I Died to Save His Mistress

My husband demanded I donate my bone marrow to save his lover.

I called him from my hospital bed, “Chris, I’m begging you, it hurts so much I think I’m going to die!”

“This is what you owe her, Elena. Don’t even think about dying until she’s completely safe.”

I died that night from the complications.

He didn’t even recognize my body being wheeled away.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"My wife." My stepbrother, the only man who cared, replied with ice-cold words.

My heart stopped, but I never left. Now, I would watch him pay.

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1

I was lying in a hospital bed at UT Health Austin, succumbing to complications from a bone marrow transplant.

My husband, Christopher Mitchell, was just one room over. Not for me, of course. He was standing vigil outside the sterile room of his one true love, Victoria Sterling.

Tubes were snaked all over my body, and the steady "beep, beep, beep" of the heart monitor felt less like a medical device and more like a timer ticking down the last seconds of my life.

The moment my EKG flatlined into one long, merciless tone, a cheer went up from the room next door.

Victoria’s transplant was a success. The lights in the hallway seemed to dim with my final breath, and I closed my eyes for good.

But maybe my dying grudge was too powerful, because my soul didn’t exactly move on. Instead, it floated right over to Christopher.

I watched him pull Victoria into a fierce hug, his bloodshot eyes wild with the ecstatic joy of her having cheated death.

My heart, which had just stopped beating a minute ago, somehow managed to sink into an icy abyss.

They had put us on different floors for our procedures. I’d wanted to ask him if he had worried about me for even a single second. But I guess I already knew the answer.

After all, he was the one who personally pushed me off this cliff for Victoria’s sake.

He found the best doctors and pulled every string to prove my bone marrow was the perfect match. Then he forced me to donate it.

The pain of the bone marrow aspiration was so intense, it soaked my hospital gown in a cold sweat.

I had called him, my voice trembling. “Chris, I’m begging you! It hurts so much, I feel like I’m going to die! Please, let me stop!”

I had never used such a desperate, pleading tone with him before. I naively thought that if I just sounded broken enough, he might find a sliver of pity for me, for the sake of our five-year marriage.

All I got in response was his ice-cold laughter.

“This is what you owe Tori. Think of it as your punishment. Don’t even think about backing out, Elena. Donating your marrow is just the beginning of your penance.”

“Think about how you hurt her,” he’d snarled. “When she’s better, I’ll settle the rest of the score with you. And don't you even think about dying until she's completely safe!”

I wanted to argue, to scream that I had never done any of the things he accused me of, but I was too weak to even make a sound.

As if that wasn't enough, he’d growled into the phone, “You make me sick!”

He hung up. My heart plummeted, taking the last shred of my love for him along with it.

He said I made him sick. That wasn't what he’d said when he married me.

He’d once whispered promises of a lifetime of love. He’d said I was his only one, the exception to all his rules. But the second Victoria reappeared, all those promises turned into a sick joke.

And now, I was dead. I watched him gently stroke Victoria’s pale cheek like she was the most precious jewel in the world.

“Thank God, you’re okay… Thank God,” he rasped, his red-rimmed eyes proof he’d been up all night for her. Did he ever consider that his sleepless night was bought with my life?

Victoria squeezed out a weak smile. “Chris, I’m sorry for making you worry. What about Elena? Is she still mad at me? I should go apologize.”

She struggled to sit up, her acting skills so laughably bad anyone could see through them. But not Christopher. He never could.

Sure enough, he gently pushed her back down onto the bed, stroking her hair.

“Silly girl, she’s the one who should be apologizing. What did you do wrong? You’re just too kind, that’s why she always gets away with bullying you.”

A passing nurse couldn't help but smile at the scene. “You two are so sweet together.”

She turned toVictoria. “Your husband here stood in the hallway all night during your surgery. He didn’t move a single step.”

Victoria blushed and lowered her head. Christopher’s body went rigid for a split second, but he didn’t correct the massive misunderstanding.

Then, the nurse sighed.

“The patient in the next room wasn’t so lucky, though. No one was with her when the complications hit. She passed away, and there’s no family here to handle things. It’s truly tragic.”

After a brief pause, Christopher sighed too. “Yes, tragic.”

My ghostly form flickered. A bitter smile touched my lips.

His eyes, his heart—they were completely full of Victoria.

How could he possibly have room to remember me?

The conversation ended. He helped Victoria take a short walk down the hall. As they passed the door to my old room, his steps faltered for a second. He glanced inside.

My body was still on the bed, covered by a white sheet.

If he had taken just one step closer, he would have seen my wrist peeking out from under the cloth.

He would have seen the thin, silvery scar I got years ago, from pulling his mother out of a chaotic fire drill when she had a sudden appendicitis attack.