that had saved him.

She was dying from the cure that had given him his life. The symmetry of it was a joke played by a cruel, indifferent universe. The pain was all-consuming now, a black tide pulling her under. Her last conscious thought was of his face, not the cold, angry man from tonight, but the face of the boy she had loved, smiling at her in the sunshine that streamed through their old apartment window.

Then, everything went dark.

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