Separation of Love: When He Chose His First Love

As soon as the doors to the operating room closed behind my son, the weight of everything finally hit me. My knees gave out and I collapsed into the hard plastic chair, sobs wracking my body as I let go of the last shred of control I had been holding onto. The sterile hospital lights above seemed to blur through my tears, casting cold, unfeeling shadows over the linoleum floor. My heart was breaking—shattering—as I waited helplessly.

Moments later, the disciplinary committee staff who had taken my call earlier rushed into the waiting area. Their presence was a stark contrast to the apathy I had been met with before. They immediately turned to the emergency medical staff, their faces hard with anger.

"What kind of attitude is this?" one of the committee officers barked, his voice reverberating through the quiet corridor. The few nurses and staff around stiffened, eyes darting toward him. "How dare you hang up on an emergency call? If you don't want to do your job, I can fire you right now! You'll never work in the medical field again!"

His words cut through the air like knives and the tension in the room thickened. Each accusation landed like a blow, leaving the staff scrambling. The nurse who had originally ignored my calls was nowhere to be seen, her absence only fueling the committee officer's rage.

"Who took the first call? Bring them here!" he demanded, his voice rising. "The patient's family said you ignored their calls after that. Who gave you the nerve? If the family hadn't reported this to us, were you planning to let this life slip away? At the very least, this is negligence—at worst, intentional murder! The family was in a panic and you couldn't tell? Get the person who was on duty, now! Hiding won't fix this!"

Every word was like a physical blow to my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands shook as I wiped my tear-streaked face, trying to steady myself. The reality of the situation was a suffocating weight on my chest. Even a stranger—a passerby—had done more for my son, threatening to call the police and expose the hospital's negligence online. But the man I had called my husband for six years, my son's biological father, was willing to ignore us. He was out there, with another woman, while I was here, drowning in fear and despair.

The sharp pain in my chest intensified as I thought about the promises Ayden had made—the vows we exchanged, the life we had built together. All lies. Betrayal, like a dagger, twisted in my heart. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, my vision swimming as the grief threatened to consume me entirely.

The emergency staff scrambled, their faces pale with fear. They hurriedly called out the female colleague who had answered my earlier call—Molly Carr. Her footsteps echoed down the hall as she was brought forward, her head hanging low, her entire demeanor a far cry from the arrogance she had shown on the phone. Now, tears streamed down her face and she bowed repeatedly in apology, barely able to speak as she stammered out her excuses.

She handed me my son's diagnosis report, her hands shaking. I was too consumed with wiping away my tears to take it and the papers fell from her trembling grasp, scattering across the floor. As the sheets fluttered down, the words "chronic nephritis" leapt off the page, making my heart ache even more.

Molly's face turned ashen when she glanced at the report, her regret painfully clear. In a desperate attempt to prove her innocence, she immediately dialed Ayden's number, putting the call on speaker for everyone to hear.

The phone rang once before Ayden's voice cut through the silence, cold and impatient. "Haven't I told you not to pay attention to Linda? She's always using our son's health as an excuse," he snapped. "Why are you copying her nonsense? I thought you were different, but all women are the same. I'm out here saving lives. Don't bother me unless it's important! Give her the test report and tell her to go home and stop embarrassing me at the hospital!"

The casual cruelty in his voice sent a chill down my spine. I wanted to scream, to rip the phone from Molly's hands and demand answers. But before I could say anything, I heard another voice—soft, vulnerable. It was Iris.

"Ayden, am I going to die?" Her words were faint but laced with fear.

"No, you won't. As long as I'm here, you'll be fine…" Ayden's voice softened, filled with tenderness. The warmth he offered her was a dagger to my already bleeding heart.

The call ended abruptly, the silence afterward suffocating. Molly stood there, her hands still clutching the phone, her expression frozen in place. She didn't dare look me in the eyes.

Just then, the operating room door swung open and the doctor emerged. His face was grim as he spoke. "The patient's internal organs have multiple ruptures. We've just discovered that his nephritis has caused an infection. He needs a kidney transplant immediately. I recall the hospital recently received a kidney donation. We need to do a match quickly."

The words hung in the air, but no one moved. No one dared say it aloud, but I knew—I knew Ayden had already taken the only available kidney for Iris.

Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees in front of the doctor, my voice trembling, my hands clasped in a desperate plea. "The kidney has already been illegally taken by Ayden. Can you please check with nearby hospitals? I'll do anything. I'll sell my house, my car, anything—I'll pay any price. Just please, save my son!"

Tears streamed down my face and I felt my whole world slipping away. If I could have ripped out my own kidney at that moment, I would have. But I knew it wouldn't match. It hadn't in my previous life and fate was cruel enough to remind me of that now.

The doctor's face softened, but his expression remained serious. "Please don't worry, but buying and selling organs is illegal. We'll handle this."

He shot a sharp look at Molly, who, under the pressure of both the disciplinary committee and the gravity of the situation, immediately began making frantic calls. But one after another, the answers were the same—no available kidneys. The hope in my chest dimmed with each call, my stomach sinking deeper into despair.

Inside the operating room, alarms began to sound, beeping frantically as my son's condition worsened. The medical staff hurried inside, their voices urgent, their steps quick. I couldn't stand it any longer. I thought of Ayden, of the kidney he had secured for Iris. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the phone from Molly and dialed him myself.

As soon as the call connected, I didn't give him a chance to speak. "I know Iris needs the kidney, Ayden," I said, my voice cracking with desperation. "I'm not asking for hers. I'm begging you—can you come to the hospital and match with our son for a transplant? He's still in the operating room and he needs you. Please, I'm begging you!"

I choked on my sobs, my words a broken plea. "If you save him, I'll disappear from your life. I'll leave with nothing in the divorce. I'll never bother you again. Just please, save our son! He's my whole world. Please…"

But even as I begged, even as I stripped away every ounce of pride I had left, I could hear it in his voice—the disdain. He thought I was being unreasonable. He still saw me as the problem.