Chapter 15
It was only then I realized I was standing at the very edge of the rooftop–a high platform, the only open gap up here. There was no railing in front of me. One more step and I would disappear into the thick mist, falling straight into the abyss below.
I stared at the hand he was reaching out to me. There were several bruises on the back of it, the kind left by needles. Near his wrist, a spot where the blood had only just dried. He must have pulled out the IV the moment he left the hospital room to find me, leaving the wound behind.
I stood there in a daze for a moment, then reached out and took his hand.
Immediately, his other arm came around my waist, steady and urgent, yet gentle as he lifted me down from the ledge.”
He held me tightly, fiercely, but with so much care. His voice trembled softly in my ear, steady but shaking with emotion:
“Claire. Claire, we’re both going to keep living. You hear me? We’re going to make it.”
After that night, for many days, the nightmares stopped haunting me.
Frederick Austin bought the house. He signed the papers, and one afternoon, he sat on the bed, scrolling through photos of the place on his phone, talking it over with me.
“This bedroom’s for you. We’ll add a terrace. Open the door, and you’ll see the beach and the ocean right there.”
There was hope in his eyes, a bright spark in the deepest night.
I thought to myself–once his surgery was over, once he pulled through, there’d be no reason for us to keep living together. I’d find a new apartment and a new job.
But I couldn’t bring myself to refuse him now. So I nodded and said, “Alright.”
Frederick’s face lit up with joy.
He started telling me about how, back when his sister was alive, she’d always wanted to visit Norway–land of endless nights and northern lights, with its winding coastline and the forests that inspired writers.
“When the surgery’s done,” he said dreamily, “let’s stay here for a few years. Do you want to travel around with me?”
He’d only been here a few days, and already he looked even paler.
I swallowed the tightness in my throat and nodded again. “Sure.”
Frederick hesitated, then added awkwardly, “Is there anywhere you’d like to go? I can go with you too. Maybe we could-”
Chapter 15
He stopped, breaking into a soft cough. His cheeks flushed, maybe from discomfort, and he never finished the thought.
“I do,” I answered quietly. “There are a lot of places I want to see. When you’re better, I’ll tell you all about them.”
He smiled and nodded. “Alright.”
Late that night, Frederick began to vomit again. Everything he managed to eat came back up, until he was just coughing up blood. This time, it was almost as if he was vomiting blood itself. I knew in my heart–if he didn’t get a heart transplant soon, he wouldn’t last much longer.
Suddenly, Dr. Main burst into the room, out of breath.
“The donor passed away just now. We need to get to the operating room. Prepare for the transplant–right away!”
To keep the donor heart viable, the transplant had to be completed within twelve hours of the donor’s death.
Dr. Main quickly organized the medical team to wheel Frederick toward surgery. I rushed to change into scrubs, my hands shaking.
Frederick lay on the gurney, and as he left the hospital room, he reached out and gently squeezed my hand. My palms were icy with sweat, but he only smiled to reassure me. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
I walked with him to the doors of the operating room.
But from the other end of the hall, commotion erupted from the donor’s side. Frederick had already been taken into surgery by then.
I hurried over, only to see the donor’s family blocking the doctors, a kitchen knife clutched tightly in one hand.
Their grief had tipped over into panic and fury.
“We don’t want to donate his heart! I want my son buried whole. Only then can he be healthy and whole in the next life!”
The consent forms were all signed, by both donor and family. But in the rawness of loss, the family broke down and changed their minds.
To lose a loved one and then have their heart taken out for someone else–it was more than most people could bear.
Time was running out. One of the doctors, desperate and exhausted, blurted out, “The dead can’t come back. There isn’t another life after this one.”
The words hit like water on hot oil. Family members who had been merely hesitating moments before now surged forward, blocking the doctors‘ path to the deceased.
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Chapter 15
They glared at us with grief and outrage.
“Everyone has another life after this! How dare you curse my son so another may live!”
My mind rang with a deafening static. If the family wouldn’t consent, no one could force them. They took the donor’s body and left.
I walked out into the corridor. Through the far window, I watched the distant sea–waves
crashing under a flurry of winter snow.
Frederick was still in the operating room, waiting for a new heart–for a new life.
I was the one who told him, “Try to live.”
He’d promised me he would.
But hope, once again, slipped quietly through our fingers.
No second heart ever came for Frederick.
When the holidays passed and spring was near, he needed a breathing machine, his body reduced to skin and bone.
One morning, I borrowed the hospital kitchen to make dumplings for the two of us–something my parents used to do when they were alive, telling me dumplings would bring peace and safety.
Frederick managed to eat half of one before he threw it all up again, red streaks in the bowl.
For him, safety was little more than a dream.
That night, his coughing grew worse. He went into respiratory failure and was rushed to the ICU. In his final moments, the doctor called me in.
I sat by his bed, holding his frail, skeletal hand.
He told me, with effort, that he had a will, leaving everything he owned to me.
His voice was shaky, as if afraid I’d refuse.
“I was never good at much. I couldn’t save my sister, and now that I’ve managed to save up some money, there’s no one to give it to. So let me help you. Pretend–pretend I’m passing it on to her. Let me have that peace when I go. Will you?”
Maybe no one else in the world could understand, the way we did, the endless guilt and regret that comes from losing the people you love–and from not being able to save them.
Through tears, I nodded.
He murmured, his voice growing weaker, “If you ever get sick… promise me… you’ll take care of yourself. Keep living. Really live.”
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