Leaving Ashes, Finding Her Sky

I gave my husband, Chandler, one of my kidneys to save his life. In return, he married me. I was a girl from an orphanage; he was a New York tycoon. I foolishly believed his gratitude would one day turn into love.

Then his first love, Kristyn, came back. When she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder, Chandler dragged me to the hospital and demanded I give her my bone marrow.

My doctors warned him that with my failing health, another major surgery would be a death sentence. He called me selfish and forced me onto the operating table.

As the doors swung shut, I saw Kristyn, who was supposed to be dying, sit up in her bed. A wicked, triumphant smile spread across her face.

Through the glass, she mouthed the words.

"I don't have a blood disorder, you idiot."

A nurse plunged a thick needle into my spine. They were draining my life away to appease a liar, all on my husband's orders. I died on that table, my last thought a prayer that I would never see him again.

But when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in heaven. I was in a private medical facility, and my long-lost childhood friend, Elijah, was standing over me.

He looked at me, his eyes burning with a protective fire.

"I faked your death, Ava," he said, his voice cold with rage. "Now, let's make them pay."

Chapter 1

Today is our third wedding anniversary. It is also the day Kristyn Palmer, my husband's first love, came back.

She stood on my doorstep, wearing a dress that cost more than my first car, and slid a blank check across the table.

"Name your price, Ava."

Her voice was smooth, confident.

"I want you to disappear from Chandler' s life."

I looked at the check, then at her. I felt nothing. The shock and pain had been burned out of me a long time ago.

She smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. "You have one week to sign the divorce papers and leave. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

I just nodded.

"Good girl," she said, and left.

I sat there in the silence, the check a stark white rectangle on the cheap wood of my dining table. Why had I ever thought this marriage would be anything more than a transaction? A debt paid with my body and my life.

I already knew how this story ended. I' d known for three years.

The memory was always there, waiting in the quiet moments. It was the night of Chandler' s recovery party. He had survived, thanks to my kidney. The Roth family mansion was full of New York' s elite, champagne flowing like water.

I wasn' t part of the celebration. I was in the shadows of the hallway, my body still weak, listening. Listening to my new husband and his grandmother, Doretta Roth, in the library.

"You can' t be serious, Chandler," Doretta' s voice was like ice. "Kristyn left you when you were on your deathbed. She ran off to Europe with that polo player. Ava was the one who stayed. Ava gave you a literal piece of herself to save you."

"I know what Ava did," Chandler' s voice was strained. "I' m grateful."

"Grateful? You owe her your life!"

"But it' s not the same, Grandma. Kristyn... when she cries, I can' t... I still love her."

The words hit me harder than any physical blow. I leaned against the wall, my hand covering my mouth to keep the sound in.

"And Ava?" Doretta pressed, her voice sharp with disbelief. "What is she to you? Your wife?"

There was a long pause. I held my breath, praying for an answer that would not break me.

"What I feel for Ava," Chandler said, his voice quiet but clear, "is gratitude. It' s not love."

Gratitude. Not love.

The memory faded, leaving me back in my small, lonely apartment, the one Chandler rented for me a few blocks from the Roth mansion. It was more convenient that way. He didn' t have to see the living reminder of his debt every day.

My phone buzzed. A message from Kristyn. It was a picture. Her, tangled in the sheets of Chandler' s bed, a triumphant smile on her face. The timestamp was from last night. Our anniversary eve.

A single tear slid down my cheek, hot and wet. Then another. I couldn' t stop them. My body shook with silent sobs.

I was a girl from a working-class neighborhood in Queens. He was the heir to a New York financial empire. We never should have met. But when I was a scared, lonely kid in an orphanage, a boy with kind eyes had given me his candy bar and told me not to cry. That boy was Chandler. I' d loved him from that moment.

Years later, when I heard he was dying from kidney failure, I didn' t hesitate. I was a match. I gave him my kidney, and with it, my health. I developed a severe heart condition from the strain of living with one kidney, a secret I kept to myself.

He proposed to me in his hospital bed after the surgery. There was no ring, no romance. Just a quiet, "Marry me, Ava. It' s the only way I can repay you."

I had fooled myself into thinking his gratitude would one day turn into love. I had believed that my sacrifice would mean something.

I was a fool.

The pain in my chest was sharp now, a familiar agony. I clutched my heart, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

My phone rang. It was Chandler.

"Did you see it, Ava?" his voice was cheerful, distant.

"See what?" I whispered.

"Look outside your window."

I dragged myself to the window. In the sky above Manhattan, a fleet of drones was spelling out a message with clouds of red rose petals.

I LOVE YOU AVA.

It was on the news, a grand, public spectacle of a love that didn't exist.

"Do you like it?" he asked, expecting praise.

My last bit of hope flickered. "Chandler," I begged, my voice cracking. "Please, just come home."

"I can' t right now, baby. I' m in a meeting."

Then I heard her voice in the background, a light, musical laugh. Kristyn.

"Talk to you later," he said quickly, and the line went dead.

That was it. The final cut. The world went dark at the edges. The pain in my chest exploded, and I fell to the floor.

My heart. It was giving out.

I crawled to my purse, my fingers fumbling for the small bottle of pills. The doctor' s words echoed in my head from my last visit.

"Your heart can' t take the stress, Ava. Your remaining kidney is failing. You have maybe six months. A year, if you' re lucky and avoid all stress."

Stress. My life was nothing but stress.

I swallowed the pills dry, the bitter taste a reflection of my life. It was over. All of it. The hope, the pain, the love.

My fingers, shaking, typed out one last message. Not to Chandler. To Kristyn.

You can have him.

Then, I added one final, desperate condition. One last bargain for the life I had thrown away.

Just let me die in peace.

The world went black after I sent the text.

I must have passed out on the floor, because the next thing I knew, Chandler was standing over me. It was early, the sun barely up.

"Ava? Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

His voice held a flicker of concern, the kind you' d show a pet.

He scooped me up. His arms were strong, familiar. For a second, I let myself pretend this was real. He laid me gently in bed and pulled the covers over me. My nose stung, and I had to fight back a fresh wave of tears.

He really was the perfect husband, on the surface. Gentle, polite, a man who remembered I liked my coffee with two sugars and put soft bumpers on the sharp corners of the furniture because I was clumsy. He had even custom-ordered a thick, soft rug for the living room because I liked to walk around barefoot.

I had drowned in that gentleness for years. But Kristyn' s return had been like a bucket of ice water to the face. It was all a performance.

I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see the pity in his.

He sighed, his fingers tilting my chin up. "Stop sulking, Ava. I have something for you."

I almost laughed. Sulking? Was that what he thought this was?

He placed a small velvet box in my hand. I opened it. Inside, nestled on the satin, was a single diamond earring. Just one.

The doorbell rang.

Chandler went to answer it, and a moment later, Kristyn' s voice floated into the room.

"Chandler, darling, you can' t just give a girl one earring. It' s supposed to be a pair."

I sat up. Kristyn was standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a smug smile on her face. Dazzling on her earlobe was the matching diamond stud.

He had given me her hand-me-down.

I remembered a promise he' d made to me, years ago, in the sterile white of the hospital. "I'll give you everything, Ava. A love that is yours and yours alone."

The words were ash in my mouth now. I was nothing more than someone who picked up the scraps Kristyn left behind.

A sharp pain shot through my chest.

Kristyn looped her arm through Chandler' s, acting like she owned the place. Like she was the wife, and I was the guest.

"I' m starving," she announced, her eyes landing on me. "Ava, you' re such a good cook. Why don' t you make us breakfast?"

It was a command, not a request.

"I' m not feeling well," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Kristyn' s face fell instantly. She pouted at Chandler. "If she doesn' t want me here, I' ll just leave."

"Don' t be ridiculous," Chandler said, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Not at her. At me. "Ava, stop being difficult. Just make some breakfast."

He was treating me like the maid.

My fight was gone. I was too tired, too broken. I dragged myself out of bed and went to the kitchen.

I was frying eggs when it happened. My hands were shaking, my vision blurry with unshed tears. I tripped over the rug-the one he' d bought for my comfort-and the hot pan flew out of my hand.

Sizzling oil splattered across my arm. The pain was immediate, searing.

I cried out.

Chandler rushed in. But he didn' t run to me. He ran to Kristyn, who was standing safely by the door.

"Are you okay? Did it get on you?" he asked, his voice frantic with worry as he inspected her hands, her face.

She hadn' t been touched.

"I think a little bit splashed on me," Kristyn whimpered, holding up her perfectly fine hand. "It hurts, Chandler. Take me to the hospital."

He scooped her up into his arms and ran out the door without a single glance back at me.

I was left alone on the kitchen floor, my arm blistering, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

I could still hear his voice, a ghost from the past, whispering, "I' ll protect you, Ava. For the rest of my life."

I took a cab to an urgent care clinic.

The nurse winced when she saw my arm. The burn was bad, a mess of red skin and angry blisters.

"That looks painful," she said, her voice full of sympathy. "Did your husband bring you?"

I managed a weak, bitter smile. "He' s busy."

Just then, I heard voices from the hallway. Kristyn' s voice, sweet and cloying.

"Chandler, what you did was so heroic. You' re my knight in shining armor."

Then she lowered her voice, a seductive whisper. "Why don't you call me your wife? I want to hear you say it."

A pause. Then Chandler' s voice, low and indulging. "Alright, my beautiful wife."

Wife.

The word hit me like a slap. He had never, not once in three years, called me his wife. It was always "Ava." I had thought he was just a private, reserved man. Now I knew the truth.

I wasn't worthy of the title.

I couldn' t breathe. I stumbled out of the clinic, paid the cab driver, and went home.

He was there, waiting for me in the living room, his face a thundercloud.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"The clinic," I said, not looking at him.

He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. He saw the bandages. "God, Ava, it' s that bad?" His tone wasn' t concern. It was accusation.

I pulled my arm away. "Kristyn' s was worse, I' m sure."

He frowned. "Why are you always like this? Can' t you be more understanding? I have a history with her. You need to be the bigger person."

My heart felt like it was being shredded. I was the one with a blistering burn. I was the one he abandoned. And I was supposed to be the bigger person?

Tears streamed down my face, silent and hot. He didn't care about me. He only cared about her.

I was just the maid. The live-in nurse. The organ donor.

"You' re going to be free soon, Chandler," I said, my voice flat.

"What was that?" He was distracted, already pulling out his phone.

He didn't hear me. He never really heard me.

"I' ll take you to the beach tomorrow," he said, not looking up from his screen. "Just the two of us. We' ll sort this out."

The next morning, Kristyn was in the car, wearing a tiny bikini that left little to the imagination.

"I thought I' d come along and teach Ava how to swim," she said with a bright, fake smile, snuggling up to Chandler.

"Kristyn was worried you' d be bored," Chandler explained, avoiding my eyes.

The lie was so transparent it was almost funny. This wasn' t for me. This was their date.

I couldn' t swim. He knew that. So I sat on the sand, a fully-clothed ghost at their beach party, and watched them. They splashed and laughed in the waves, his hands lingering on her waist. He playfully flicked water at her, and she squealed. They looked like a perfect couple.

His phone rang. A business call. He walked down the beach for better reception.

Kristyn waded out of the water and walked over to me, dripping.

"Time for your lesson," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes.

Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the water.

"I don' t want to," I said, trying to pull away.

She was stronger than she looked. She yanked me into the shallows, then, with a sudden, vicious movement, she shoved my head under the water.

Panic seized me. Saltwater flooded my nose and mouth. I thrashed, but she held me down.

"You' re going to learn to swim today, Ava," her voice was a distorted, monstrous sound above the water. "I' m going to make sure you get enough of it."

My lungs burned. Black spots danced in my vision. I was dying.

She pulled my head up. I gasped for air, coughing and sputtering.

She held my hair, forcing me to look at her. "Do you really think he' ll care if you die right here? He won' t even notice."

"No," I choked out, a flicker of defiance still alive in me. He wouldn' t. He couldn' t. After everything I did for him.

She smiled, a truly evil sight. "We'll see."