Love Burns One Moment and Snuffs Out the Next

I fixed my gaze on the outdoor banquet ahead. Brandon, in a tailored suit, was right next to Tara. The two held each other close.

The way they gazed at each other betrayed their undeniable affection for one another. Tears rolled down my face. I closed my eyes. Grabbing the paramedic's wrist, I croaked, "Save… me!"

The next second, a commotion broke out at the banquet, resulting in the road ahead getting blocked. The ambulance couldn't move.

Blood gushed from me like water from a broken dam.

The paramedic rushed out of the vehicle, shouting at the crowd, "Someone's dying! Please clear the way!"

Alas, the air was filled with jubilant cries. "Happy fifth wedding anniversary to Tara and Brandon!"

Every word hit me like lightning from above.

No wonder she never celebrated our wedding anniversary. That day was reserved for Brandon.

It was funny how I'd been kept in the dark for five years, as I'd fallen for her claim of wanting to keep a low profile again and again.

It wasn't that she didn't want to celebrate it. It was that I didn't deserve to be celebrated.

With my eyelids drooping and my breathing growing faint, the paramedic started crying out of desperation.

Seeing how bloody I was and how close I was to death, she borrowed an electric scooter from a kind stranger and rushed me out of the ambulance.

We were so close to the venue that I even heard Brandon ask, "Babe, what's that thing on the scooter? It's gross…"

"That's just a dead hunk of garbage. Don't look at it. It'll taint your eyes." Tara spoke gently, in the same tone she had used to propose to me years ago.

Back then, she had said, "Eric, I love you to death. Marry me! I'll take care of you for the rest of your life!"

Only now did it dawn on me that Tara's so-called care was just a way to kill me all along.

By the time we reached the hospital, I was bleeding out, and my breathing nearly stopped. The doctors rushed straight into the operating room, carrying O-negative blood packs.

"How much more blood do we need?"

"1,600 mL. There's just enough in the hospital blood bank!" a nurse answered, wiping sweat from her brow.

The next second, the operating room doors were slammed open. A group of men in black stormed in, guns pressed against the doctors' heads.

Tara stepped in, her brows deeply furrowed. Looking flustered, she barked, "Send all O-negative blood to the operating room across the hall! No one takes my husband's blood!"

I tried to reach for her sleeve with my bloody hand, to tell her that her husband was right here. But clearly, the husband she meant wasn't me. It was Brandon.

The doctors exchanged uneasy glances. One of the nurses said, "That man just has a small cut on his pinky. Blood transfusion isn't needed…"

Ignoring every word, the cold-faced Tara threatened them with her gun.

Holding back the pain and bitterness in my heart, I managed to cry out, "I am—"

She slapped me across the face, knocking me down in the process. Her eyes were dark and cruel as she snapped, "Shut up! Keep talking, and I'll make you my husband's living blood pack!"

After hitting me, she glanced at her blood-stained hand in disdain. With a cold snort, she grabbed the blood packs and walked out.

Holding my face, I lay there in a daze, feeling like my whole body had already been torn apart.

Three years ago, she spent three million dollars to buy a single pack of blood for me at the hospital.

Now, she was also the one taking away all the blood needed to save my life with a gun in her hand.

She was the same person, and the situation was the same. Only now, she was protecting Brandon instead of me.

Although the doctors were scared stiff, they couldn't just stand by and watch me die.

At that moment, a nurse dragged in a volunteer. Panting heavily, she blurted out between pauses, "I found one… This person is O-negative…"