My husband said, “I’ll make good use of your kidney. Now, let’s get divorced while I was still in the hospital bed.” He thought I was broken when I collapsed crying, but as soon as the door closed, I smiled. My revenge was just beginning. Hello everyone. Thank you for being here with me today. Before I begin my story, I’d love to know which city you’re joining us from. Please feel free to share in the comments. Now, let me take you into this story. I’ll make good use of your kidney. Now, let’s get divorced. The words hung in the sterile air of the hospital room, colder and sharper than any scalpel. The stitches on my side, a raw, angry line that was a constant reminder of the piece of me I had just given away, hadn’t even begun to heal. And there he was, my husband, Grant, tossing a stack of papers onto my bed like they were yesterday’s news. divorce papers. There wasn’t a flicker of regret in his eyes, not a hint of shame on his face. It was the detached, almost bored expression of a man who had just finished a business transaction. And in a way, I guess he had. Seeing that coldness, something inside me just broke. A sob tore from my throat, raw and ragged. I crumpled off the edge of the bed, my hospital gown tangling around my legs, and landed on the cold lenolium floor. The tears came then, hot and furious, blurring the sight of his expensive shoes turning to leave. I heard the door click shut, and the silence he left behind was deafening. He was satisfied. He had seen what he wanted to see, his broken, discarded wife, crying on the floor. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know that the moment the door was closed, the moment I was alone in that suffocating quiet, a smile spread across my lips. It was a shaky, watery smile, but it was real. Those tears, they were just the opening act. The first scene in the perfect revenge I was already starting to write in my head. This is where my story truly begins. Just a few days earlier, that same hospital room had felt like a sanctuary of hope. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window, bathing Grant’s bed in a soft white light. He had been so weak then, fading away from kidney failure. I remember my movements were slow and deliberate, as if any sudden motion might break him. I dipped a cloth into a basin of warm water, rung it out, and gently wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. “I’m thirsty. Get me some water,” he demanded, his voice rough and irritable. Even then, I should have seen it, shouldn’t I? The entitlement, the lack of gratitude. But I told myself he was in pain. I told myself it was the illness talking. Silently, I took a bottle from the nightstand and poured him a glass. I even added a straw and brought it carefully to his lips. He took a tiny sip and made a face, a look of pure disgust. How do you expect me to drink this? It’s room temperature. Bring me ice water now. Without a word of protest, I took the glass and walked down the long echoing hall to the water dispenser. A floor nurse was changing his floor bag when I came back. She smiled at me, a kind, weary smile. Ma’am, you’re here again today. Such dedication. Your husband is a very lucky man. I forced a smile back. He’s my husband. It’s what I should do. Even so, she said, her voice admiring as she put away the blood pressure cuff. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone care for their partner so diligently after a transplant. Mr. Everett must have done something truly good in a past life to find a wife like you. I handed Grant the glass of ice water. He drank it in large, noisy gulps, then slammed the empty glass onto the nightstand with a thud that made my heart jump. I tried to take his hand, a simple gesture of comfort, but he snatched it away as if my touch had burned him. He turned his head and stared pointedly out the window, ignoring me completely. The memory of three months ago flashed in my mind, so vivid it was like I was back there. In this very same hospital, Grant, wasting away, had desperately clutched my hand. His eyes were filled with real tears then, hot and desperate. “Elanor, please save me,” he’d sobbed, burying his face in the back of my hand like a child. “They say I can live with one of your kidneys. I’ll pay you back for the rest of my life. I swear it. I’ll wash your feet every day if I have to. Please save me.” He had rubbed my hand against his cheek, his skin feverish. How can we let our son grow up without a father? We didn’t have a son. We never could. But he knew which strings to pull the dream of a family. We could never have. That’s what he used. Wiping away my own tears. I had made my decision. I’ll give you my kidney, Grant. You have to live. Really, Eleanor? You’ll really do it? He had hugged me with a force that nearly broke my ribs. I love you, Eleanor. I truly love you. I’ll trust you with my life. Back in the present, the divorce papers on my bed seemed to mock those words. “Everything you said back then, it was all a lie,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. He finally turned from the window, his face a mask of indifference. More than a lie, he said, his voice as cold as ice. It was an act of survival. At the time, it was what I had to do. And that’s when the door swung open again. In walked my mother-in-law, Judith, looking like she just stepped out of a high-end department store. She was carrying an enormous fruit basket and had a radiant, perfectly painted smile on her face. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the papers scattered on my bed. She fainted a dramatic gasp, her hand flying to her chest. “Grant, have you lost your mind?” she screeched, picking up the papers and pointing a manicured finger at him. “What are you doing? How can you do this to Eleanor?” “The woman who saved your life?” she sighed an exaggerated theatrical sound. Oh, what a foolish son I have. She rushed to my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Her perfume was overpowering, a cloying, expensive scent. Honey, don’t get upset, she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. He’s just sensitive because of the surgery. Be patient with him. He’ll come to his senses. You’re a woman with a big heart. Try to understand. Mother, I said, looking up at her, my eyes pleading. For a split second, her gaze turned icy, a flash of cold, hard steel. But just as quickly, she recovered her pleasant expression. My Grant isn’t like this, is he? She said, giving him a sharp look. No matter what, you can’t treat Eleanor this way. She’s the woman who saved your life. Grant, looking irritated, just turned his head away again. Mom, drop it. It’s a done deal. Done deal. My foot. If it weren’t for Eleanor, you wouldn’t even be in this world right now. Judith yelled, losing control for a moment. But I saw the truth. In the middle of this perfect staged farce. I saw it all. Judith’s hand, still resting on my shoulder, was squeezing with an unconscious force. Her nails were digging into my skin through the thin hospital gown. “It wasn’t a comforting touch. It was a warning, a threat.” “Sweetheart, it’s best if you go home for today,” she said, her voice suddenly calm again. “I’ll have a serious talk with Grant.” I stood up, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The surgical scar on my side achd, a dull, throbbing pain that mirrored the betrayal in my heart. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, my movement stiff and robotic. Eleanor, Judith called out. I paused, my hand on the door knob. Don’t worry, everything will work out. I turned my head slowly, my eyes locking with hers. You knew, I said, the words barely a whisper. You knew everything from the beginning, too, didn’t you? What are you saying, honey? She pounded her chest as if she couldn’t believe her ears. Not in my worst dreams. Since your father-in-law passed, I’ve considered you like a daughter. How can you say something so cruel? Her performance was flawless. A month ago, I would have believed her. I would have apologized for even thinking such a thing. But I wasn’t that woman anymore. That woman had been carved out of me on an operating table. I walked out of the room without looking back. As I walked down the long, empty hall, the tears I had been holding back finally streamed down my cheeks. This wasn’t the cathartic crying from before. This was the quiet, hopeless weeping of someone who had just realized the true price of handing over a vital organ. A part of my own life traded for a simple sheet of divorce paper. I stopped, leaning against the cool wall, trying to catch my breath. And that’s when I heard it, a faint murmur from inside the room I had just left. I held my breath, straining to listen. The door hadn’t latched properly. It was Judith’s true voice, stripped of all its fake sweetness, now low and triumphant. “Well done, son,” she said. “Now that we’re rid of that burdensome woman, our future can truly begin. My legs gave out. I slid down the wall, landing on the floor with a soft thud. The cold hospital tiles seemed to suck the last bit of warmth from my body. I sat there in the echoing silence of the hallway, and I understood. This wasn’t just Grant. This was a family conspiracy, and I was the sacrifice. A week passed in a blur. One week after Grant’s discharge, I found myself in the small, cramped apartment near the hospital that I had rented for two months just to be close to him. The place smelled of disinfectant and stale air. I was packing my things into a single suitcase, telling myself over and over, I have to go home. Since his discharge, I hadn’t received a single call. Not a text. The last memory I had of my husband was the cold, crisp divorce agreement. I took a cab back to the luxury condo complex we had called home for 5 years. The sight of the familiar building with its manicured lawns and sparkling windows caused a knot to form in my throat. I stopped in front of our door number 12b and took a deep breath. My fingers, trembling slightly, punched in the security code we had always used, our anniversary. Beep beep. An impersonal metallic sound. incorrect code. My heart started to pound. I slowly, deliberately typed the numbers again, checking each one. Beep beep. The door didn’t open. My stomach plummeted. Just then, as I was about to try a third time, I heard a click from the inside. The door swung open. A strange woman stood in the doorway. She was dressed from head to toe in designer clothes, a tight purple silk dress that clung to her curves, and an ostentatious pearl necklace that looked heavy on her slender neck. She looked me up and down, her eyes filled with a bored disdain. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice smooth as honey, but sharp as glass. “Are you trying to break into someone else’s house?” “Who am I?” The words came out louder than I intended, laced with disbelief. This is my house. She laughed a short ugly sound. Your house? Ha? What nonsense? This property belongs to our company. You must be mistaken. What? What are you talking about? Just then, Grant’s voice called from inside. Veronica, who is it? What’s all that noise? Grant appeared from the living room looking calm and completely recovered. There was no trace of the surgery left on him. He was wearing an expensive designer tracksuit that fit his athletic body perfectly. He looked healthier than he had in years. Thanks to me. Ah, it’s you, Eleanor, he said. His tone is casual and cold as if he were addressing an annoying stranger on the street. Grant, what is the meaning of this? And who is this woman? To avoid a scene in front of the neighbors. Come inside and we’ll talk, he said, sighing with theatrical reluctance. He let me in and my breath caught in my chest. The interior of the house was completely different. The warm white tone furniture I had spent months choosing with such care was gone. In its place was a glossy black leather sofa and a cold imposing marble table. It looked like a showroom, not a home. Where are my things? I asked, my voice trembling. Your furniture? We threw it out. Obviously, Veronica Vance answered, sitting elegantly on the sofa and crossing her long legs. Who would want to keep that tacky stuff? You threw them out? Listen closely, Grant said, his voice flat and emotionless as he crossed his arms. This apartment is now the property of Veronica’s company. You no longer have any right to live here. That can’t be. This is the house we bought together. With our savings, our sweat, he scoffed. Don’t make me laugh. I earned the money. My gaze then fell upon a shelf near the fireplace. Standing there all alone was the old music box Grant had given me when you proposed. It was a simple wooden thing with a little ballerina that spun when you wounded up. An object full of so many memories. At least that, I whispered. I reached up for the music box as if in a trance. But Grant was faster. He slapped my hand away hard. This sentimental trinket was still here, he said, picking it up and showing it off with contempt. No, please don’t, I pleaded. I’m sick of your kit. And with that, he smashed the music box onto the marble floor without mercy. Crash. It shattered with a horrible final sound. The ballerina’s neck snapped and her tiny head rolled under the new cold sofa. Why? Why are you doing this? I knelt, my hands instinctively reaching for the broken pieces. Because I want a clean slate, Grant said, looking down at me with no emotion at all. I want to erase everything that connects me to you and start from zero. Veronica stood up and planted herself in front of me, looking down her perfect nose. You should leave before I call the police for trespassing. You’ll only complicate things for yourself. This house is mine, too, I cried out, my voice raw with desperation. And how are you going to prove it? Does your name appear on the deed? She laughed. Grant already made sure to tie up all the loose ends. He tossed a folder onto the table. You no longer have any property in your name. I reviewed the documents with trembling eyes. Sure enough, everything, the apartment, the savings account, even the car I drove was in someone else’s name. “If you look at the papers, you’ll see you consented to everything,” Grant said triumphantly. “Remember all those documents you signed without reading before the operation.” “And then I understood the countless papers he had given me, telling me they were necessary for the surgery, for our investments, for his medical leave. I had trusted him. I had signed them all without a second thought. My mind preoccupied with his health, with saving his life. You planned all of this from the very beginning, didn’t you? He shrugged unperturbed. You could say that. You only wanted my kidney so you could abandon me later. Abandon is such an ugly word, he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Let’s just say everyone goes their separate ways. I stood up tightly clutching the sharp fragments of the music box. Blood welled up from my palm, dripping onto the pristine marble floor. You’re going to pay for this, I see that. Divine punishment will fall upon you. Ooh, scary. A threat. Should we record that, Grant? Veronica mocked, pulling out her phone. With my bloody hand, I grabbed the door knob. Just as I was leaving, I heard Grant’s voice behind me. Oh, by the way, your stuff is in the utility closet. Your clothes and your handful of junk. I left without looking back. In the elevator, my legs finally gave out and I collapsed to the floor. The concierge, a kind man who had always greeted me with a smile, handed me two dusty boxes with a look of pity. Man, relationship issues are tough. Hang in there, he said, trying to offer some comfort. Thank you. I left the building with the boxes. The cold night wind felt like a slap against my tear stained cheeks. I took a cab to the house of my best friend, Brenda Brooks, who was also recently divorced. Through the cab window, the familiar street lights were just a blurry mess. It was because of the tears. On Brenda’s living room sofa, I sat like a stone statue, my soul feeling like it had been ripped out of my body. My lost gaze was fixed on the television, but I saw nothing. For 3 days, I barely moved from that same position. Eleanor, please eat something. Come on, Brenda pleaded on the third night, offering me a steaming bowl of chicken soup. The smell made my stomach turn. I’m not hungry. I don’t feel like it. I shook my head weakly. Just one spoonful. You’re going to get sick. What will you do if you pass out? She forcefully put the spoon in my hand. I took a single, reluctant spoonful just to appease her, but then put the spoon back on the plate. Brenda, I said, my voice a hollow whisper. I think it would be better if I just died. What’s left for me? What? Brenda grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard. Eleanor, snap out of it. Don’t you dare say such foolish things. You’re going to die for that, scumbag. No way. Not on my watch. I was an idiot, a fool, I sobbed, fresh tears welling up in my dry eyes. How can anyone be like that? I gave him a piece of my body. I gave him my kidney. And he does this to me. Brenda sighed deeply and held me tightly as I cried. After a long moment, she pulled back and looked at me with a determined expression. Eleanor, the lawyer who helped me with my divorce. He’s really good, competent. Why don’t we talk to him? It won’t do any good, I mumbled, defeated. I have nothing in my name. That bastard took everything. My inheritance from my parents. Everything. We have nothing to lose by trying. Maybe there’s a solution we haven’t thought of, Brenda said, her heart-wrenching for me. She grabbed her cell phone. I’m calling him right now. After the call, she turned to me. He can see us tomorrow afternoon. We’re going. No excuses. The following afternoon, we arrived at a sleek, modern law office. It was a sober, organized atmosphere, a world away from the chaos in my head. A young lawyer escorted us to a conference room. Good morning. I’m attorney James. Please have a seat. He politely handed us his business card. Eleanor Everett, I said, my voice thin and ready. Brenda has already given me the broad strokes of the situation. Could you tell me everything in detail? As if I were giving a confession, I told him everything. My husband’s kidney failure, my donation, the sudden divorce notice, and the meticulously planned fraud that stripped me of all my assets, including the money my parents had left me after their funeral a few years back. Attorney James, with a serious expression, took detailed notes of every word. Do you have any copies of the documents you signed? He asked. No, Grant took them all. I don’t have a single one. When exactly was the transfer of assets carried out? Just before the operation. He tricked me. He said they were necessary papers for the surgery. After hearing the entire story, the attorney shook his head regretfully. To be honest with you, he said, his words gentle but firm. This is a very difficult battle. My heart sank with that sentence. We can likely prove the infidelity, he continued. But the assets were transferred in a legally impeccable manner. And what’s worse, with your consent? So there’s nothing that can be done? I asked, my voice desperate. Not even after I donated my kidney. An organ that is part of my life. Unfortunately, organ donation is considered a purely voluntary and altruistic act, the lawyer explained, laying out the cold, hard reality of the law. It cannot be considered a transaction in exchange for something which makes it very difficult to demand legal compensation. I leaned back in the chair, completely deflated. So, that monster had planned it all perfectly. He had one. Leaving the lawyer’s office, Brenda and I walked in silence. On the screen of a big electronic store, the news was blaring at full volume. The story of entrepreneur Grant Everett, who with an iron will had overcome a serious illness and was now triumphantly returning to the business world. Grant’s healthy, confident face filled the screen. He smiled at the camera, a picture of resilience and charm. I take this opportunity to sincerely thank the anonymous donor who saved my life,” he said, his voice smooth and convincing. “I will never forget their noble sacrifice and will dedicate my new life to serving society.” “What a phony,” Brenda muttered, clenching her fists. “I just stared at the screen at the man who was wearing my kidney and an angelic face. A cold fury started to burn where my despair had been.” “Brenda,” I said. my voice study for the first time in days. I think I’m going to try to see my mother-in-law. You think that witch is going to help you? She asked incredulous. I don’t know, I said. But I have to try. At dusk, I stood in front of Judith’s house. I rang the doorbell and soon the door opened, but only a crack. My mother-in-law looked at me with a glacial expression. What are you doing here? It’s me, mother Elanor. And what did you come for? She said, blocking the way with her body. Mother, what Grant is doing to me is too cruel. Please help me, she sighed with annoyance. And what do you expect me to do? It’s already a settled matter. What can be done now? You knew everything from the beginning, didn’t you? I asked, my eyes filling with tears again. Whether I knew or not, what does it matter now? The woman pulled a bulky white envelope from her purse. Take this and let’s settle this once and for all. It was an envelope full of cash. I don’t need money. I didn’t come for that. Then what else do you want? She snapped. My son Grant needs to fly high now. He has to start a new life. You go live your life. It’s what’s best for everyone. Mother, I gave your son a kidney, I cried out, my voice breaking. Yes, and I’ll thank you for that for the rest of my life, she said coldly. But that can’t be a burden on him forever. She forced the envelope into my hand. Take this and never reappear in our lives. My grant is about to start a big business, so don’t be an obstacle in our way anymore. It’s a favor I’m asking you, Clank. The door shut mercilessly in my face. I stood there, devastated, in front of the closed door. I dropped the envelope on her doormat and turned away. Each step I took felt like it weighed a ton. On my way back to Brenda’s in the darkness, I realized I was completely and utterly alone in the world. No husband, no family, no home. All I had left was an uncertain, desolate future and a body that was incomplete. On Brenda’s living room table, a pile of rejection letters was growing. They were the result of my pilgrimage to every law office I could find. They had all turned me away, claiming I had no chance of winning. “I guess this is the end,” I murmured weekly one afternoon, sweeping the letters into the trash. What end? We haven’t even started, Brenda said, approaching with her laptop. She set it down in front of me. Eleanor, I’ve been searching all night. What do you think of this lawyer? On the screen was an article from an online magazine, Walter Pierce, the attorney for Lost Causes and Unprofitable Lawsuits. His success rate is super low, Brenda read quickly, but they say he only operates on conviction. an eccentric who only takes cases he truly believes in. They call him the last refuge for all the downtrodden of the world. “His success rate is super low,” I asked, skeptical. “Even so, he’s our last chance,” she insisted. “Let’s try one more time.” “Okay.” She put my cell phone in my hand. The address was for an old dilapidated office building downtown. This was it, the last shot. The following afternoon, I went to the address alone. It was on the third floor of a building that looked like it was about to collapse. At the end of a dimly lit hall, a small sign the size of a handhun precariously, law office of Walter Pierce. I opened the door and found a small office cluttered with mountains of papers and dusty law books. A middle-aged woman, the secretary, looked at me over her glasses. How can I help you? She asked in an indifferent voice. I’d like to speak with the attorney. Do you have an appointment? No, I couldn’t get one. The secretary looked at a calendar on the wall. Well, he’s fully booked today. You’ll have to come back next week. Please, I beg you. It’s a very important matter, I pleaded, my voice desperate. I’m sorry. Those are the rules. Make an appointment first, she said, shaking her head definitively. Just as I was turning away, the weight of the world on my shoulders, the door to the inner office opened. A middle-aged man walked out. He wore a suit that fit him well enough, but his face reflected all the tiredness in the world. Ms. Ortiz, when is the next appointment? He asked the secretary. In 30 minutes, Mr. Pierce. Good. I’ll go out and get some air. As he put on his old coat, Walter Pierce’s gaze stopped on the folder I was clutching tightly in my hands. Among the papers, he managed to read a few words. Organ donor certificate. He stopped and looked up at my face. In my eyes, he must have seen the mixture of desperation, deep rage, and resignation. Excuse me, he asked me directly. What matter did you come about? For a divorce consultation, but I don’t have an appointment. Does it have something to do with an organ donation? He asked, pointing at my papers. Yes, my voice broke, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. I gave my kidney to my husband, and now he has abandoned me and stolen all my assets. Mr. Pierce turned to his secretary. Ms. Ortiz, delay the next appointment by an hour. But Mr. Pierce, that’s complicated. Don’t worry, I’ll call the person myself to apologize. He opened his office door wide. Please come in. I walked in confused. The walls were covered with shelves crammed full of law books and files that looked about to overflow. On one wall were framed press clippings of cases he had lost. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to an old cracked leather chair. “Would you like something to drink?” “No, thank you. Tell me everything from the beginning in full detail,” Mr. Pierce said, opening an old notebook. “And so I began to speak. Everything I had held inside came out in a torrent. Grant’s illness, his desperate promises, the cruel betrayal that struck me right after the operation. I didn’t stop crying as I spoke, but he didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his pen scratching across the paper. “You say you signed several documents with your husband before the operation?” he asked incisively when I finally fell silent. “Yes, he told me they were papers for the surgery and for some kind of investment. I was so foolish. I believed everything. And those papers were actually the documents to transfer my assets. Of course, I was so stupid, I wailed, blaming myself. No, he said, putting his pen down on the table. His voice was firm. He’s the demon for abusing the trust of someone who loved him. What is your husband’s name? Grant Everett. And the company that received the funds? a company in the name of a woman called Veronica. I don’t know much more. Mr. Pierce looked thoughtful, a deep expression on his face. Do you remember anything Grant said about that investment before the surgery? I dried my tears, trying desperately to remember. Now that I think about it, he said something about investing in a new biological technology. A biotech investment. Yes. when he took me to sign the papers. At that precise moment, something flashed like lightning in my mind. Ah, I remember part of the company name. What was it? SR Bio. Yes, he said it was SR Bio. Hearing that, Mr. Pierce’s tired eyes shone with a cold, penetrating light. SR Bio. the initials of that woman, Veronica, I suppose. He quickly opened his laptop and began searching. I found it. SR Bio Investments. Information about a small company appeared on the screen. The date of incorporation is exactly 2 months before your operation. He turned the monitor toward me so I could see. This is a clear scam. a shell company created from the beginning with the sole intention of deceiving you. Then then can I win? I asked, my eyes filled with a new fragile hope. It won’t be an easy battle at all, but it’s not impossible either, he said, tidying some scattered papers. Mr. Everett probably also took out a life insurance policy. A life insurance policy? Yes. to collect a large sum of money if the operation went wrong. He stood up. Ma’am, this isn’t a divorce case. This is a criminal conspiracy. It’s an atrocious crime that has destroyed a person’s life, and I’m going to take them down. I’ll take this case. Tears welled up in my eyes again, but this time they weren’t tears of despair. They were tears of hope. In Walter Pierce’s old cluttered office, I felt for the first time that I had found an ally. In that old cluttered office, I finally broke down completely, releasing all the pain and rage I had suppressed for weeks. “Walter Pierce didn’t say anything. He just silently offered me a glass of water and waited for the storm to pass. “Calm down,” he said gently once my sobs subsided. “The real battle starts now.” I took a sip of water with trembling hands and managed to calm myself. “Are you really really going to help me?” From the moment I accept a case, I see it through to the end. “No matter what,” he said, his tired face set with determination. He turned his laptop screen back towards me. “While we were talking, I’ve been tracking the capital flow of that company,” SR Bio. A transaction history so complex it made me dizzy was on the screen. Just before the operation, a large sum of money was moved to this account all at once. “That’s the money from the sale of our house,” I said, recognizing the figure. “Over $400,000 transferred in a single day.” Mr. Pierce opened another file. “But there’s something strange. This company is a perfect cover. It has no real commercial activity. It is in short a ghost company created by Mr. Everett and that woman Veronica. So they approached me with the intention of robbing me from the start. Exactly. But this is just the beginning. There’s an even bigger problem. He began searching a national insurance database. Do you remember signing any papers related to insurance before the operation? I desperately searched my memory. Ah, now that I think about it, yes. Grant said it was in case the operation was complicated. My face suddenly went pale. Don’t tell me the insurance was in my name. As Mr. Pierce checked the database, his expression hardened until it became glacial. A $1 million life insurance policy. The designated beneficiary is your husband, Grant Everett. What? What did you say? I jumped out of my chair. He pointed to the screen. The structure is designed so that if you had died during the operation, Mr. Everett would have collected the full $1 million. My legs gave way and I collapsed back into the chair. So, he was hoping for my death. It’s a very high possibility. But since the operation was a success, they changed their plan,” Mr. Pierce said, his voice grim. They opted to keep the kidney and get rid of you cleanly with the divorce. “How can a human being commit such a devilish atrocity?” I covered my face with my hands, my body shaking. Attorney, is this evidence enough? No, not yet. They have everything perfectly tied up and disguised. We need irrefutable proof, he said, looking me straight in the eye. The most solid thing would be a voice recording in which Grant or his mother admit the entire plan. And how am I supposed to get something like that? There’s a way, he said, a glint in his eye. Although it’s risky, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a tiny device no bigger than a fingernail. A miniature recorder. And what am I supposed to do with this? Go see your mother-in-law again, he said, handing me the device. If you appear desperate, like someone who has nothing left to lose, she’ll surely let her guard down. And what should I say when I see her? Beg her to forgive you. Tell her you’ll drop everything. Implore her not to do this to you. Tell her you were a terrible wife. I took the recorder with trembling hands. And you think they’ll reveal their true intentions that way? It’s very likely. The mother especially will be eager to boast about how smart and brilliant her son is, Mr. Pierce explained. Do you know of any place your mother-in-law goes regularly? “Yes,” I said, my mind racing. “She goes to a luxury spa in the Upper East Side every Thursday afternoon.” “Perfect. Go there this Thursday.” He looked me in the eyes with a firm gaze. Do you think you can do this? Before I could answer, he said, “You can do it.” “No, you must do it. This is the battle to reclaim your life.” I tightly clenched the small cold recorder in my hand. But attorney, yes, tell me, why are you helping me so much to this extent? He was silent for a moment, looking out the dusty window. “My little sister went through something similar,” he said, a sad smile touching his lips. “And back then, I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t do anything to help her.” I looked at him and in the deep regret reflected in his eyes, I felt his sincerity. “Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Truly, thank you. You can thank me after we win the lawsuit, he said, standing up. When you finish recording on Thursday, call me immediately. As I was about to leave, I turned around. Attorney, what if I fail? Don’t think about failure, he said flatly. But just in case, save my number on speed dial number one on your cell phone. I left the office. As I waited for the rickety elevator, I touched the recorder in my pocket. I felt the cold touch of the metal on my fingertips. The time had come to play the most miserable role of my life. It was 3 days until Thursday. Starting that day, I began to rehearse day and night in front of the mirror in Brenda’s guest bathroom. I practiced the most wretched expression, the most pleading voice, the gestures of someone completely and utterly broken. Mother, please forgive me one more time. It was all my fault, I said to my own shattered reflection, my voice cracking. I practiced how to cry uncontrollably, how to make my body shake with sobs, even how to kneel without looking rehearsed. Just then, my phone rang. It was attorney Pierce. How are the preparations going? Well, I said, my voice still from practicing. I’m trying hard. I just discovered something else. His voice became grave. It seems Mr. Everett prepared another document right before the operation. What is it? It’s an agreement stipulating that in the event of your passing during the surgery, all your assets, including any inheritance, would automatically transfer to him. A chill ran down my spine. Then he truly wished for my death. Yes, he confirmed. If you had died on the operating table, they would have kept everything. A heavy silence fell on the other end of the line. My gaze turned cold as ice. I looked at my reflection in the mirror again. This was no longer an act. This was the true beginning of my revenge. Thursday, 2:00 in the afternoon. In front of a luxurious spa on the Upper East Side, crowded with high-end cars, I waited. I had purposely dressed in old worn clothes. I had created a fragile appearance, looking as if I were about to faint at any moment. My hair was deliberately messy, and my face was pale without a drop of makeup. Shortly after, a familiar black Mercedes gently pulled up to the entrance. The chauffeur courteously opened the back door, and Judith, splendidly dressed, stepped out. She was covered in luxury brands from head to toe and wore arrogant oversized sunglasses. I approached her, stumbling as if I were about to fall. Mother Judith, seeing me suddenly appear, wrinkled her face in an expression of pure disgust. What are you doing here, dear? I’ve been waiting for you since this morning just to see you. My voice sounded like it was about to break into sobs. Are you crazy? Don’t make a scene here. It’s embarrassing,” she hissed, looking around nervously. Wealthy women entering and leaving the spa were whispering as they watched us. “Please, please, just listen to me for a moment,” I pleaded, desperately, grabbing her arm. “Let go of my arm. Everyone is looking at us.” She shoved me away abruptly, as if touching something dirty. At that precise moment, just as we had rehearsed in my mind, I knelt on the cold, hard ground. Mother, I beg you. I’m asking you this way. All the passers by stopped, surprised. Judith’s face turned bright red with fury and embarrassment. You get up right now. Right now. The embarrassed woman pulled my arm to lift me. Come with me. We’ll talk somewhere else, but not here. She dragged me like a sack of potatoes to the building’s fire escape. As soon as we entered the cold concrete stairwell landing, she shoved me again. What is the meaning of this spectacle? You are completely crazy, she yelled furiously. “Mother, I am so sorry,” I said, crying bitterly while remaining on the floor. “It was all my fault. absolutely everything. I’ve caused irreparable harm to Grant,” I continued between sobs. “I was a terrible wife. It’s normal that he would leave me.” Judith’s sharp expression softened a bit. “Well, it seems you finally realize your place.” “Yes, mother. I didn’t deserve to be by Grant’s side,” I cried inconsolably. “Please, please give me a chance.” I prostrated myself at her feet. I’ll treat Grant well again. From now on, I’ll be like his dog, like his slave. I’ll do whatever it takes. It’s too late. “My grant is very happy with Veronica,” she said coldly. “Mother, I truly feel like I’m dying,” I cried, hitting the floor with my fist. “I can’t live without Grant. Please save me. Shut up. What’s the use of all this now? Judith took out that familiar white envelope from her purse. Take this and never appear in our lives again. It was a bulky envelope full of money. You knew everything from the beginning, didn’t you? I asked, my voice trembling. What? That Grant would abandon me after the operation. Judith let out a contemptuous laugh. Do you really doubt the obvious? He’s my son. I gave birth to him. She threw the envelope in my face. The bills scattered around me on the dirty floor. You are so foolish. Take this and get lost. I picked up the envelope from the floor, sobbing. Please don’t ever reappear in our lives. Neither Grants nor mine. Understood, she warned one last time. Yes, yes, I promise, I cried, still prostrate on the ground. You earned this, Judith went down the stairs with a mocking smile. I continued my act, sobbing in the same spot until her footsteps completely faded away. A moment later, I slowly lifted my head. The tears running down my cheeks stopped as if by magic. A cold calm settled over me. I took the small recorder out of my pocket and checked that the tiny red light was still on. It was. I carefully went down the stairs and re-entered the spa through a side door. The lobby was opulent and quiet. I saw Judith sitting on a plush lounge chair talking to someone on her phone. I quickly hid behind a large ornate pillar. Judith, with a triumphant voice, was talking loudly as she headed toward a private changing room. I followed her in silence, my heart pounding in my chest. The changing room door closed, but her excited voice was clearly audible in the empty hallway. My hand trembled with rage, but I held the recorder steady, pointing it towards the door. “Oh, darling, it’s me,” she chirped into her phone. “You won’t believe the most comical scene I just witnessed.” Eleanor came to beg me on her knees how pathetic she was. Judith’s vulgar laugh echoed in the hall. But hey, thanks to fooling that idiot, my son saved his life. A free kidney and all her assets. A sweet deal, right? My hand squeezed the recorder even harder. Darling, is there another idiot like her in this world who would give a vital organ for love? My gaze turned to ice. Well, it’s not like my Grant planned it from the start, but in the end, everything worked out perfectly. And when he met Veronica, the opportunity became even better. It’s truly the end for Eleanor. I threw an envelope full of cash at her, and she cried with gratitude. “Haha!” Her scornful laughter echoed out of the changing room. I backed away in silence and exited the building. In the underground parking garage, I found Judith’s black Mercedes. The chauffeer was dozing in the driver’s seat. About 10 minutes later, Judith appeared, looking refreshed after her massage, and got into the car. As soon as the car started, she called someone again. The window was slightly open. I, hidden behind another pillar, raised the recorder again. Grant, it’s mom. I’ve taken care of the Eleanor situation. I’ve resolved everything. She’s completely given up. So, don’t worry. Now you can start planning the wedding with that girl, Veronica. The car pulled out of the parking garage. I pressed the stop button on the recorder. The screen confirmed that the file had been saved correctly. I pulled up my cell phone and dialed Walter Pierce’s number. Attorney, it’s me. My voice was shaking, but with adrenaline, not fear. I got it. I got everything. You did great. His voice came through the line, calm and steady. Can you send me the file right now? Yes, I’m sending it now. I sent the audio file to the attorney. A moment later, he called me back. confirmed,” he said, “and for the first time, I could hear excitement in his voice. It’s perfect, Eleanor. We now have the bomb we needed to detonate at trial.” I looked back toward the spa building. My mother-in-law would have no idea how perfectly she had been deceived. Walking down the street, I smiled for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. It wasn’t an acted smile, but one of someone anticipating an exciting and just victory. The time until the trial flew by. In Walter Pierce’s office, which was still cluttered with mountains of papers, I reviewed documents with him day after day. The date for the first trial had been set for next Tuesday. Before that, Walter said, showing me the court notification. We’re going to issue a declaration of war. We’ll start by sending a formal legal notice. A legal notice? What’s that? It’s a way of officially notifying Grant Everett and that woman that we know about all their crimes. He immediately drafted the legal notice. It detailed all the charges precisely and sharply. Planned asset fraud, attempted $1 million life insurance scam, and despicable infidelity. Is it okay to show them all our cards like this? I asked concerned. To catch the snake, you have to flush it out of its hole, Walter said, a grim smile on his face as he put the document into an envelope for certified delivery. This legal notice will be the stick that stirs the hornet’s nest. When they realize their perfect plan has been completely uncovered, they’ll panic. And panicked people make mistakes. Days later, in the luxury apartment where Grant and Veronica lived, the couple was relaxing, drinking wine in the living room. “The biotech thing is moving along great. “Well hit the jackpot soon,” Grant said, satisfied, looking at his tablet. “Just then,” the doorbell rang loudly. A male carrier delivered a certified envelope. “What is this?” “Looks like it’s from the court,” Grant said, opening it without much thought. As he read the contents of the legal notice, his face fell apart. How? How is this possible? How do they know? What is it? What’s all the fuss about? Veronica snatched the paper from his hands and read it. Her hand trembled like a leaf. They even know that Srb Bio is a shell company. Who? Who is helping that? Eleanor. Grant yelled, grabbing the phone. Mom. Mom, we have a huge problem. Judith’s calm voice came from the other side. Don’t panic and explain yourself. What’s going on? Grant frantically explained the situation. Find our lawyer immediately. I don’t care what it costs, his mother screamed, her voice filled with desperation. Didn’t Veronica’s family have a trusted firm? Call there. The next day, Grant and Sabrina went to the largest law firm in the country. The managing partner received them. Don’t worry, the lawyer said confidently. I’ve handled hundreds of cases like this. Even if they have evidence, in the end, a trial is a battle of interpretations. But they say they have a recording with my mother’s voice, Grant said, unable to hide his anxiety. We can argue it was maliciously edited. We will contend that the important thing is the complete context of the conversation, the lawyer said calmly. Depending on the situation, we can even counter Sue for false accusation and defamation. Meanwhile, I was eating a simple dinner with Brenda. How are the preparations for the trial going? She asked. Well, attorney Pierce is treating it like his own case, I said, putting my spoon down. Brenda, I need to see Grant one last time. What? Why? What if something happens to you before going to war? I said, my voice firm, I want to give him one last chance to surrender. Brenda looked at me full of concern. Okay, she said finally, but please be very careful. The next night, I went to the luxury restaurant Grant and Sabrina usually frequented. I checked the reservation list. Their names were there. I walked into the restaurant at the best table next to the window overlooking the city. They were sitting drinking wine. “Long time no see,” I said, stopping in front of their table. “What are you doing here?” Grant jumped up as if he had seen a ghost. Sit down. I came to talk to you. I calmly grabbed a chair from the next table and sat down. What do you think you’re doing? Sabrina snapped, visibly irritated. Get out of here before I call the manager. Call him whenever you want, but you better listen to what I have to say first. I pulled some papers from my purse and threw them onto the table. They were the transcription of Judith’s recording and excerpts from the suspicious financial transactions. What is this? Grant’s face turned white as paper. It’s the evidence of your crimes. Only a part, I said, my voice as cold as ice. I’ve come to give you one last opportunity before going to trial. What opportunity? kneel and apologize right now and give back everything you took from me. My inheritance, the house, everything. Grant let out a scornful laugh. Yeah, right. What do you know to come here with this? I know everything, I said, looking him directly in the eyes. that you approached me with the intention of deceiving me from the start and that you took out a life insurance policy in my name, hoping I would die in the operation. Everything thump. Sabrina slammed her hand on the table. This is all fake. You’re trying to blackmail us. Fake? Fake is your miserable life? I said, standing up. My offer ends here. We’ll continue the rest of the story in court. Hey, Eleanor. Grant yelled, losing his temper. If you take one more step, I swear I won’t hold back. You won’t hold back. I turned around slowly. What will you do to me? Tear out the other kidney I have left, you crazy jerk. He grabbed my arm hard. In that instant, all the restaurant patrons turned to look. “Let go of my arm,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Grant, aware of the stairs, reluctantly let me go. The truth that comes out in court won’t just be this,” I said with a final glacial sentence. “I will bring to light all the other secrets you are trying so hard to bury.” I left the restaurant without looking back. Behind me, I heard their hurried, panicked voices. What do we do? It seems that girl really knows everything. Shut up. The lawyer will fix everything. I walked out onto the street. The cold night wind cooled my flushed face. Just then, my phone rang. It was Walter Pierce. Eleanor, all the preparations for the trial are perfectly ready. Thank you, attorney. By the way, he added, the other side has hired the biggest firm in the country. It won’t be an easy battle. It doesn’t matter, I said, looking up at the night sky. The truth is on our side. In the dark sky, one star shone with a special intensity. In a few days, the trial, where everything was at stake, would begin, and I was no longer afraid of anything. The day of the trial arrived. In front of the Manhattan Supreme Court, a crowd of journalists had gathered since early morning. The story of the heartless husband who abandoned his wife after receiving her kidney had captured the attention of the entire city. I arrived with Walter Pierce, both of us with serious expressions. “Don’t be nervous,” he encouraged me, patting my shoulder. “We’re just going to tell the truth.” “I’m fine, attorney,” I said, and I meant it. Inside, the courtroom was packed. In the defendant’s dock, Grant and Veronica were flanked by three expensive looking lawyers. Judith sat in the front row, watching them with an arrogant expression as if she were at the theater. Defendants Grant Everett and Sabrina Vance. “Please rise,” the judge declared, opening the session. “The plaintiff has the floor.” Walter stood up, his posture tall and confident. Your honor, this case is not a simple divorce over a loss of love. It is an act of planned asset predation, a miserable scam that took advantage of a person’s kindness and sacrifice. Objection. Grant’s lawyer jumped up. The plaintiff’s attorney is resorting to fiction to defame my clients. Everything will be proven with evidence, Walter countered calmly, connecting his laptop to the courtroom screen. He showed the documents for SR Bio. This company, chaired by the defendant, Sabrina Vance, was quickly created just two months before the plaintiff’s kidney transplant operation. And just before the surgery, the entirety of my client’s assets for $130,000 was transferred to this shell company. It was a legitimate investment agreed upon by both parties. Grant’s lawyer attacked. The plaintiff signed all the documents. Agreed upon. Walter’s voice dripped with sarcasm. At that moment, my client was about to donate her own kidney to save her husband’s life. Do you think a lucid and normal consent was possible in such a desperate situation? That is a purely sentimental assumption. And this too, Walter showed the $1 million life insurance policy with Grant as the beneficiary. This was also a legitimate precaution. A surgery always carries risks. It was a legitimate insurance contract to foresee any eventuality. Grant’s face was tense. And why was it taken out in the plaintiff’s name with the defendant as the beneficiary? Walter pressed. Isn’t that a structure designed for the defendant to collect a fortune if his wife died on the operating table? The judge looked at Grant coldly. Defendant, explain yourself. It was just in case, Grant mumbled. There was no ill intent. Just in case, Walter challenged him. Are you telling me there was no ill intent in planning to collect a fortune if your wife died? Objection. He is treating the defendant like a criminal. The judge called for silence. Does the plaintiff have any witnesses to call? Yes, your honor. We called the bank employee who managed the fund transfer. A neat-looking bank employee took the stand. “Do you remember the day of October 15th last year around 3:00 in the afternoon?” Walter asked. “Yes, I remember it perfectly.” Mr. Grant Everett and Miss Sabrina Vance came in. Upon that statement, Veronica’s face twisted in surprise. They withdrew a large sum of cash and requested to transfer a portion to an offshore account. A total of $430,000 originating from the cancellation of Ms. Eleanor Everett’s time deposit. Grant jumped up. That was money for an investment. Defendant, sit down. One more interruption and I will have you removed from the courtroom. The judge warned him. Walter continued. Was the account holder Ms. Eleanor Everett present? No, only those two came in. How was a transfer of such magnitude possible without the holder? Mr. Everett brought a power of attorney and a signature certificate. However, the signature on the power of attorney seemed different than usual to us, trembling and unnatural. That is a personal assumption by the witness, Grant’s lawyer protested. No, the bank employee said firmly. We are obligated to verify the signature. That’s why we tried to call the client, Miss Eleanor, to confirm. And what happened? Mr. Grant Everett aggressively prevented us from doing so. He said his wife was busy at the hospital preparing for an operation and that under no circumstances could we call her. The entire courtroom murmured in shock. And where was the plaintiff, Eleanor Everett, at that moment? Walter asked, turning to me. I was admitted. Preparing for surgery. I replied from my seat, wiping away a single deliberate tear. The next day, I was donating my kidney to my husband. Grant’s face turned red with rage. Your honor, his lawyer said, I request a recess. 10-minute recess. In the hallway, the shouts of Grant and Veronica were heard. “Are you crazy? Why didn’t you tell me the bank guy could testify?” “Not in my worst nightmares did I think they would call him.” When the session resumed, Walter announced his final evidence for the day. “Your honor,” he said, his voice ringing through the silent courtroom. “The prosecution would now like to present its final and most damning piece of evidence for today.” A recording. name. The judge nodded. Proceed. Walter pressed a button and Judith’s cruel mocking voice resonated through the courtroom sound system. Clear as day. How clever my grant is. Fooling an idiot like you to get a free kidney and all her money. A sweet deal. Hearing her own voice, Judith let out a strangled shriek from the front row and collapsed to the floor. Mom. Grant jumped from his seat to help her. An ambulance. Quick. The courtroom erupted into chaos. The judge slammed his gavvel, suspending the session. Upon leaving, journalists surrounded me. “How do you feel after today’s trial?” one of them shouted. “The truth cannot be hidden,” Walter replied, protecting me from the throng. “In the end, everything will come to light.” “Today, the first crack had appeared in their fortress.” But the real battle was not yet over. On the day of the second hearing, the internet was flooded with headlines. The monster who betrayed his kidney donor wife, one read. The anticipation was immense. Grant arrived looking haggarded with dark circles under his sunglasses. “It’s all a misunderstanding,” he told the reporters in a shaky voice. “The truth will be known in court.” The courtroom was even fuller than the first day. Judith, though discharged, did not dare to appear. Walter stood up. Your honor, today I will present medical evidence that proves the defendant’s guilt with his own body. He presented a specialist’s report. This report on the imunosuppressants Mr. Ever is taking states that these drugs combined with extreme stress can cause acute rejection of the transplanted organ leading to necrosis. Grant shifted restlessly in his seat. Walter then projected thousands of headlines and hateful comments against him on the internet. Objection. This has nothing to do with the case. “Objection overruled,” the judge said. Judith’s recording played again, her laughter echoing through the room. Grant’s body began to tremble uncontrollably. “Are you feeling well, Mr. Everett?” Walter asked, his voice dripping with false concern. Yes, I’m fine. Grant choked out. Walter delivered the next blow. The text messages between Grant and Sabrina. He projected them onto the screen. As soon as the operation is over, we’ll get rid of her. Don’t worry, Eleanor was just a disposable card. The public gasped in indignation. How did you get these? Sabrina shouted. with a court order. Of course, Walter said smoothly. In that instant, Grant grabbed his side. Aw, my kidney. My kidney hurts. He fell to the floor, writhing in pain. The defendant has collapsed. “Call medical services,” the judge yelled. As Grant was being carried out on a stretcher, Sabrina whispered frantically to her lawyer. “Attorney, what about me? Can I get out of this? Then she turned to the judge. Miss Vance, what are you saying? I’m not his wife or anything. We were just business partners. She tried to leave, but the judge stopped her. Defendant, you cannot leave the courtroom without permission. The trial was postponed again. As I left, journalists surrounded me once more. Your husband collapsed in front of you. How do you feel? I looked straight at the cameras, my face a mask of stone. He has reaped what he sowed. A single sentence cold as ice, and I pushed my way through the crowd. In the emergency room, the doctor was clear with Judith. Acute rejection. The extreme stress has damaged the transplanted kidney. In the worst case, it will have to be removed and he’ll have to return to dialysis for life. No dialysis. No, I don’t want to go back to that hell. Grant screamed from the bed. Calm down, son. We’ll get another kidney. Who? Who is going to give me a kidney now? Sabrina walked into the room then. Grant darling. Sabrina, you came. His eyes lit up with hope. I’m sorry, she said, not sounding sorry at all. But this is as far as I go. My father told me to go abroad. I’ve asked my lawyer to remove me from the case. You’re abandoning me, he whispered, his face ashen. No, she said using his own words against him. Everyone just goes their separate ways. Goodbye. And she left. Grant stared at the empty ceiling. his face a mask of despair. The kidney he had stolen from me now hurt like the betrayal itself. One year later in downtown Los Angeles at the inauguration ceremony for the Phoenix Legacy Foundation for Women’s Rights, I stood at the podium as its president. “Good morning, everyone,” I said, my voice clear and strong. “One year ago, I went through the darkest, longest tunnel of my life. But thanks to the help and support of many, I was able to stand up. Now I want to share that courage and that hope with others who like me are walking through a dark tunnel. May this foundation be a small seed of that hope. Applause filled the room. In the audience, Walter Pierce and Brenda Brooks looked at me with pride. “Congratulations, Madame President,” Walter said afterward. You are the strongest, most admirable woman I have ever met. It’s all thanks to you, attorney. Without you, it was your bravery that accomplished everything. Look at you, Brenda said, hugging me. You’re unrecognizable, Eleanor. You shine. I’m not unrecognizable, I smiled. I’ve simply found my place. At that same time, in the dialysis unit of a hospital in New York, the rhythmic beeping of a machine marked the time. Grant, pale and vacant, stared at the ceiling. An older patient in the bed next to him asked, “Hey, young man.” “So young and already on dialysis,” “What happened to you?” “The kidney I had transplanted failed.” “Wow, that’s a shame. And who donated it to you? with how difficult that is. My wife, Grant replied, closing his eyes. Well, my ex-wife. Meanwhile, at Los Angeles International Airport, Veronica Vance had just landed, wearing sunglasses. She walked quickly, ready to forget the nightmare of the East Coast and start a new Miss Sabrina Vance. Some people in suits spoke to her. They were agents from the US Attorney’s Office. You are under arrest for money laundering and flight abroad. You will be extradited to New York immediately. Her face turned white as paper. Back at the foundation in Los Angeles, I was reviewing the file of our first beneficiary, a woman who had fled her home with her young son due to her husband’s violence. “We have to help her as soon as possible,” I said, signing the authorization without hesitation. As I left work, I paused in front of a store. In the window was a beautiful music box with a spinning ballerina similar to the one Grant had given me. I looked at it for a moment, then shook my head and smiled. “I don’t need it anymore,” I told myself and continued on my way. In a coffee shop, I opened my laptop and wrote on the foundation’s website, “Wounds don’t disappear, they turn into scars. But scars don’t just hurt, they also make us stronger.” Today I choose hope instead of despair. My phone rang. It was Walter. Madame President, I have excellent news. Sabrina Vance has been arrested. And Grant’s mother has also been charged with concealing her son’s assets. Then is everything truly over? Yes, Eleanor, he said. It’s all over. I hung up and looked out the window. The sun was setting, staining the sky a beautiful reddish color. Upon arriving at my new small but cozy apartment, the warm air enveloped me. In the living room, instead of old photos, there were new ones. A photo at the foundation’s inauguration, smiling with Walter, a fun picture with Brenda. In all of them, my face radiated happiness. I sat on the sofa and opened my journal. Today, my terrible revenge has ended. But my life, the real one, has just begun. I can be happy with just one kidney. I’m going to be the happiest person in the world. I put down the pen and looked out the window. Stars were beginning to appear in the night sky. The painful melodies of the past were just a distant echo. Now I was composing the new vibrant symphony of my own life with my own strength. Thank you for listening to my story. If it resonated with you, if you’ve ever felt betrayed or had to fight your way back from the dark, please let me know in the comments. Your stories give me strength, just as I hope mine has given you some. Don’t forget to like and subscribe, and I’ll see you in the next story. With love and respect.