He Chose Another's Daughter Over Ours

It was ten at night when Richard Peterson finally came home.

He shut the door behind him and had just changed into his slippers when the living room lights suddenly flicked on.

The abrupt brightness startled him.

There I was, sitting silently on the couch, holding a white porcelain urn. I had no idea how long I'd been there.

"What the hell, Queenie? Are you insane? Sitting here in the middle of the night? Who were you trying to scare?"

His voice was sharp and annoyed. I slowly lifted my head to look at him.

Even this late, Richard's hair was still neatly styled, his shirt crisp and unwrinkled. The mother and daughter he had been carefully tending to, day after day, must have meant a lot to him—so much so that even someone as lazy as him had started paying attention to his appearance.

I didn't respond, just stared at him in silence. His irritation deepened.

"You're still mad about the kidney?"

My grip on the urn tightened.

"Haven't I explained it to you? There will be other kidneys! I'm a doctor—I have to think about the patient first. Lacy was in the best stage for recovery, and giving her that kidney gave her the highest chance of survival! I know you were worried about Cammy, but she had already waited so long. Would a little more time have made such a difference? Cammy's my daughter—I'm not going to just abandon her…"

His words were full of exasperation, as if I were the one being unreasonable, as if I were just a hysterical woman making a fuss.

But that little more time—that tiny delay—was everything.

After losing that kidney, Cammy's condition deteriorated rapidly. She never opened her eyes again.

She was so small, so fragile, and in her last moments, she clung to my hand and asked why her dad wasn't there. She asked if he didn't love her anymore.

I could only kiss her over and over, whispering that Mommy was here, Mommy would always be here.

Even as she took her last breath, Cammy never got to see her dad one final time.

Meanwhile, his first love's daughter, Lacy, had survived because she got the kidney in time.

The kidney that was supposed to save Cammy!

I hated Richard—hated his selfishness, his hypocrisy. I never wanted to see him again for the rest of my life.

Maybe he felt he had scolded me enough, because Richard finally stopped talking. He shrugged off his jacket, heavy with the scent of perfume, and tossed it to me.

"Here, wash this before I leave for work tomorrow. Make sure to iron it."

I didn't move. The jacket dropped on the floor.

Richard frowned.

I looked him in the eye and said, "Let's get a divorce."

He froze.

For a second, he looked like he couldn't comprehend what he had just heard. His eyes filled with disbelief, as if he couldn't accept that those words had come from my mouth.

"What did you just say?"

I forced a smile. "I said, Richard, I want a divorce."

I reached for the papers I had prepared and pushed them toward him.

"This is the agreement. I don't want any of your money or property. Let's meet at the courthouse at nine tomorrow. Be there with your documents."

The air in the room thickened.

Richard didn't even glance at the papers. Instead, his face darkened, and I could see the anger bubbling up in him.

"Are you serious right now? You just won't let this go, will you? Lacy needed that kidney more than Cammy! How many times do I have to explain it to you? Queenie, stop being so selfish!"

His furious gaze bore into me, demanding that I back down.

I didn't.

I met his eyes, unwavering.

"Richard, I want a divorce. This isn't a discussion."

His face turned cold. Then he let out a short, mocking laugh. "Oh, so now you're trying to threaten me?"

He grabbed his jacket from the floor and put it back on, his expression stiff and distant. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door.

Clearly, he had decided he wasn't spending the night here.

At the doorway, he paused and glanced back. "Listen to me, Queenie. Even if we do get divorced, Cammy's custody will be mine. Don't come crying to me later."

Then, with a loud slam, he was gone.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I ran my fingers over the cold porcelain of the urn, as if soothing a frightened child.

From the moment he walked in to the moment he left, Richard hadn't asked once if his daughter had been in pain today, if she had slept well, or if she had been afraid.

He hadn't even lowered his voice—hadn't cared how loud he was when he yelled at me, even when he slammed the door.

Not once had he asked about the urn in my arms.

I looked toward the empty doorway, my gaze hollow.

'Richard, you didn't get to see Cammy one last time. And you'll never get to see me again, either.'