His Choice Was Her

My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Beck, listen to me, she—”

“Enough!” Beckley ripped the IV out and stormed to me, his face pale but furious. He grabbed my arm so hard it burned, then raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The force sent me stumbling to the floor. Warm blood rushed from my nose.

His voice broke as he shouted. “Is this who you’ve become, Claire? Forcing Fresca like that? Couldn’t you wait? Why are you like this? You’re not the Claire I loved before... Ugly.”

Behind him, Fresca covered her mouth with both hands, sobbing like a little angel, but I caught the curl of her lips through the tears.

I pressed my sleeve to my bleeding nose, tears slipping down my cheeks. I didn’t argue. There was nothing left to say. I stood slowly, my knees weak, and walked out.

Before I left the doorway, I heard his voice, gentle, full of warmth I hadn’t heard in months. “Fresca, don’t cry. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I’ll punish Claire when I’m discharged.”

I smiled bitterly through my tears and wiped them away with the back of my hand.

I get home with my face still stinging and my nose still wet, and I just drop down on the couch because everything aches and I am so tired. I wrap my hand in a towel and try to slow my breathing. I am barely holding myself together when the doorbell rings.

My heart jumps. Who would come now? I stumble to the door and open it and there she is—my mother. My mother, the woman who left me when I was a baby, standing on my doorstep like she owns the moment. She looks smaller than I imagined, like time ate her edges, but when she sees me she drops her bag and runs forward and grabs me so fast I nearly topple over.

She clutches me like she has been living for this hug forever, tears running down her face. “Oh my God, my baby, my Claire, I found you.” She whispers it like a prayer. I try to stand but my knees give out and I slump onto the couch in her arms. Everything goes a little fuzzy.

She pulls back and suddenly her face is terrified. “What happened? Why are you bleeding?” she asks, voice shaking.

I press the towel to my nose and whisper, “I have aplastic anemia. I need a bone marrow donor. I—” My words break. I can’t get the whole sentence out without coughing.

She gets pale and she grabs both my hands like she’s anchoring herself. “I will give you mine,” she says fast, like she’s afraid I’ll say no. “But you have to come with me. Come to Europe. Live with me and your two brothers. Please, Claire, say yes.”

I stare at her, my chest tight. “You left me,” I say. The words are small but steady. “You left me with Grandma. You disappeared. How do I just pack up and trust you now?”

She drops her head and the sound she makes is so full of regret it stabs me. “I worked abroad to send money home,” she says. “I had an accident, I lost my memory, I started over by mistake. I only remembered last year. I have spent months trying to find you. I am so sorry it took me so long. I never stopped being your mother, Claire. I swear.”

I want to believe her. I want to swallow the relief and sprint away with her, but my chest is hollow and the betrayal is still sticky. I whisper, “Let me think. I just met you today. I have to think.”

She nods like she expected me to say that, and she leans down and kisses my forehead softly. “Call me when you’re ready,” she says. She leaves a number and a trembling smile and then she is gone.

I barely get my head down when the house fills with footsteps. Five men burst through the back gate without knocking. They grab me, they throw a blanket over my shoulders and drag me to the yard like I’m a sack. I scream and I try to fight but my limbs are weak and it rains and everything is loud and humiliating.

One of them leans close and says, “Boss says you sleep outside tonight. Punishment for hurting Miss Fresca.” They spit the words like they imagine I deserve it. I pound on the door. I beg. “Please, please let me in, I’m sick, I need my meds.” They shove me more and one of them laughs. The sky opens and I am soaked and shivering.

My phone rings. It’s Beckley. I fumble it open with numb fingers and he sounds like someone reading off bad news. “Listen,” he says, calm and flat, “your transplant was scheduled for tomorrow. But after what you did to Fresca she’s too upset to go through with it. She’s traumatized and she will not stop crying. Think about what you did, Claire.” Then the line clicks off.

Rain mixes with my tears. I curl up on the cold grass and clutch the phone to my chest like it is the last thing that keeps me breathing. My fingers move slowly and clumsily as I dial the number my mother left.

The line clicks and then her sleepy voice answers, “Hello?”

“Mom,” I whisper into the rain, my teeth chattering. “Please come. I’ll go with you. I will come to Europe and go with you anywhere. Get me out of here.”