My Husband Denied Me Lifesaving Blood

The smell of fresh-cooked food wrapped the room in a rich, mouthwatering haze. But to Lorelai Howell, it was wasted. Not a single dish appealed to her—some she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. The Howell family knew her food preferences inside and out. Rhys Howell, apparently, didn't have a clue.

Rhys caught her expression and frowned. "What's wrong? Not a fan?"

Lorelai's face stayed blank. Then, without warning, she swiped the meal box off the table. It hit the floor with a crash. "Get out!" she yelled, her voice shaking with fury.

Rhys stared at the scattered food—two-plus hours of running around, gone. His expression darkened with irritation. "Lorelai, what now?" His patience was hanging by a thread.

Lorelai didn't so much as flinch. "What do I want?" she shot back, ice in her voice. "Did you not hear me? I said get out!"

The door slammed shut. The echo rang in Lorelai's ears. A moment later, she heard the thud of the meal box hitting a trash bin—the sound carrying down the hospital corridor.

Heat burned behind Lorelai's eyes. Three years of sharing meals, and she'd memorized Rhys's tastes down to the last spice. Yet he hadn't bothered to remember a single thing about hers.

The real knife in the back? Rhys hadn't just ignored her preferences—he'd ordered Maryam Dixon's favorites. Lorelai knew them by heart. She'd lost count of how many times he'd sent her to pick up meals for Maryam from that impossible-to-book restaurant forty minutes from the hospital.

Standing there, her stomach twisted with nausea.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the corridor, Maryam slipped back out of sight. Earlier that afternoon, when Rhys had asked her what women usually liked, she'd suspected he was planning dinner for Lorelai. And that was unusual—Rhys had never gone out of his way for Lorelai before.

Ever since Lorelai woke up and filed for divorce, Maryam had sensed a shift. Rhys hadn't fallen for Lorelai in three years of marriage, but Maryam wasn't about to risk it now. She'd invested too much in securing her place in the Howell family to slip up.

So the dinner Rhys put together based on Maryam's suggestions was a trap. Rhys, clueless about Lorelai's tastes, took her complaints as unreasonable.

Back at the hospital, Rhys stormed out of Lorelai's room, cold as ice—exactly the confirmation Maryam wanted. Now all she had to do was wait for a heartbroken Rhys to come running to her.

Maryam went back to her room and waited. Rhys never came.

Downstairs, Rhys sat on a bench, his face carved from stone, fingers tapping at his phone as he waited for a message.

In Lorelai's hospital room, Mathias Olson coaxed his sister gently. "These are all your favorites. Eat up."

Lorelai had no appetite. She forced down a few bites, then the medication pulled her under.

Quietly closing the door, Mathias dialed Rhys Howell. The second the call connected, he let him have it. Normally, insults like that aimed at Rhys Howell would've earned retaliation. This time, Rhys said nothing.

When Mathias finally ran out of steam, his voice went cold. "Fine. I'm done. Finalize the divorce with my sister so our families can cut ties completely."

Rhys finally spoke, his voice icy. "I'm not divorcing her."

Mathias's blood pressure spiked, but before he could fire back, Rhys cut him off—calm, commanding, leaving no room for argument. "Go home. I'll stay with her tonight. And send me a list of her favorite and least favorite foods by morning. If you have a problem with that, I'll take it up with your parents directly."

The mention of Lorelai's parents killed Mathias's fury on the spot. The divorce was still a secret from the Olson family. Rhys had always been the elders' favorite on both sides, and if divorce suddenly came up, Lorelai would be painted as the irrational one—and face major pushback.

Besides, Lorelai's family business thrived under the Howell family's influence. A divorce would upend that growth, and even if her parents were open to it, the powerful Olsons would object.

Bottom line: Lorelai couldn't end the marriage on her own.

That night, nightmares tore at Lorelai's sleep. In the restless dark, she felt someone beside her—a hand closing around hers. Warmth seeped through her, chasing the terror away, leaving peace in its wake.

The next morning, Lorelai woke to the soft glow of dawn—and immediately spotted Rhys Howell in the corner of the room. He was slumped in a single armchair, shadows under his eyes, dead tired.

He's here again? Lorelai couldn't believe it.

After last night, she'd basically slapped him in the face. By all rights, he should've been avoiding her for months. Yet here he was, the very next day.

Did he have amnesia or something?