Chapter 3

Stella

“What is wrong with you today?” Adrian’s brows knit together. “Nobody is treating you like a slave. Go throw your temper tantrum somewhere else.”

My husband turns away from me. He brushes loose strands of blonde hair out of Clara’s face, his expression softening as soon as his eyes land on hers. I sharply inhale and turn my face away, unable to watch it for much longer.

“Don’t pay attention to her,” my mother begins, “she’s sick. Her behavior clearly reflect that—”

“It is not because I’m sick!” I yell at the four of them. I reach out for the metal pole that holds my I.V. bag, holding onto it to keep me steady. “This is something that I have been wanting to say for a long time!”

My glare bounces between my mother and father. My hands tremble from fury, knuckles white from my grip on the pole. They scoff and avoid eye contact with me, going back to Clara.

They coo over her. They take water bottles and snacks out of their bags, offering it to her in soft and gentle voices. The sight of it makes me nauseous.

For the past five years, my parents have spent every single dollar in their bank account on Clara. Medical bills, new clothes, physical therapy while she sleeps in her coma…every nickel and dime has been spent on her.

I even helped pay for Clara’s medical treatments and surgeries whenever they asked since the burden was too much for them to handle. During my own recoveries, I stayed in her room and kept her company when they couldn’t be there.

When they did show up? They pushed me out of the room and locked the door behind them.

They never cared about me. I have not seen a single dollar from them, not what I want their money, and neither of them have even taken the time out of their day to check in on me and see how I’m doing. They don’t even bother to ask me how my marriage to Adrian is.

My marriage to Adrian…

Are they really trying to force Clara into my bond with him?

“I accepted your favoritism of Clara…I accepted it long, long ago,” my voice gets their attention back onto me. “But you, Adrian? I believed that you could make up your mind on your own and not stand on their side instead of mine.”

My parents cackle, throwing their heads back. Their laughs bounce off the walls of the rooms, chilling my body to the core. My father covers his mouth, having to turn away, and my mother faces me.

“Oh…oh, Stella, you fool,” she quietly snickers, “even if we weren’t involved, Adrian would still choose Clara!”

I take a step back, a string of invisible barbed wire tightening around my throat, slowly closing off my air supply. My bottom lip trembles. My mind runs a mile a minute and I am barely able to comprehend what they’re saying.

“Do you know how much Adrian has done for Clara these past five years?” My father continues for my mother, a hint of giggles laced in his voice.

My heart plummets into my stomach. What is that supposed to mean?

“Nurse,” the snap of Adrian’s fingers is sharp and loud, “take her away. Clara needs to rest.”

My vision blurs. A nurse comes from behind me, her fingers wrapping around my arm. I try my best to pull away but she is much stronger than me.

She pulls me out into the hallway. My feet slip against the floor, my hands clawing at the air. Cries escape my lips, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.

The nurse pulls me into my hospital room, sitting me down on the bed. Her hands hold down my shoulders as I fight against her, my cries now growing quiet and tired.

“Look,” the nurse sighs, quickly looking around before leaning in, “for the past five years, Adrian visited Clara every day. The surgeries you underwent? They weren’t for Adrian’s company but for Clara.”

My body goes cold, eyes shooting open. Goosebumps litter my body. My breath gets caught in my throat, forming a lump.

Was I hearing things correctly? Is there truth in their words that the only reason I matter is because I can keep Clara alive?

“You’re Clara’s match…they were giving your organs to her. If she hadn’t woken up, they were going to give your heart to her.”

The nurse pulls away from me, guilt and shame written all over her face. She quickly exits my hospital room, the door remaining open behind her. I push off of the bed and stagger into the hallway, rapidly blinking away my tears, and stumble to the nearest nurses station.

I slip a small device out of my pocket. It’s an upgraded USB drive that can give me access wherever I want. I plug it into the computer, quickly clicking through medical files to get to mine.

All of the oxygen leaves my lungs. My eyes burn from tears, throat raw from the words that are presented on the screen.

Heart Transplant Consent Form

Adrian’s name is signed on the dotted line below. My heart aches, shattering into a million little pieces. The curves of his signature mock me from the digital file, as if my life is just one big joke to the four of them.

Was I really a body of spare parts to him?

My eyes catch a few bolded words within the document. I shift in my seat, leaning in to read the words.

Non-Relative Donor

“We’re…not related?” I murmur to myself. A shocked laugh leaves my mouth.

This form can’t be referring to me, can it?

I read the words over and over again. They burn into my brain, searing itself into my memory. I pull my face away from the computer.

I’m…I’m not Clara’s sister? How can this be!

“Well, there’s no need to hide it anymore!” My mother’s voice comes from behind me. I turn and look at her, noticing her gaze is on the form instead of me. “You’re adopted.”

“The only reason we took you in was because your blood was compatible with Clara’s,” my father shoves his hands into his pockets with a shrug, acting as if this is just some thing they did, as if it hasn’t destroyed me and my body.

How much have they taken from me? How could they have done this to another human being?

“Even after all of these years,” my voice trembles, “do you not even feel an ounce of love for me?”

My mother scoffs, breaking into a laugh. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, looking me up and down like I’m the dirt on the bottom of her shoe.

“Without us, you would have died on the streets long ago. You should be grateful, young lady!” She wags her finger in my face.

Tears freely flow from my eyes. I swallow the lump in my throat and watch as they look at each other. They seem relieved — no, elated — that the truth has finally been revealed, that they don’t need to keep up with the charade anymore.

“Step aside, Stella,” the woman who I thought was my mother says, “give the rightful title of Adrian’s wife to its proper owner.”

My posture straightens, fists balling at my sides. I look between them and memorize the looks on their faces.

“No,” I state. “Clara is the mistress here, not me. I am Adrian’s wife, not the substitute.”

“Oh,” my mother mewls, clasping her hands in front of her stomach. “Do you really believe that?”