Then my attorney filed something else.
Financial misconduct.
Hidden accounts.
And, most interestingly, proof that Ethan had been seeing the woman in red for almost two years.
The settlement negotiations became very different after that.
Very different.
Six months later, I stood on the balcony of my new apartment overlooking the water.
The divorce was finalized.
The assets had been divided.
And the research hospital that had discovered my rare genetic profile had offered me something unexpected: participation in a medical study that came with substantial compensation and future royalties tied to potential treatments developed from the research.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Ethan had treated my kidney like it was something he owned.
Something he could demand.
Something he could take.
Instead, it became the reason I finally understood my own worth.
One evening my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
It was Ethan.
Three words.
“I made mistakes.”
I stared at the screen for a moment.
Then I smiled.
Not because I hated him.
Not because I wanted revenge.
But because for the first time in years, his choices were no longer my burden.
I blocked the number.
Set down the phone.
And walked forward into a life that belonged entirely to m
