You. I want You.

Benita rushed into the hospital in a frenzy, her heels echoing down the hallway. Doctor Brian was already waiting, his face tight with urgency.

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Dawson? Gaby is in a risky situation.”

“My husband…” Benita panted, "Is he really a match?"

Doctor Brian nodded. “You need to call him. Quickly.” he said, “There’s no time left.”

Benita stood there, paralyzed, staring through the glass at her son’s fragile form. Gaby’s little chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm, surrounded by wires and machines. 

The faint beeping sounded like a countdown. A ticking bomb waiting to explode.

How could she let him die because of her own pain? No matter what Ben had done— Gaby was still his son. And right now, he was all that mattered.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone and dialed Ben’s number.

No answer.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Panic rose in her chest like a rising tornado. She called again. And again. And again.

Behind her, the monitors went crazy. The beeping sounds turned chaotic. Louder.

“Tell your husband to hurry!” Doctor Brian yelled as he rushed into Gaby’s room.

Benita couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Her thumb kept redialing, but the line remained dead. It was as if Ben had vanished off the face of the earth.

Then came the worst.

Gaby began to shake. His tiny body convulsed, and white foam bubbled at his lips.

“No, no, no—” Benita gasped. She lurched toward the door, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Do something! Please!”

The doctors surrounded Gaby, barking orders. She stood outside, helpless, useless, still clutching her phone like a lifeline.

At last—he answered.

“Benita, Jesus! What’s the problem?!”

“It’s Gaby,” she sobbed. “Please come. He needs you.”

“I told you, I’m on a business trip.”

“I know you’re still in the city, Ben. I know it. Please, just come. He doesn’t have much time left.”

Ben sighed long and loud. “Look, Benny, I’m out of town for a business trip. I sent you the message hours ago. Check your phone sometimes.”

Benita breathed shakily. “Ben, please, I beg you. You're Gaby’s only hope, please.”

Ben exhaled sharply. “Which hospital?”

“Care plus.“

“Can someone else really not do it?” 

“No one else can, please Ben.” 

“Alright,” Ben finally replied. Then hung up.

Benita turned to Doctor Brian, relieved. “He’ll be here.”

Without a word, the doctor wheeled Gaby toward the transfusion room. “Get everything ready!” he snapped at the nurses.

Benita tried to sit, but her legs wouldn’t stop trembling. She paced the hallway, checking her phone every few seconds. One minute bled into two. Then ten. Then twenty.

Still no Ben.

Her call log was filled with his name. Forty-three missed calls. Fifty. Nothing.

Suddenly, the receptionist’s voice pierced through the hallway: “Mrs. Dawson! Come quickly!”

Benita sprinted down the corridor. “What’s happening?”

“His vitals are crashing again,” Doctor Brian said without looking at her. “We might lose him.”

“No! Doctor, please…” Her knees nearly gave out. “Please don’t let my baby die.”

“We’ve done all we can for now, Mrs. Dawson. Without a transfusion—”

He didn’t finish. The steady whine of the heart monitor cut through the room like a death toll.

Benita pushed the door open. Gaby lay there, barely conscious, his skin pale, his lips cracked.

His eyelids fluttered open.

“Daddy?” he murmured.

Benita rushed to him. “He’s coming, sweetheart. Just hang on. Daddy is on his way. Don’t sleep yet, okay?”

“Okay, mommy,” Gaby whispered. His small fingers barely curled around hers.

She kissed his hand over and over. “Stay with me, baby. Stay with Mommy.”

If she could’ve torn out her veins and poured her blood into his, she would’ve. She would’ve done anything. Given anything.

Then— A nurse burst in, breathless. “We found a donor!”

Benita’s head snapped up. “What?!”

The door widened. A tall man entered. Impeccably dressed. Gorgeous gray eyes. Calm. Confident. Dangerous.

His eyes met hers, unreadable. Benita stared. She couldn’t tell if her chest was tight from hope or fear.

He offered his hand. “You can call me Cillian.”

She shook it. 

His palm was warm, his grip confident. But there was something… off. Not wrong. Just too polished. Too still. 

A smile played on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Take as much blood as you want,” he said, looking straight at her. “I’m healthy.”

“No,” she whispered. “My husband… he said he was coming.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because I don’t see him.”

Doctor Brian stepped forward. “We can’t wait, Mrs. Dawson. If this man’s a match, we need to use his blood—now.”

Benita looked at Gaby, then at the door.

Ben still wasn’t here.

She looked at Cillian. There was something hungry in the way he watched her—not lust, but interest. He was calm, too calm. Not like a man doing a random good deed.

“Let’s proceed,” the doctor urged.

“Not until she agrees,” Cilian demanded, “With her mouth.”

Benita swallowed hard. She glanced again at the clock. Ben had vanished. Her son was dying.

Her voice shook, but she said it. “Okay. Take the blood. Just… save my son.”

The transfusion began. Benita waited in the hall, back pressed to the wall, arms clutched around her middle like they could hold her together.

She didn’t cry anymore. She was too empty.

Two hours passed. No sign of Ben.

Then—Doctor Brian appeared.

“Mrs. Dawson,” he said with a smile. “Your son is stable.”

Benita sagged with relief. She nearly collapsed.

She burst into the room, tears blurring her vision. Gaby lay asleep, breathing steadily. Machines still beeped, but no longer screamed.

She kissed his forehead, cradled his feeble hand, and whispered thank-yous through trembling lips.

Then she turned— Cilian.

He sat in the chair across from Gaby, one leg crossed over the other as if he owned the room. He was smiling again.

Benita wiped her face. “Thank you. I mean it. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You don’t need to,” he replied.

“Still. please, let me return the favor. A f*e, an account number—whatever it is.”

Cilian stood up and walked toward her. His eyes held her with an intensity that made her stomach twist.

“I don’t want your money.” he said.

“Then what do you want?”

His gaze swept over her slowly— “You.” He whispered,

 “I want you.”