Chapter 3
The hospital room's clock ticked mercilessly as I watched another precious minute slip away. Four hours had passed since Dr. Sharma's call about the matching heart. Four hours of unanswered calls and desperate texts to Ethan. Four hours closer to death.
My trembling fingers scrolled through my contacts, landing on David Chen's name. He had been with us from the beginning, before I became invisible. Before Ethan forgot I existed.
"Charlotte?" His voice was thick with sleep when he answered. "Is everything alright?"
"David, I'm sorry to wake you." My voice cracked. "I need your help. There's a heart for me—a perfect match—but the window is closing. I can't reach Ethan, and I need his consent for the surgery."
"Where is he?" The rustle of bedsheets came through the line as David immediately sat up.
"At Olivia's celebration in SoHo. The rooftop bar at The Loft." I hated how pathetic I sounded, begging someone else to find my husband. "Please, David. I have less than two hours left."
"I'm on my way there now." The determination in his voice gave me a flicker of hope. "Hold on, Charlotte. Just hold on."
I clutched the phone to my chest after he hung up, willing my damaged heart to keep beating just a little longer. The monitors beeped steadily, mocking my desperation with their mechanical calm.
Dr. Sharma appeared in the doorway, her face carefully composed, but I could read the concern in her eyes. "Any word from your husband?"
I shook my head. "A friend is trying to find him."
She nodded, checking my vitals with practiced efficiency. "We'll prep you anyway. Be ready when—if—he calls."
If. The word hung between us like a death sentence.
---
The morning light filtered through the penthouse windows as Maria set down a tray beside my bed. After the heart went to another patient, Dr. Sharma had reluctantly discharged me with a cocktail of medications to manage my symptoms. "Until another match is found," she'd said, though we both knew the chances were vanishingly small.
"You should eat something, Mrs. Charlotte." Maria's gentle voice carried the weight of maternal concern as she arranged toast and tea on the bedside table.
I struggled to sit up, each movement sending ripples of pain through my chest. "Thank you, Maria."
She watched me pick at the toast, her weathered hands twisting her apron. "Mr. Ethan called. He said he'll be home late again tonight."
Of course he would. He hadn't even noticed he'd missed my calls last night—calls that could have saved my life.
"The doctor called too," I said quietly. "The transplant window closed at 3 AM. The heart went to someone else."
Maria's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Mrs. Charlotte..."
"Dr. Sharma says I have three days. Maybe less." The words felt surreal leaving my lips. "Three days, and Ethan doesn't even know."
Maria suddenly pulled her phone from her pocket, thrusting it toward me with unexpected force. "Call her."
"Who?"
"That woman. Miss Olivia." Maria's normally gentle face hardened. "She has his attention. Make her tell him."
I stared at the phone, considering the suggestion. The thought of begging Olivia for help made bile rise in my throat, but what choice did I have?
With shaking fingers, I typed a message I never thought I'd send:
*Olivia, this is Charlotte, Ethan's wife. I'm dying. Three days left. Please tell him to come home. Please.*
I hit send before I could change my mind, then handed the phone back to Maria. "Thank you."
She nodded, squeezing my hand. "Rest now, Mrs. Charlotte. I'll be right outside."
As she left, my own phone chimed with a notification. With a bitter laugh, I opened Instagram to see what was so important it deserved an alert.
There they were—Ethan and Olivia, champagne glasses raised high at what appeared to be a brunch celebration. The caption read: "Pre-IPO celebrations with the visionary @EthanCrawford! #FutureBillionaire #TechPower"
Olivia's perfect smile gleamed as she leaned into my husband, her hand possessively placed on his chest—right over his heart. The timestamp showed it had been posted three minutes ago.
As I stared at their radiant faces, my phone began to fill with notifications of missed calls from the hospital. Calls Ethan would never see, buried under the avalanche of congratulations flooding his social media.
I closed my eyes, feeling the damaged pieces of my heart breaking in an entirely different way. Three days left, and the man I gave everything to was celebrating a future I wouldn't live to see.
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