Your Regret, My Revenge

The bone marrow match was a success. I could finally live.

The hospital door was slightly ajar. My husband, Vincent Jenkins's voice drifted in from the hallway. "Give the marrow to Cathryn. She's carrying my son."

A loud buzz filled my head, drowning out everything else.

My blood felt like it instantly froze, every ounce of strength drained from my body.

After three years of chemo, I'd lost all my hair, vomited until I was dry-heaving bile, but I never once thought of giving up, because Vincent had always been by my side.

He always said, "Hang in there, Brenna. We still have decades ahead of us."

I believed him.

But now, he was giving my only shot at survival to another woman and a son I'd never heard of.

My primary doctor was Vincent's cousin. I heard his cousin's voice, hesitant.

"Vincent, that woman is near her due date. She can't undergo a transplant surgery now. And her condition… she can wait. But your wife… She can't wait any longer. Acute leukemia, dragged out for three years… this is a perfect match. It's her only chance. If she misses this opportunity, she really will... "

"So what?" Vincent's voice was calm. "The Jenkins family line can't end with me. She can hang on for a few more months, right? Didn't the doctor say optimistically she has half a year? That's enough time for Cathryn to give birth. If she dies… well, the insurance money will cover my son's college abroad."

"Vincent, this is murder!" The cousin's voice shot up. "That's the ideal scenario. She could take a turn for the worse any time. Vincent, what you're doing is too cruel to your wife. She loves you so much and trusts you deeply."

"Cruel?" Vincent let out a light laugh, a coldness in it I'd never heard before. "I've been by her side for three years. I've done my duty. A woman who can't have children, hogging the title of Mrs. Jenkins for this long… she should be grateful."

Couldn't bear children?

Those words burned into my heart like a hot brand.

Yeah, because of the chemo, I lost the ability to be a mother a long time ago.

I was heartbroken over it. He was the one who held me, gently comforting me, saying, "It doesn't matter, Brenna. I love you. Kids or no kids, it's the same to me."

Turned out, his mouth said "it doesn't matter," but in his heart, he'd already sentenced me to death.

"Use it for Cathryn first. She's carrying my son, our future. As for Brenna, let her wait a little longer. Maybe… there will be another chance."

There would be no other chance.

The doctor had said it clearly that my case was special. Finding a perfect match like this was a one-in-a-million miracle.

Missing it meant a death sentence.

Vincent knew that better than anyone.

I gripped the sheets under me, my nails digging into my palms.

So, in my husband's eyes, my life was expendable, measured in months.

And that woman, Cathryn Lawson, that unborn child I'd never met… they were the future he had to protect.

I could even picture his expression as he said it—probably still that gentle look.

For three years, that was the face he used to take care of me, attending to every little need.

I couldn't stomach the hospital food, so he cooked three meals a day himself and delivered them, rain or shine.

When chemo hit me hard and I was vomiting my guts out, he'd stay up all night, holding a cup of water by my bed, gently patting my back.

I lost all my hair, became ugly, but he'd kiss my forehead every day, saying I'd always be the most beautiful woman in his eyes.

Everyone envied me. They said I married for love, that even with this deadly disease, I had a devoted husband who wouldn't leave me.

I used to think I was the luckiest woman in the world. Even in hell, I was wrapped in his love.

But it was all a lie.

His kindness and affection were just to comfort me into death, weren't they?

I couldn't bear to think about it. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat.

The conversation in the hall continued.

His cousin's voice was strained with conflict. "Vincent, I can't do this. I'm a doctor. I can't just stand by and watch a patient lose her only hope.

"Don't forget, I still have the evidence from that medical malpractice incident of yours." Vincent's voice turned icy. "Brice, don't make this difficult. Cathryn's due date is almost here. I can't let anything happen to her or my son. As for Brenna, make up an excuse. Say the donor's family backed out last minute. She won't suspect a thing."

"She's so naive, so in love with you. Of course she wouldn't suspect you."

Yeah, I was so naive, so in love with you.

So, I deserved to be your pawn, your sacrifice?

Footsteps approached. I immediately shut my eyes, using every bit of strength to look like I was asleep.

I couldn't let him know I had heard everything.

Not yet.

The door opened softly. Vincent walked in.

He moved quietly to my bedside, a slight chill from outdoors clinging to him.

I could feel his gaze on my face, lingering.

Then, a warm hand brushed my forehead. He gently tucked the blanket around me, his movements tender, like handling a precious treasure.

"Brenna, I just confirmed with my cousin, the donor's paperwork is proceeding smoothly. Everything's fine, so rest easy."

He whispered, his voice still that gentle tone that now made me sick.

"After the surgery, we'll go to Ruessie to see the snow-capped mountains. You've always wanted to go. I've planned everything and booked the tickets and hotels."

He was still painting a picture of our beautiful future, a future without me.

I fought the urge to throw off the blanket and confront him, remaining motionless.

I could even smell the faint scent of perfume on him, not the one he usually wore.

It was an unfamiliar scent, belonging to a woman.

How had I never noticed before? Maybe I'd been sick for too long, my senses dulled.

So, he'd had someone else all along.

And I, the fool, was still drowning in his fairytale, grateful and tearful.

"Get some good rest. I'll see you tomorrow. There's a meeting at the office I need to handle."

He planted a kiss on my bald head.

I kept my eyes screwed shut until I heard him leave. Only then did I dare open them.

Tears slid silently down my face, but I felt no sadness. Just a numb, icy cold.

Vincent, did you want me to die? Fine. But I would make you wish you were dead first.