My Last Breath, His Eternal Regret

Blood trickled hot down my temple, staining the marble beneath me.

“I didn’t… mean to,” I whispered, vision swimming.

“She did it on purpose!” Susan sobbed prettily, clutching her head. “She knew you were taking me out today. She couldn’t stand it!”

Henry’s face hardened like stone. He turned toward me—then froze as I doubled over, coughing violently. Scarlet splattered the pristine floor.

“Olivia!” He finally noticed, darting forward, but his hands hesitated halfway.

I shook my head weakly. “It’s nothing…”

His jaw clenched. Relief flickered, then hardened again. “You’re pretending. Tomorrow is the transplant. Stop the tantrums.” He checked his watch, voice calm again. “Today is Susan’s last day as my temporary partner. When it ends, the rest of my life belongs to you.”

He guided her out gently, only pausing at the door: “Don’t cause her trouble again.”

The next morning, the surgical wing glared with sterile light. Monitors already showed unstable lines across my chest.

“Where’s the donor?” the surgeon demanded, checking his watch. “Miss Smith, your condition can’t wait.”

My hand shook as I dialed. One last chance.

“Olivia?” Henry’s voice came muffled through laughter, background chatter spilling in.

“Where is she?” My voice was a thread. “I’m on the table. Waiting.”

Susan’s sing-song whine floated through: “Henry… feed me another grape.”

My blood went cold.

“She’s… anxious,” Henry said finally, his tone vague, guilty. “Her heartbeat spiked, the doctors said it’s too risky. She begged for one more day. You’re strong, Olivia. Hold on just a little longer. Tomorrow, I’ll bring her—I swear.”

The monitor shrieked with alarms. Nurses rushed in, panic slicing the sterile air.

“Miss Smith, your vitals are collapsing! We must begin immediately!”

Tears slid silently down my temples. “Henry… I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he soothed, gentle and blind. “You’ve always been strong. Sleep. Tomorrow everything will be fine.”

The line went dead.

The surgical lamp above blurred, blinding white. Memories spilled like a reel of film—

Seventeen: collapsing from heat on the track field, Henry running with me on his back, sweat soaking his shirt as he laughed breathlessly: “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.”

Eighteen: rain hammering down after prom, him stripping off his jacket to hold over my head, his boyish grin flashing: “My Olivia can’t get sick.”

Twenty: feverish at 3 a.m., the door bursting open, his eyelashes frosted from the long drive, his voice rough but tender: “Be good, take the medicine.”

And then—springtime, in a garden full of blooming tulips, his hand closing around mine, his promise sweet and sure: “When you graduate, we’ll marry.”

But that boy was gone. In his place stood a man feeding grapes to another woman, walking further and further away.

I smiled through the tears. A smile of surrender. Of release.

The monitor flatlined.

“Time of death: 13:14, August 13th.” The surgeon’s voice was clinical, detached.

Outside, the storm broke. A single shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds, laying itself gently across my still face—like the sky itself was saying goodbye.

And across the city, Henry slid another grape between Susan’s lips, utterly unaware that the only woman who had ever truly loved him had just slipped from his world forever.