Chapter 10
I should have lied.
I had been lying for five years. One more should have been easy.
But the way Alexander was looking at me, with those dark eyes full of something worse than anger, something that looked like the beginning of understanding, I could not form the words.
"It's a coincidence," I said.
"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, it isn't."
He crossed the room in two steps.
"Your hip. Show me."
"Alexander—"
"Show me your hip."
His hands were shaking so violently now that when he reached for me, his fingers could barely grip the hem of my sweater.
I caught his wrists.
"Don't."
"Sophia, if you don't show me right now, I will pull every medical record in this city until I find what I'm looking for."
My hands tightened around his wrists.
Then I let go.
I lifted the side of my sweater. Slowly. Just enough to expose my left hip.
The scar was old now. Five years old. But it was still there: a raised white line where they had inserted the needle, three separate times, to aspirate the marrow from my pelvis.
Three puncture marks.
Three donations.
Alexander stared at the scar. His lips parted but no sound came out.
Then his legs gave way.
He dropped to his knees in front of me. Right there in my kitchen, on the cold linoleum floor. His forehead pressed against my hip, against the scar, and his whole body began to shake.
"No," he whispered. "No. No. No."
I stood absolutely still.
"It was you," he breathed. "The anonymous donor. It was always you."
I said nothing.
"Three times." His voice was ragged. "They told us three times. They said the donor was anonymous. They said we could never know who it was. But it was you."
My throat was so tight I could barely breathe.
"Alexander—"
"You gave Ethan your marrow." He looked up at me. Tears streamed freely down his face. "Three times. And then you got leukemia. Because of it."
The look on his face was something I never wanted to see.
It was worse than hatred.
It was the look of a man who had just realized he had been destroying the only person who ever truly loved him.
"My mother knew," he said. It was not a question.
I closed my eyes.
"Sophia. Did my mother know?"
"Yes."
A sound came out of him that I will hear for the rest of whatever life I have left.
Like an animal that has been shot but has not yet fallen.
He pressed his face into his hands and wept.
I stood above him, looking down at the man I loved more than my own survival, and I felt nothing but sorrow.
Not for myself.
For him.
Because I knew what came next. I knew what the truth would do to him once it finished unfolding. Every lie. Every manipulation. Every moment he had been cruel to me in the past week, thinking he was righteous, thinking I deserved it.
It would eat him alive.
"Alexander," I said softly. "Listen to me."
He could not stop shaking.
I lowered myself to the floor, which took everything I had, and knelt in front of him.
My hands found his face. Wet. Hot. Broken.
"It was my choice," I said. "Every time, it was my choice. I loved Ethan too. He was like a little brother to me. I would have done it regardless."
"But my mother—"
"Your mother was afraid of losing you. She was wrong. She was cruel. But she was afraid."
"She told me you stole from us." His voice cracked. "She told me you cheated. She said you ran away with someone else and didn't care enough to say goodbye."
"I know."
"And I believed her." He looked at me with those ruined eyes. "I believed every word. Five years. I hated you for five years."
"I know."
"I said terrible things to you. This week alone, I—" He choked. "The stairs. The car. The restaurant. You were in pain the entire time, and I—"
"Alexander."
"How can you be so calm?" he shouted. "How can you just sit there? I should be dead. I should be the one dying. Not you. Never you."
I pulled him forward and pressed my forehead against his.
"Because I got what I wanted," I whispered. "I got to see you. One more time. That was all I needed."
His hands grabbed my arms. Hard. Desperate.
"How much time?" he demanded.
I pulled back slightly.
"Sophia. How much time do you have?"
My lips trembled.
"Two months. Maybe less."
The sound he made then was not human.
I had been lying for five years. One more should have been easy.
But the way Alexander was looking at me, with those dark eyes full of something worse than anger, something that looked like the beginning of understanding, I could not form the words.
"It's a coincidence," I said.
"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, it isn't."
He crossed the room in two steps.
"Your hip. Show me."
"Alexander—"
"Show me your hip."
His hands were shaking so violently now that when he reached for me, his fingers could barely grip the hem of my sweater.
I caught his wrists.
"Don't."
"Sophia, if you don't show me right now, I will pull every medical record in this city until I find what I'm looking for."
My hands tightened around his wrists.
Then I let go.
I lifted the side of my sweater. Slowly. Just enough to expose my left hip.
The scar was old now. Five years old. But it was still there: a raised white line where they had inserted the needle, three separate times, to aspirate the marrow from my pelvis.
Three puncture marks.
Three donations.
Alexander stared at the scar. His lips parted but no sound came out.
Then his legs gave way.
He dropped to his knees in front of me. Right there in my kitchen, on the cold linoleum floor. His forehead pressed against my hip, against the scar, and his whole body began to shake.
"No," he whispered. "No. No. No."
I stood absolutely still.
"It was you," he breathed. "The anonymous donor. It was always you."
I said nothing.
"Three times." His voice was ragged. "They told us three times. They said the donor was anonymous. They said we could never know who it was. But it was you."
My throat was so tight I could barely breathe.
"Alexander—"
"You gave Ethan your marrow." He looked up at me. Tears streamed freely down his face. "Three times. And then you got leukemia. Because of it."
The look on his face was something I never wanted to see.
It was worse than hatred.
It was the look of a man who had just realized he had been destroying the only person who ever truly loved him.
"My mother knew," he said. It was not a question.
I closed my eyes.
"Sophia. Did my mother know?"
"Yes."
A sound came out of him that I will hear for the rest of whatever life I have left.
Like an animal that has been shot but has not yet fallen.
He pressed his face into his hands and wept.
I stood above him, looking down at the man I loved more than my own survival, and I felt nothing but sorrow.
Not for myself.
For him.
Because I knew what came next. I knew what the truth would do to him once it finished unfolding. Every lie. Every manipulation. Every moment he had been cruel to me in the past week, thinking he was righteous, thinking I deserved it.
It would eat him alive.
"Alexander," I said softly. "Listen to me."
He could not stop shaking.
I lowered myself to the floor, which took everything I had, and knelt in front of him.
My hands found his face. Wet. Hot. Broken.
"It was my choice," I said. "Every time, it was my choice. I loved Ethan too. He was like a little brother to me. I would have done it regardless."
"But my mother—"
"Your mother was afraid of losing you. She was wrong. She was cruel. But she was afraid."
"She told me you stole from us." His voice cracked. "She told me you cheated. She said you ran away with someone else and didn't care enough to say goodbye."
"I know."
"And I believed her." He looked at me with those ruined eyes. "I believed every word. Five years. I hated you for five years."
"I know."
"I said terrible things to you. This week alone, I—" He choked. "The stairs. The car. The restaurant. You were in pain the entire time, and I—"
"Alexander."
"How can you be so calm?" he shouted. "How can you just sit there? I should be dead. I should be the one dying. Not you. Never you."
I pulled him forward and pressed my forehead against his.
"Because I got what I wanted," I whispered. "I got to see you. One more time. That was all I needed."
His hands grabbed my arms. Hard. Desperate.
"How much time?" he demanded.
I pulled back slightly.
"Sophia. How much time do you have?"
My lips trembled.
"Two months. Maybe less."
The sound he made then was not human.