Separation of Love: When He Chose His First Love

Ayden's voice on the phone was cold and dismissive, each word digging into me like a shard of glass. "Are you done? Isn't it just childhood diabetes? He can take medication—why do you need a kidney transplant? Can you stop making a scene?" His tone was sharp, indifferent, as though our son's life wasn't hanging by a thread. My chest tightened at the coldness in his words, at how easily he brushed off the gravity of the situation.

"Every time something happens with Iris, you freak out like this. It's been six years—if something My voice trembled, still pleading, "Ayden, it's not just—"

But he cut me off, his voice tinged with frustration. "Every time something happens with Iris, you freak out like this. It's been six years—if something were going on between us, wouldn't you have noticed by now? So, the car accident wasn't enough and now you've moved on to needing a kidney transplant?" His words were dripping with sarcasm, as if my desperation was some sort of game to him.

I gripped the phone tighter, knuckles white, unable to stop the tears streaming down my face. His dismissal of everything—our son, our marriage—pierced my heart like a knife.

"I'm not even at the hospital today," he continued, irritation clear in his tone. "So what are you trying to do by going to my workplace? I'm warning you—stop embarrassing me! Go take care of our son right now, or don't blame me if I stop his medication next time!" His threat hung in the air, heavy and cruel. My stomach churned, a hollow ache spreading through my chest.

And then, as if flipping a switch, his tone immediately softened, all his venom vanishing as he spoke to Iris. "Don't worry," he whispered to her with a tenderness that made my heart clench. "The surgery won't hurt. I'll make your favorite porridge and once you're done, you can have it. I'll be waiting outside for you, okay? Be good." His voice, so soft and soothing, was filled with a warmth I hadn't heard in years.

I couldn't hold back the sobs any longer. My breath came in ragged gasps as my tears blurred the cold, clinical walls of the hospital waiting room. The betrayal, the agony, all of it overwhelmed me. Before I could say another word, before I could beg him to reconsider, the lights outside the operating room flickered and went dark.

The doctor emerged, his face a mask of sorrow. His steps were slow and deliberate, as if each one carried the weight of the news he had to deliver. When he shook his head in regret, it felt like my entire world shattered in that single gesture.

The phone slipped from my trembling hand, crashing to the floor with a hollow thud, the sound barely registering in the haze of my grief. My legs buckled and I collapsed, the sterile hospital floor cold against my skin. I couldn't process the words, the reality of what was happening. The disciplinary committee staff gathered around, murmuring softly, but their voices were muffled, distant. It was as if I had been plunged underwater, my mind unable to process the world around me.

In my unconsciousness, memories from my past life flooded back, bitter and vivid. Back then, after the car accident, I had been just as desperate. I had called Ayden, my voice frantic, pleading for help. But then, he had come. He had rushed to the hospital, his face pale with worry, his arms wrapping around me in a protective embrace as we waited for news. He had been my rock, my support. When the doctor finally told us that our son had survived the kidney transplant, we had both cried tears of relief.

But by the time Ayden returned to Iris, she had already died—alone in her home, her body cold and lifeless. His grief had been silent but deep. He had handled her funeral with quiet reverence and when he came back to me, there was guilt in his eyes.

"I don't blame you," he had said, his voice steady but filled with sadness. "It was fate. You and our son are the most important things in my life now." He had looked at me with such sincerity that, for a moment, I believed him.

After our son was discharged, Ayden had suggested a birthday party to celebrate his recovery—a gesture I hadn't expected. I had assumed his heart was finally turning back toward our family. Eagerly, I had booked a hotel, baked a cake myself, filled with hope that maybe, just maybe, our lives could return to normal.

But that night, he had struck me from behind, knocking me out cold. When I awoke, bound and helpless, I found myself at Iris's grave.

My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled against the ropes, but I was too tightly bound. I could barely move.

And then I saw him. Ayden stood over our son's limp body, a scalpel in his hand, blood staining his clothes. My son's heart—his precious heart—was torn from his chest, his organs methodically removed one by one. The kidney meant for Iris lay discarded, crushed into a bloody mess on the ground.

Ayden's face was contorted with madness, his eyes filled with a hatred so deep it twisted his once-handsome features into something monstrous. There was no trace of the man I had loved for years. He was gone, replaced by someone I no longer recognized.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he turned to me, a crazed smile twisting his lips. "Isn't it just a chronic illness? It's not fatal, so why did he have to take Iris's life-saving kidney?" His voice was eerily calm, as if he were explaining something mundane. "He's still young—he would've had plenty of chances to be saved. But now… now it's all ruined."

I wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, but my voice failed me. The horror of the scene before me paralyzed me.

"Do you know how much pain Iris was in when she died?" Ayden's voice grew bitter, his hands trembling as he held the bloodied scalpel. "She called me dozens of times and I didn't answer. Her last voice messages… she was still crying, still saying she didn't blame me. Even in her final moments, she loved me."

Tears welled in his eyes, but they were tears of rage, not grief. "But I blame myself. I hate myself for letting you and that bastard ruin everything!" His voice rose into a shrill, hysterical laugh.

Without warning, he drove the scalpel into my throat, the sharp blade tearing through flesh. I gasped, choking on blood, the taste of iron filling my mouth. The pain was searing and darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.

As my life slipped away, I saw Ayden turn the scalpel on himself. He plunged it into his own chest, the blade sinking deep into his heart.

The last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was his blood splattering across Iris's gravestone, mingling with mine. And in that final moment, I realized just how foolish I had been.