Chapter 3

Elizebeth watched as a garbage truck drove by later that morning, its mechanical arm scooping up the trash bags from the curb. The gray scarf, her scarf, disappeared into its grimy depths.

She sank to the floor of the small, cold guest room, a silent scream trapped in her chest.

Jaylah appeared at the doorway, leaning against the frame with a triumphant smirk. "Did you see that? He doesn't care about you. He never did. All those little gifts, all those memories... they mean nothing to him."

Floyd then appeared behind Jaylah, his face hard. "It was just a scarf, Elizebeth. Get over it. You're so dramatic."

He didn't understand. He didn't know that the scarf was made from yarn she had bought with her first paycheck from a part-time job in college. He didn't know she had unraveled it three times to get the pattern just right. He didn't know it was meant to keep him warm, just as he had once promised to keep her warm.

Just then, Floyd' s phone rang. His expression changed as he listened.

"What? Are you sure?" He looked at Jaylah, his brow furrowed with concern. "Her mother?"

Jaylah's face crumpled. "What is it, Floyd? What's wrong with my mother?"

"She collapsed," he said, his voice urgent. "She needs an emergency transfusion. They said... she has a very rare blood type." He hung up the phone and looked directly at Elizebeth.

Elizebeth felt a cold dread creep over her. She knew what was coming. She had the same rare blood type. It was one of the first things they had discovered about each other in college.

Floyd grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. "Come on. We're going to the hospital."

For a split second, a foolish, desperate hope sparked within her. Was he taking her because he was worried about her health after the night in the snow?

His next words crushed that hope into dust.

"Jaylah's mother needs you," he said, his voice flat and commanding. "You're going to donate blood."

The world tilted. He wasn't taking her to be treated. He was taking her to be used. She was no longer a person to him, just a resource. A living, breathing blood bag.

At the hospital, the scene was chaotic. Jaylah was crying hysterically, clinging to Floyd.

"Please, Elizebeth," Jaylah sobbed, her tears looking completely fake. "Please save my mother. I'll do anything."

Floyd stood over her, his arms wrapped protectively around Jaylah. He looked at Elizebeth with cold expectation.

"It's just a little blood, Elizebeth. It's the least you can do after what you did to Jaylah's dress. Consider it an apology."

He was bartering with her lifeblood.

The last flicker of light in Elizebeth's eyes died. The man she had loved, the man she had sacrificed a part of herself for, was a stranger. A monster.

Two nurses came forward with a gurney. They looked at her with a mixture of pity and professional detachment.

Elizebeth didn't fight them. She let them lead her to a sterile, white room. She closed her eyes, and a single, silent tear traced a path down her cold cheek.

Floyd Meyers, she thought, her heart a numb, aching void. If I survive this, I hope I never see you again.