The Debt of a Borrowed Heart
Six years after donating my heart to my wife, she destroyed the last of my family.
Over those six years, she ended my mother’s treatment, letting her die slowly in agony.
She deliberately caused a car accident that shattered my father’s spine, forcing him to watch my mother die while trapped in a paralyzed body.
Even our daughter was not spared—locked away in a pitch-black basement, she starved to death alone.
She did all of this for one reason: to force me—the heartless, faithless man she believed I was—to reveal myself.
But during those six years, the love I once had for her turned into boundless hatred.
I refused to let my soul dissipate.
I stayed—waiting for the day she would learn the truth, and collapse under the weight of her regret.