My Husband Wanted My Kidney For His Mistress

The first sign of trouble was a slight shudder that rippled through the aircraft. Most passengers wouldn't have noticed it, but after twelve years in the cockpit, I felt every vibration like it was an extension of my own body.

"Slight turbulence ahead, folks," I announced over the intercom, my voice steady and practiced. "Flight attendants, please take your seats."

Beside me, First Officer Hawkins glanced at the instrument panel. "Weather radar's clear, Captain."

I frowned, scanning the controls. Something wasn't right. The shudder came again, more pronounced this time, and several warning lights flickered to life across the panel.

"Delta 1852, we're showing some irregularities in your flight path," Air Traffic Control's voice crackled through my headset. "Everything okay up there?"

Before I could respond, the plane lurched violently to the left. Overhead compartments burst open. The cabin filled with screams.

"Mayday, Mayday," I called, fighting the controls. "Delta 1852 experiencing severe mechanical failure. Request immediate emergency landing clearance."

Hawkins' face had gone pale. "Captain, we're losing altitude. Engine two is—"

A deafening bang cut him off as the right engine failed. The aircraft pitched forward, and my stomach dropped with it. Years of training kicked in as my hands moved automatically across the controls.

"Maintain altitude," I ordered Hawkins, unbuckling my harness. "I need to check the auxiliary panel."

The oxygen masks deployed in the cabin, dangling like macabre puppets as I struggled toward the rear of the cockpit. The auxiliary panel was stuck, its manual override refusing to engage. I braced my body against the wall and pulled with all my strength.

"Come on," I growled through gritted teeth.

The plane dipped again, throwing me against the side wall. Pain shot through my shoulder. Through the cockpit door's window, I could see the terror on passengers' faces—businessmen clutching briefcases, a mother holding her child, an elderly couple gripping each other's hands.

For a fraction of a second, I thought of Ethan. Would he mourn me if this plane went down? Or would he be relieved, free to build his new life with Sophia without the inconvenience of an ex-fiancée?

The thought ignited something fierce within me. I would not die as Ethan Walker's abandoned bride.

With renewed determination, I wrenched at the panel until it finally gave way. My fingers flew over the backup systems, bypassing the failed circuits.

"Chicago O'Hare is clearing a runway for us," Hawkins called, his voice tight with strain. "But we're coming in hot on one engine."

I returned to my seat, taking control of the aircraft. The altimeter continued its alarming descent. We had one chance to get this right.

I reached for the cabin intercom, my hand surprisingly steady.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We're experiencing some technical difficulties and will be making an emergency landing at Chicago O'Hare. Please remain in your seats with your oxygen masks on and brace for impact."

My finger hovered over the button, ready to release it, when a strange calm washed over me. If these were my final moments, I wanted one truth to exist in the world—one declaration that was purely mine, not twisted by Ethan's manipulations.

"And if I survive this," I added, my voice cracking slightly, "I'm canceling my engagement to Ethan Walker."

I released the button, ignoring Hawkins' startled glance. The runway appeared ahead, flanked by emergency vehicles, their lights flashing red and blue against the twilight sky.

"Brace for impact," I called, focusing every fiber of my being on the controls.

The wheels touched down with a screech that seemed to last forever. The aircraft shuddered violently as I applied the brakes, fighting momentum and physics with nothing but skill and determination.

When we finally stopped, the cabin erupted in applause and sobs of relief. I sat motionless, hands still gripping the controls, as sweat cooled on my forehead.

"Holy shit, Captain," Hawkins whispered beside me. "You just saved 237 lives."

Outside, fire trucks and ambulances surrounded the aircraft. As I stepped out of the cockpit, passengers reached for me—touching my arm, my shoulder, murmuring thank yous through tears.

I didn't realize until I reached the terminal that news crews were waiting. Cameras flashed as I emerged, still in my uniform, still running on adrenaline. A reporter thrust a microphone toward me.

"Captain Chen! You're being called a hero! How does it feel to have saved everyone on board?"

Before I could answer, another reporter called out: "Captain, is it true you announced you were breaking off your engagement during the emergency?"

My blood ran cold as I realized what I'd done. In my moment of crisis, I'd broadcast my most private decision to a plane full of strangers—strangers with smartphones and social media accounts.

As the questions continued to fly, I caught sight of a television monitor overhead. There I was, my face pale but determined, while a ticker ran beneath: "HERO PILOT SAVES 237 LIVES, DUMPS FIANCÉ MID-FLIGHT."

Somewhere in Seattle, Ethan was watching this. And for the first time since our wedding day, I didn't care what he thought.