A Donation of Seven Years

My husband, Dante Moretti, marked our seventh anniversary with a grand gesture: he bought a rare painting from my favorite artist, a public declaration of his love.

Only later did I learn that he didn't love me, only the genes I carried—the very thing that could keep the woman he truly loved alive.

"Dante, you've been married to Isabella for seven years. When are you finally going to divorce her? I don't want to see that bitch anymore."

"Soon, my love. Just two more blood donations from her, and once your condition is stable, I'll arrange the bone marrow transplant. I've waited so long for this. We're so close."

I stood frozen outside the study, my heart sinking into a cold, dark pit.

Since he was so impatient, I decided I'd help speed things along.

————————

1

When Dante emerged from Alessia's room, he found me sitting on the sofa. He paused, then a gentle smile spread across his face as he came to sit beside me.

"Isabella, you're home early. I haven't even started on your favorite seafood pasta."

The truth is, I hate seafood. I've been allergic to shellfish since I was a child; scallops always make me sick.

But on our first date, Dante took me to a seaside restaurant. He shucked one scallop after another for me, and I couldn't bear to shatter his eager expression, so I forced down every last one.

From then on, he simply assumed I loved seafood. He never knew.

Looking back, I realize it was because he never truly cared enough to notice.

I shifted away as Dante's arm came around my shoulders, forcing a smile. "Dante, let's skip the seafood tonight. Could we take Alessia to the equestrian club event instead?"

"No. Isabella, you know Alessia hates riding. What were you thinking? How could you be so thoughtless?"

Seeing the stunned look on my face, Dante fell silent for a few seconds before wrapping his arm around me again.

"Isabella, I didn't mean to be so harsh. Let's just have seafood tonight, okay? You're always so understanding. Once work slows down, we'll go on that date—the classical music concert, just like you wanted."

He leaned in closer. "I went out early this morning just to pick out the freshest scallops for you."

After I nodded, he leaned in as if to kiss me. But a faint noise from behind him made him pull back instantly. He turned and strode toward Alessia.

"Alessia, why are you out of bed? Didn't I tell you to rest?"

I watched as Dante went into Alessia's room, retrieving her favorite silk robe with an unnerving familiarity. He draped it carefully over her shoulders, his touch gentle, as if she were a priceless, fragile treasure.

I forced myself to look away, grabbing the remote to turn on the news.

Alessia tugged on Dante's arm, her voice a coquettish whine. "I'm so bored in my room. I want to watch a romance movie in the home theater."

Dante carefully guided Alessia to the sofa. "Isabella, Alessia wants to watch a movie. Give her the remote and take care of your gallery work in the study."

In the past, I would have conceded without a fight. She was Dante's "distant cousin," after all, and I had always doted on her like a younger sister. But now, I saw their behavior for what it was—anything but brotherly and sisterly.

I dug my nails into my thigh, the sharp pain grounding me. "I want to watch a movie too," I said, my voice steady. "Doesn't Alessia have a projector in her room? If she's sick, she should be resting in bed anyway."

Dante was taken aback by my refusal. When he saw Alessia's eyes brim with tears, he didn't hesitate. He snatched the remote from my hand.

As he adjusted the home theater for Alessia, he said coldly, "Isabella, if you had a bad day, don't take it out on Alessia. Don't be petty with her. It makes me wonder if I chose the wrong woman."