How Does Sweep Of The Heart End?

When the nurse pulled the IV needle out of the back of my hand, her gaze was filled with pity. “Mr. Young, the heart meant for your transplant was transferred at the last minute. It was sent to the VIP ward on the seventh floor. It’s a shame, but all your pre-operation prep has gone to waste.” Marcus Stewart was warded on the seventh floor. He was the frail young man my sister brought home. Ten minutes ago, Marcus suddenly had terrible chest pain. My usually strong mother burst into tears. My stoic father slammed the table in front of every expert in the hospital, then decided to give Marcus the heart I had been waiting three years for. It was supposed to save my life. I hurried to the end of the corridor, but the green operating light had already come on. Clutching the twisting pain in my chest, I leaned against the ice-cold wall and slid to the floor. There was no need to wait anymore. My heart failure was terminal. The doctor said I would not last the next few days. The mechanical voice sounded in my head. [Master, your vital signs are rapidly deteriorating. If you terminate this body and leave this world now, you still have a chance at a new life. Would you like to proceed?] I looked at the faint grey hue of death tinging my fingertips. “...Yes.”

My mom needed heart surgery. There were only three surgeons on the planet capable of performing the operation. My husband, Caleb Rhodes, was one of them. People called him the miracle doctor. Yet on the day of my mother's surgery, he walked out of the operating room and boarded a plane to care for his first love, Olivia Hayes—all because she had caught a cold. At my lowest, my childhood friend Ryan Walker scoured the world for the best surgeon he could find and rushed him in to try to save my mom. Still, it was too late. The delay cost my mother her life; she died on the operating table. Three years later, Ryan proposed to me. I was ready to say yes. Then I overheard him talking to my ex-husband. "Emma's stubborn. If she ever finds out her mother was never actually sick, and that we killed her to save Olivia, she'll lose it." A chill swept through me. Ryan cut him off. "Enough. Olivia's condition kept getting worse after everything that happened. Emma's mother was the only compatible heart donor we found. Was I supposed just to stand there and watch Olivia die? "Besides, I've already given Emma a home and a future to make up for it. She should be satisfied." That was the moment the truth crashed over me. My mother had never been sick. Every detail had been orchestrated. They had murdered her to save another woman.

It was on our wedding night when my husband stole my heartblood to save his childhood sweetheart. His lips were on my forehead as his dagger carved my chest open. "Good girl. This is the last time, I promise," he breathed bewitchingly, his scalding tears dripping on my skin. "Once she's better, let's consummate our marriage." That was what he said, but I had heard it countless times before. In my despair, I used my last ounce of strength to tug on his sleeve. He urgently drained my blood to save another woman, not even looking my way as he did. What he didn't know was that it was my last drop of heartblood. And I was going to die.

Everyone in the city knew that James Frost loved me and our son to bits. When I suggested stargazing, James spent millions to create a meteor shower. As my son loved riding carousels, James built the biggest amusement park and named it after him. He was never stingy when it came to doting on us, and it was only natural he brought in the best doctors to save me when my son and I were caught in a car crash. I fought to stay conscious and asked him to save our son first, only for him to tell me tearfully that our son had died while being transported to the hospital. Devastated, my mind caved, and I passed out. When I woke up, I overheard the doctor asking James, "Why did you stop us, Mr. Frost? We could have saved your son!" "Stan is only alive to save the son I had with Sue," James replied nonchalantly. "If he was alive, how would I ever transplant his heart without legal repercussions? "I've been plenty kind to him and Wanda over the years—it's time they repay me." So everything he did for me and Stan was just a trade—for Stan's heart. That meant he was responsible for the suffering Stan and I were put through as well! In that case, I would let him have his wish!

My husband, an anesthesiologist, deliberately increases the sedative dosage on an accident victim so he can get a new heart for his first love, Selena Quigley. After her operation, he cares for her and celebrates her rebirth. He only remembers to contact me after she's recovered. "It's been three months since we saw each other, honey. You shouldn't be mad anymore, right? Why don't you book a flight for tomorrow so you can come home? I'll pick you up at the airport." I won't be going home anymore, though. Not now, not forever. I've already died on his operating table.

Before my death, I repeatedly remind my son, Clark Sinclair, what to do after I pass away. I stress that my heart must be donated to my husband, Craig Sinclair. He has suffered from dilated cardiomyopathy for 30 years. This is the last thing I can do for him. Clark shakes me off impatiently and snaps, "Enough. Stop pretending to be kind. Dad was never sick." I think I must have misheard him. "What?" He lets out a cold laugh and continues, "If you hadn't refused to divorce him all these years, why would he have needed to fake an illness just to be with Vern in secret?" My whole body trembles as I demand proof. Clark hands me a marriage certificate. On it are the names Craig and Verna Bloom, my widowed sister-in-law. The two lean against each other intimately, smiling sweetly at the camera. In an instant, rage and grief overwhelm me. The family I spend half my life building turns out to be nothing more than a complete lie. Clark continues expressionlessly, "Actually, Vern is my real mother. Your child was drowned in a bathtub long ago. Back then, Dad and Vern couldn't resist each other. She went into premature labor and nearly bled to death. She gave birth to me on the same day you gave birth. "Dad was so frightened that he developed heart palpitations. He was afraid you'd never stop causing trouble if you found out, so he pretended to be sick for 30 years." Curled up on the floor, I cough up a mouthful of blood. "Why tell me now?" Clark looks at me with eyes full of nothing but hatred. "You stole Vern's place for 30 years. And now, even on your deathbed, you want my dad to owe you a favor. Why should he?" An inexplicably bitter taste fills my mouth. In the end, I die consumed by regret. When I open my eyes again, I find myself in the delivery room next to Verna's. A wave of excruciating pain surges through my lower body.