Julia's heart ached, but so did the jagged scar on her waist, which became a reminder of the kidney she had given to Francis.
As someone prone to scarring, her recovery had been far more difficult than most. The doctor had repeatedly warned her to use imported ointments to prevent permanent marks. But after paying for Francis' hospitalization, her savings were nearly gone.
Now, she had no choice but to return to work, earning enough to afford the medicine that might erase the physical proof of her sacrifice.
She thought back to those grueling years, studying tirelessly by day and juggling three jobs at night just to pay her tuition. She had endured worse. This was nothing.
To earn money faster, Julia took on night shifts with higher wages. Taking orders, serving drinks, cleaning tables. She repeated these mindless tasks, ignoring the fact that she was still recovering.
"Miss, bring us some drinks!"
The customer's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Julia straightened, pushing past her exhaustion, and turned around.
"Of course. What would you like?"
As she leaned down to take their order, her eyes locked onto a familiar gaze.
Francis.
The man who had once been her entire world now looked at her with barely concealed panic.
The moment their eyes met, he stood abruptly, gripping his whiskey glass so tightly that the amber liquid trembled. His lips parted, fumbling for an excuse.
But Julia remained silent, waiting.
She already knew the truth.
Her gaze flickered down to his clothes—his expensive coat alone was worth more than the medicine she struggled to afford.
"Julia… why are you here?" he finally asked, attempting to sound concerned.
But the unease in his expression made his words feel hollow.
"I'm working. Earning money for my medicine. Any problem with that?"
She ignored him and turned her attention to the group behind him.
Dressed in designer brands, they reeked of wealth. They were so different from her worn-out, secondhand outfit. A stark contrast.
Empty wine bottles littered the table, their price tags still attached. A single bottle cost as much as three nights of her salary.
And then, Julia saw her.
Valerie.
The woman who had once been her friend. The same woman she had seen in the VIP hospital suite, nestled in Francis’ arms.
Francis panicked. He grabbed the menu and pulled Julia aside, lowering his voice.
"Julia, you don’t have to do this. I’ll give you the money for your medicine. Just rest at home-"
She cut him off with a bitter smile.
"It’s fine. You told me last time that there was no money left in the account, remember? Besides, the medicine isn’t cheap. It costs tens of thousands of pounds per bottle."
That amount was nothing to Francis.
Julia watched as he struggled to come up with an excuse.
"I… I can borrow from my friends!"
Laughter erupted behind them.
"Francis, what’s taking so long? We’re still waiting for our drinks!"
Julia’s gaze flickered back to Francis, his face flushed from alcohol. She tilted her head, pretending to be concerned.
"But Francis, don’t you have uremia? Should you really be drinking?"
The color drained from his face.
Before he could respond, Valerie stepped forward.
She glanced at Julia, and for a brief moment, the arrogance in her eyes disappeared, replaced by an expression of forced politeness.
"Oh, Julia, I didn’t recognize you earlier," she said sweetly.
"Come have a drink with us!"
Julia took a step back, dodging Valerie’s outstretched hand.
"No, I have work to do."
She turned and walked away, ignoring Francis as he called after her.
Back in the kitchen, she stared at her reflection in the stainless steel sink.
A pale, exhausted face. A worn-out shirt. Cheap shoes she had bought online.
Aside from a degree from a prestigious university, what did she have?
What had ever made her think she was worthy of a man like Francis?
