My Last Breath, His Eternal Regret

Shards of the emerald still glittered on the floor where Susan had let it fall, each fragment catching the cold light like broken stars.

I knelt, scooping them into my palms. The edges cut deep, red drops smearing over green. This wasn’t just jewelry. It was my mother’s hands smoothing my hair, her voice humming me to sleep, the only proof she had ever loved me. And now it lay shattered, like me.

Behind me came a gasp—too practiced, too perfect. Susan stumbled backward and clipped the bedframe. Blood trickled down her forehead in a neat, crimson line.

“Olivia!” Henry’s roar shook the walls. He rushed past me, cradling Susan like fragile porcelain, murmuring her name as if she might vanish.

Then he turned, his fury aimed at me. “Are you insane? Over a necklace?”

My chest seized. I pressed the shards harder until they carved deeper lines in my palms. “Yes. Over this. Because it’s all I have left of my parents.”

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his face—hesitation, almost guilt. Then it was gone, replaced by ice.

“Objects can be replaced. People can’t. If Susan is hurt—she’s the one willing to save you. She’s the one you owe.”

“I don’t want her kidney,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I don’t want anything from her. Get out.”

He opened his mouth, but Susan tugged his sleeve, trembling prettily. “Henry, please. Let’s go. She just needs time…”

The door closed, leaving me on the floor, sobbing into broken glass until no sound came out at all.

The next days dissolved into haze. I slept through whole afternoons, waking to find hours had slipped by. The countdown on my phone pulsed: 3 days… 2 days…

Henry tried to smooth things over. He brought master jewelers, laying velvet boxes on my nightstand.

“Look, Olivia. It’s been repaired. Perfect, just like before. And these—new designs, all emeralds. Pick whichever you like.” His voice was coaxing, hopeful, almost boyish.

“Take them away,” I said, staring at the window, my tone flat as stone.

He faltered, but Susan slipped in beside him, her arm twining through his. “Let her be, Henry. Some wounds take time. Besides… our month is almost up. I just want to spend these last days with you.”

He glanced at me—hesitant, guilty—but let her lead him out.

From then on, they were inseparable. Morning coffees, evening drives, candlelit dinners… while I grew paler, weaker, smaller.

They didn’t notice when I fainted in the kitchen and woke on the cold tile, alone. They didn’t notice when every step required bracing against the wall. My body was unraveling thread by thread, and only I knew it.

That morning, I forced myself downstairs. My legs shook; my vision swam black at the edges. The countdown read: 1 day. Tomorrow was the scheduled transplant. But I knew Susan would never come.

Behind me, her voice rang honey-sweet, pitched just high enough for him to hear.

“Henry is taking me to the coast today. Should we invite Olivia?”

Mockery wrapped in silk.

I gripped the rail tighter, lips too numb to form words.

The dizziness surged like a wave. My foot slipped on the last step. My body pitched forward.

“Olivia!”

Henry’s shout split the air—but his arms went not for me. He caught Susan, pulling her tight against his chest, shielding her as if I were the danger.

I crashed against the marble floor. Pain split my skull, warmth spilling hot down my forehead.

“What are you doing?!” His voice thundered as he clutched Susan closer. “Why would you push her?”

Blood blurred my eyes. I wanted to scream that I hadn’t touched her, that the ground itself had risen to claim me.

But the words stayed trapped. Because deep down, I knew the truth pulsing in my veins:

He would never believe me. Not until it was too late.

At my side, my phone lit up.

1 day.