Ten years ago, I ditched a high-paying job for my family. A decade later, they asked for my kidney—supposedly for my daughter, Talia. Turns out, the real patient was Hudson's first love's son.
They didn't even fake remorse. Hudson sneered, convinced I couldn't survive without him. Talia called me old and fat, acting like I should be grateful to help Bianca's kid.
A whole decade of sacrifice, and what did I get? No love. No thanks. Just entitlement.
To them, I was nothing but a free, disposable maid.
So I walked. No regrets. I rebuilt my life, found a job, and never looked back.
Then reality smacked them. Hudson and Talia finally realized everything I'd done. They begged me to come back—but my heart was already stone-cold.
In the end, I left the country, threw myself into work, and finally learned what it meant to live.
Six months ago, they told me my daughter, Talia, had kidney failure. That only I could save her.
But the night before surgery, I found out the truth—Talia was fine. The real patient? Gabriel, the son of my husband's first love, Bianca Tuck.
It was all a lie. A setup. Hudson had planned everything, and Talia—my own daughter—had played along. I was the only fool left in the dark.
In that moment, ten years of marriage, ten years of sacrifice, shattered.
I slammed the divorce papers on the table. Didn't even ask for custody. I was done.
Hudson frowned. "Lying was wrong, but is divorce really necessary? All I wanted was your kidney. You'll live with one—Gabriel won't if he doesn't get a good match."
I shut my eyes, exhaled slow, then shoved the papers back at him.
"Sign it."
