His Choice Was Her

Beckley was on the couch with Fresca curled up against him, her hand feeding him fruit. She looked so happy, like she had won.

“Claire!” Beckley jumped up quickly, his face lighting up like he had been waiting for me. He held out a small gift box. “I got you something. If you take this… it means you agree to the deal. You’ll let me stay with Fresca for a while so she can help you. Please, just say yes.”

I stared at the box but didn’t even raise my hand. My lips trembled, but I forced myself to speak calmly.

“I don’t need the gift. I’ll say yes even without it.”

His eyes widened. “You… you really mean it?”

“Yes,” I said, my chest breaking with every word.

Fresca jumped up right away and wrapped her arm around mine like we were best friends. Her smile was too bright.

“Then let’s all get along, cousin. No jealousy, okay? Beckley’s just fulfilling my dream. He promised me this month, and then you’ll get better.”

I slowly pulled my arm away. “I won’t be jealous.”

Relieved, Beckley hurried into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of soup. He looked proud, smiling at me.

“I made this for you. It’s good for your blood. Please eat, Claire.”

It smelled good. I wanted to believe him. I took one sip… and my throat burned.

“No…” I gasped, clutching my chest. My skin turned cold and pale. “Shrimp? You… you put shrimp in this? Beckley, I’m allergic. Don’t you remember? I told you—”

He froze, panicked. “I thought… I thought it was peanuts you couldn’t eat!”

Fresca’s voice cut in, “No, Beckley, you’re mixing us up. I’m the one allergic to peanuts. Remember? I told you last week.”

My vision blurred. Black spots filled my eyes, and pain stabbed through my chest like a knife twisting deeper. He remembered her allergies. Not mine.

The last thing I heard before everything went dark was Beckley’s terrified voice shouting my name.

When I woke again, he was sitting by my bed, his eyes red and swollen. His hand gripped mine tightly.

“Claire, I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. Please believe me. I’ve canceled everything. For the next few days, it’s only you. I swear to you, I won’t ever let this happen again. Please, forgive me.”

I turned my face away. My voice came out small but steady.

“You don’t need to apologize. You already belong to Fresca. Just remember her favorite things now. Just take care of her. And Beckley… from now on, stay out of my life. For good.”

“Claire, what are you even saying? This thing with Fresca… it’s nothing real. It’s only for a month. I’m just pretending to be her boyfriend so she’ll finally help you. Don’t twist it. You’re the one I love. You're my wife.”

He reached for my cheek, but I turned my head away, pulling the quilt higher over me.

“I’m tired,” I whispered. “I need to rest.”

His hand hung in the air for a second, then he let out a long breath. “Fine. Rest then.”

The sound of the door closing felt heavier than any words he could have spoken. As soon as he left, I opened my eyes. Tears slipped down the side of my face, soaking into the pillow.

I knew I didn’t have much time left. Aplastic anemia was slowly eating me alive.

I forced myself up, every step aching, and dragged out an old dusty box hidden at the back of my closet. Inside were all the little things Beckley and I had collected. The faded movie tickets from our first date. The cheap bracelet he bought me at a night market. Polaroids from our trips, my smile wide and his arms always around me.

My chest tightened. I spent the whole night sorting through them, touching every piece like it was the last time. At dawn, I carried them to the backyard and lit a small brazier. One by one, I fed the memories to the fire.

The flames were still rising when I heard a voice shriek.

“What are you doing?!”

Before I could move, Fresca stormed over and shoved me hard. The brazier tipped, hot coals scattering, a few landing on my arm. Pain seared my skin and I gasped.

“Fresca—” I stumbled back, clutching my arm.

She didn’t stop. She lunged at me, eyes blazing. “If you don’t want me to live here, just say it to my face! Why are you burning my things?”

My cousin’s voice dripped with fake hurt, but I could see the satisfaction in her eyes.

The noise drew Beckley out. He rushed forward, instantly pulling her behind him like she was the one who needed protecting. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Fresca clutched his shirt with trembling fingers, tears already brimming. “Beckley, Claire hates me so much she started burning my stuff! Look at it! She doesn’t want me here.”

Beckley’s eyes landed on me, and for the first time in weeks, he looked straight at me—but it wasn’t love I saw. It was disappointment. “Claire… how could you? After everything Fresca has done for you, after she agreed to help with your treatment… this is how you treat her?”

My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. I bent down and picked a charred scrap from the ashes. It was a corner of a photo. I held it out to them, my hands shaking.

“Look closely,” I said, my voice breaking. “These aren’t Fresca’s things. These are mine. Our memories.”

The photo was from last winter. Beckley had been wrapping his scarf around me, my cheeks red from the cold, my eyes lit with happiness.

For a second, his body went still. “Why… why would you burn these?”

“Because they’re rotten now.” Tears blurred my vision. I tossed the photo back into the fire. “I don’t want to keep them anymore.”

“No, Claire! These are ours. You said once we’d look at them together when we got old. Why throw that away?”

I gave a small, broken smile. “Do you really not see it? Beckley, I’m dy—”

"Beckley… my hand. I think I burned it when the brazier fell.” Fresca cut in.

Immediately, his attention snapped back to her. He dropped my hand like it was nothing, fussing over hers instead. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll put ointment on it.”

With his arm wrapped protectively around her, he walked her inside. He didn’t even glance back.

I stood there alone, shaking, the fire slowly dying.