Mag-log inVictoria waited until the voices faded before opening her tear-reddened eyes.
So it had been Aunt Mary who found the kidney donor.
When Victoria had told Gabriel the news, his excitement had seemed real. He had smiled, held her hands, thanked God. She had believed he was happy for her.
Now she understood.
He had been celebrating for another woman.
He had never planned for her to live.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone beneath the blanket. She typed a message to Aunt Mary, her heart pounding with every word, begging her to secure the donor immediately—and to keep Gabriel away from the process.
Moments later, the door opened.
“Sweetheart, you’re awake!” Gabriel said, rushing to her side. His eyes were red, his face tight with worry. “You scared me to death.”
He clasped Victoria’s hand and pressed it to his cheek, his touch gentle enough to fool anyone watching.
A young nurse nearby smiled warmly. “Your marriage is just too perfect, Mrs. Bathram,” she said with open envy. “The woman in the next room? Her husband hasn’t visited her once in two months. You’re so lucky.”
Victoria forced a smile.
The nurse didn’t know that Victoria envied that woman.
At least she wasn’t being held together by lies. At least she hadn’t watched every hope she had crumble into nothing.
“I want to visit my parents’ house,” Victoria said hoarsely.
Gabriel froze.
His smile stiffened, unnatural. “Why go there?” he asked quickly. “It’ll only upset you. Once you recover from the transplant, we’ll move back. For now, just focus on getting well.”
His eyes held no guilt. Only calculation.
Victoria swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. “It’s because of the surgery,” she said softly. “I want to see their place… and ask for their blessing to live a long life.”
There was an edge to her words.
Gabriel didn’t hear it.
He blinked, then slipped back into his familiar, caring mask. “Alright,” he said gently. “Whatever you want.”
After a pause, he added, almost casually, “The house is a bit messy, though. I’ll have it cleaned before we go.”
Victoria nodded, her face calm.
Inside, she smiled for the first time that night.
Victoria nodded. She knew he needed time to prepare.
That house once held memories worth protecting. Now it was stained beyond saving, no longer deserving of her attachment. Fate, however, was cruel. She wanted to avoid the woman—but the woman came to her instead.
Victoria met Prisca for the first time that afternoon.
“Hi, I’m Prisca,” the woman said, stopping beside Victoria’s hospital bed with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “My daughter is having a transplant soon too.”
She extended her hand, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Victoria looked at her coldly.
Prisca wasn’t prettier— she only looked flashier. And men like Gabriel didn’t care about beauty when they were already staying. Victoria didn’t take her hand. She said nothing.
If Prisca couldn’t keep her husband’s heart without scheming, how could Victoria blame her?
Embarrassment flickered across Gabriel’s face. He quickly looked away from Prisca and helped Victoria sip some water instead. Prisca bit her lip, irritation flashing in her eyes.
She had only come because Gabriel had called earlier—telling her and their daughter to move out of the Bathram villa. Prisca didn’t care about the house itself, but she knew how much it would hurt Victoria. They had lived there for five years. Winning mattered more to her than comfort.
“I heard you found a kidney donor too,” Prisca said lightly. “I hope nothing goes wrong.”
Her tone was unmistakably taunting.
“Enough,” Gabriel snapped.
The glass in his hand cracked as he slammed it onto the table. He turned on Prisca, his face dark.
“If you can’t speak properly, keep quiet. My wife doesn’t bother with things like this—but I do. Say another word, and you’re out of this hospital.”
Victoria leaned back against the headboard, silently applauding his performance.
What an actor.
Did he plan to lie to her until her last breath?
Her heart ached. Too tired to confront his hypocrisy, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion pull her under. Fighting them could wait. Healing her body came first.
Without Gabriel, she would grieve for a long time. But now, more than ever, she wanted to live.
Because only by living could she make them pay.
In the middle of the night, Victoria woke, thirsty.
Gabriel was gone.
She stepped into the hallway and heard low, muffled sounds from the stairwell—soft voices, hurried breaths. Her body stiffened. She knew that voice.
Her chest tightened as she pushed the door open slightly.
Gabriel was there.
So was Prisca.
They stood too close. His hand rested where it shouldn’t. Her fingers were curled into his shirt.
“Why were you so harsh earlier?” Prisca whispered. “You hurt me.”
“You shouldn’t have provoked her,” Gabriel replied quietly.
Prisca laughed softly. “I just wanted to upset her. She always takes so much of your time.”
“Enough,” Gabriel murmured, pulling her closer. “This isn’t the place.”
Victoria stepped back silently.
She didn’t cry.
The pain was there—but it no longer ruled her.
She returned to her room, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.
Now she knew.
And knowing meant she could plan.
The night felt different as Victoria stepped out of the car and walked toward her front door, the award still resting carefully in her hands. It wasn’t just the quiet of the street or the cool air brushing softly against her skin. It was something deeper, something settled inside her that hadn’t been there before. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t carrying the weight of what had happened to her. She was carrying what she had become because of it.She unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it gently behind her. The house welcomed her with a calm silence, the kind that didn’t feel empty or lonely, but peaceful. She placed the award on the table near the entrance and paused for a moment, her fingers lingering on it. Not because she needed to admire it, but because she understood what it represented. It wasn’t just recognition from the world. It was proof to herself that she had made it through something that once felt impossible.A soft breath escaped her lips as she
The hall was filled long before the event began. Soft light spread across the stage in warm tones, reflecting off polished surfaces and carefully arranged décor that spoke of importance without needing to announce it loudly. People moved in quiet confidence, dressed in elegance, their conversations low but purposeful. It was the kind of room where stories were not just told—they were recognized.Victoria stood behind the curtain, her hands resting lightly against each other, her posture straight but not rigid. She wasn’t nervous in the way she used to be. There was no shaking, no overwhelming fear pressing against her chest. What she felt was something deeper, something steadier. A quiet awareness of how far she had come.She glanced down briefly at the simple card in her hand, the one that held a few lines she had written earlier that day. Not a full speech. Just reminders. She had learned that speaking from the heart required less structure than she once believed. Still, the card gr
Time did not heal everything. It did something quieter, something more honest—it created space. Space for truth to settle, for pain to lose its sharp edge, for people to see clearly what had once been clouded by emotion, pride, and fear. It did not erase what had happened, but it changed how it was carried. And in that shift, life slowly began to take on a different shape.A year and a half had passed.Not dramatically. Not marked by a single turning point. Just days folding into weeks, weeks into months, until the past stopped feeling immediate and became something that lived behind them instead of around them.On a calm Saturday afternoon, Gabriel stood at the edge of a small park, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets as he watched his children play. The sun was warm but not harsh, the air light, carrying the distant sound of laughter and movement.Sandra ran across the grass with a kind of freedom that only came when a child felt safe, her steps quick, her voice rising as she
The moment the plane touched down, Aunt Mary felt the familiar shift that came with returning to a place tied closely to her work. The air in France carried a different rhythm—quieter in some ways, more structured, more deliberate.As the aircraft slowed along the runway, she rested her hand lightly against the armrest and exhaled, not out of exhaustion, but out of recognition. This was a part of her life she understood well, a world she had built for herself long before everything else had unfolded.Yet this time, something felt different.Not in the city, not in the routine waiting for her, but within her.Her thoughts, almost without effort, drifted back to Victoria.The goodbye at the airport had not been dramatic, but it had been meaningful in a way that lingered. Aunt Mary was not someone who held on to emotional moments for too long—she believed in moving forward, in focusing on what needed to be done—but even she could not ignore the quiet impact Victoria had left on her.As p
The house felt different in a way Prisca could no longer ignore. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the absence of something that used to hold everything together.The laughter still came from the children’s room, their voices still echoed down the hallway, but the foundation beneath those sounds had shifted. It was no longer a home built on partnership. It was a space where things had ended, even if life inside it continued.For days after Gabriel left, Prisca moved through the house like someone learning it all over again. She woke up at the same time, prepared meals, got the children ready for school, and kept everything running the way she always had. From the outside, nothing had changed. But inside her, everything had.At night, when the children were asleep and the house grew quiet, the truth became harder to avoid. She would sit on the edge of her bed or stand by the window, staring into the distance, her mind replaying moments she wished she could erase or rewrite.There were
The drive to the airport was calm, almost too calm for a moment that carried so much weight. The city moved around them in its usual rhythm—cars weaving through traffic, street vendors calling out to passing customers, life continuing in a way that felt both comforting and distant. Inside the car, however, the atmosphere was different. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either. It sat somewhere in between, filled with unspoken understanding.Victoria kept her hands steady on the steering wheel, and her eyes focused on the road ahead, though her mind drifted more than once. Aunt mary is going back to france to continue her life and her business.Aunt Mary sat beside her, composed as always, her posture relaxed, her presence grounding. She didn’t rush to fill the silence, and that alone made the moment feel easier to hold.“You’ve been quiet,” Aunt Mary said gently after a while.Victoria let out a small breath, her lips curving faintly. “I’m trying not to think too much about this.”
The surgery did not end when the doors of the operating room closed.Gabriel learned that the hard way.For twelve hours, he sat in a plastic chair outside the ICU, his spine bent forward, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together so tightly his knuckles ached. The hospital lights hummed overhea
The first sign that something was wrong came quietly.Too quietly.Victoria had been wheeled into recovery with the careful optimism doctors reserved for patients who had not yet given them reason to worry. Her surgery had not been easy—nothing involving a failing kidney ever was—but it had gone ac
Victoria woke to silence that felt earned.Not the hollow silence of waiting rooms or the sharp quietness of hospital nights—but a deep, steady stillness, the kind that came after a storm had already torn through and moved on. The machines around her hummed softly, their rhythm slow and reassuring.
Pain arrived before consciousness.Not sharp, not screaming—but heavy. A weight pressing down on Victoria’s chest, as if her body had been placed beneath water and forgotten there. She tried to inhale and failed. Tried again. Her lungs resisted, sluggish and confused, like they didn’t recognize her







