My Husband Denied Me Lifesaving Blood

“Maryam Dixon isn’t healthy enough to donate blood. Is there another option?” The doctors traded uneasy glances. The chief physician spelled it out. “A transfusion is still the safest bet. We could try conservative treatment—let her body heal on its own—but that comes with risks…”

“How bad are the risks?” The deep voice came through the phone again.

In the ER, the doctor paused, then answered with clinical precision. “There’s a ten percent chance of shock and a one to three percent risk of sudden death.”

“I remember this hospital brags about having the best doctors and emergency equipment in the country. I’m transferring a million dollars to her medical account now. Don’t cut corners. Make sure she survives!”

The message was unmistakable: Rhys Howell would not let the woman with the rare blood type donate to the injured woman.

The doctor, backed into a corner, agreed.

A single tear slipped down Lorelai Howell’s cheek. Her eyes refused to open.

Coldness wrapped around her, dragging her toward the abyss.

But she couldn’t let go.

For years, she’d lived for him. Now she regretted it. Just once, she wished she could live for herself…

In that instant, a fierce will to live surged up from somewhere deep inside Lorelai.

The monitors that had been screaming alarms began to steady.

The chief physician wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled hard. They had come terrifyingly close to seeing that three percent risk become reality…

Meanwhile, in the hospital corridor, the man on the phone looked grim, tension practically dripping off him.

During his call with the doctor, a text from Maryam Dixon had come through.

[“Rhys, Lorelai is hurt and needs my blood. But the doctors say the risks are high—possibly fatal. Rhys, if you promise to marry me, I’ll do whatever you ask. I’d even give my life willingly.”]

*

Pain. Excruciating pain.

But Lorelai stayed silent.

Because she knew pain meant she was still alive, that she had narrowly escaped death’s grip.

Straining to open her eyes, Lorelai’s blurry vision landed on a familiar face.

Cold. Distant. Commanding.

Yet that perfect, handsome face carried a hint of exhaustion, and shadows lingered behind those sharp eyes.

It was Rhys Howell.

In Lorelai’s eyes, he was everything. Emotions she couldn’t contain rose inside her.

Then the sharp sound of a wheelchair skidding across the floor cut through the air.

Suddenly, a delicate female face appeared beside Rhys Howell.

Lorelai’s heart lurched violently, her scattered thoughts snapping into focus.

Her chest contracted with pain.

At that moment, Maryam Dixon, seated in the wheelchair, kept up her fragile act.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to donate blood to you yesterday. Rhys wouldn’t allow it. He was worried about my health, so please don’t blame him.”

As she spoke, Maryam turned her gaze toward Rhys, her eyes dripping with syrupy affection.

Watching the scene, Lorelai felt as if an icy hand had closed around her heart.

Who would ever guess that the woman lying in the hospital bed was actually this man’s legal wife?

Swallowing down the pain and nausea, Lorelai forced a cold smile.

“Yeah. Rhys worries about his sister’s health but couldn’t care less whether his wife lives or dies. What a stand-up guy.”

Her words were laced with thorns.

After yesterday’s brush with death, she understood one thing perfectly: no matter how much she gave, she would never win this man’s heart.

Seeing Lorelai’s face—no longer gentle—Rhys Howell felt a surge of inexplicable irritation.

“Lorelai, Maryam’s condition made her unfit to donate blood to you. You’re strong, and this hospital has top-tier equipment. A tiny risk of sudden death shouldn’t have been a concern.”

Listening to Rhys’s explanation, Lorelai suddenly burst out laughing.

She laughed so hard she doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re right, Rhys Howell. Since I’m so strong, I don’t need a blood transfusion even when I’m on the brink of death. Maybe I don’t need a husband either.”

At that, Rhys Howell’s eyes narrowed, his voice stern. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lorelai lifted her chin slightly and enunciated every word. “I mean, I want a divorce, Mr. Howell.”

Suddenly, Rhys Howell’s expression turned chillingly cold.

Their marriage had been arranged by his family three years ago—a fact he deeply resented. Still, Lorelai had been the perfect Mrs. Howell. She’d even handled countless family matters he had come to rely on.

He had never considered divorcing Lorelai.

And he sure as hell had never believed she would want to divorce him.

But playing hard to get? She’d tried that little trick before.

Swallowing hard, Rhys Howell responded gravely. “Stop this nonsense. Use these days in the hospital to recover. Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll have it brought to you.”

Seeing Rhys Howell brush off her talk of divorce, Lorelai couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

“I’ll draft the divorce papers and send them your way. Don’t worry—it won’t take long.”

With that, Lorelai cast a cold glance at Maryam, who was clinging to Rhys.

Maryam’s joyful facade froze into terror, her body shivering with cold.

The old Lorelai would have been kind to Maryam just to avoid upsetting Rhys Howell.

It had given Maryam the false impression that Lorelai was a weak pushover.

But now she knew better.

Seeing the pallor spreading across Maryam’s face, Lorelai turned her gaze away.

“If you have any stipulations for the divorce agreement, feel free to mention them. I’ll take them under advisement. Otherwise, you can leave.”

In the face of Lorelai’s indifferent tone, Rhys stood, his expression a block of ice.

His dark suit framed his tall, lean figure, cold as a frozen statue.

“Lorelai, considering your injuries, I’ll overlook this irrational behavior. But know this: I detest these trivial games.”

With those words, Rhys Howell, suppressing his anger, departed the hospital room with decisive strides, the door slamming behind him.

Perhaps in his fury, he left behind the woman he claimed to cherish.

Maryam looked at Lorelai’s icy gaze, nearly bursting into tears from fright.

“Rhys, Rhys, wait for me!”

At that moment, Maryam no longer cared to feign frailty in her wheelchair. She scrambled out as quickly as she could.

Hearing the door close, Lorelai, who had been sitting upright, suddenly relaxed.

She slumped against the headboard, her gaze drifting to the window.

For three years, as Mrs. Howell, her life had revolved entirely around Rhys Howell.

From preparing his breakfast in the morning and organizing his daily necessities to accompanying him to events as his partner.

Everything she did was as his accessory.

In the end, everyone praised Rhys Howell’s youth and capability, but no one acknowledged the person standing silently behind him.

She, Lorelai Howell, the second daughter of the Olson family, an Ivy League graduate—had she really fallen so low that even her life was at the mercy of others?

Retracting her distant gaze, Lorelai picked up her phone and dialed a number.

The voice on the other end was mocking.

“Hello, my dear sister. Finished serving your husband?”

Lorelai paused at the voice, then chuckled despite herself.

What he said was accurate—though it was all in the past now.

“Mathias, I’m getting a divorce.”

The simple statement left the voice on the other end stunned.

Finally, the mocking voice sputtered in disbelief. “What did you just say? Repeat that!”

Lorelai’s lips curved upward, and she raised her voice. “I said, I’m getting a divorce!”

“Wait for me! I’m coming over to beat Rhys Howell up!”