Chapter 1

Angela Gilbert signed off the life-saving blood I'd banked for seven years and gave it to the daughter of the man she'd grown up with.

Her friends tried hard to talk her out of it.

"What about Adam Simmons?"

"He's got that rare dual-population chimeric blood type. Lifelong high-risk transfusions. Without banked blood, one bad turn and he's a coin flip between living and dying."

Angela was quiet for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was very low.

"Edna is Antony's daughter. She's still so young. She needs this blood more than Adam does."

One of them still couldn't stomach it. "But Adam has a hereditary heart condition too. You know better than anyone what it means for him to have no blood in reserve. If it ever flares up, he's dead for certain!"

Angela didn't hesitate.

"It's fine. Adam has never had an episode."

I looked down at the heart failure report still in my hand, and for a moment the world went unreal.

The person who used to be terrified something would happen to me, who begged me over and over to draw my blood and bank it, was Angela.

The person who now, for Antony's daughter, took my life-saving blood without a word to me, was also Angela.

The words in front of me, 'heart failure,' sat there like a quiet joke at my expense.

I turned and went to the front desk to schedule the surgery.

Let fate decide, then.

If I made it through.

Then Angela, let's set each other free.

...

When I booked the heart failure surgery, the nurse's tone turned heavy.

"Mr. Simmons."

"With your rare blood type and long-term anemia, a heart failure surgery carries serious risk. Does... does Dr. Gilbert know about this?"

I said nothing.

Whether Angela knew or not didn't matter anymore.

From the moment she took the blood I'd stored for seven years, a blade had been hanging over my head.

Just before they gave me the anesthesia, Angela called.

"Adam, a coworker said they saw you at the hospital. Did you come to have lunch with me?"

Behind her voice I could hear the hospital PA, and a man's low, coaxing tone.

She didn't wait for me to answer. "I can't have lunch with you today. Edna isn't doing well right now, Antony's trying to calm her down, and I need to stay here."

I sat in the empty waiting area, staring at the pre-op risk consent form in front of me.

I asked her, "What gives her the right not to be doing well?"

"What?" She clearly hadn't expected me to say something like that.

My voice stayed calm. "I said, Angela, after using up the life-saving blood I banked for seven years, what gives her the right not to be doing well?"

The line went silent.

A long moment passed. Then footsteps, and Angela's lowered voice.

"You already know?"

She drew a deep breath. "Adam, Edna is like you. She has two populations of blood-forming cells in her body, and right now your blood is the only match. She's still so young. I couldn't just let her go."

"Is that so?"

She must have caught something in my tone, because her voice dropped.

"Don't make this more complicated than it is. I'm a doctor. Even if she weren't Antony's child, I would still have saved her."

She said it so righteously, as if she'd forgotten that this was blood drawn out of my body, tube by tube, across seven years.

I asked her, "And what happens to me?"

Angela was quiet for two seconds. When she spoke again she sounded tired.

"Adam, you're perfectly healthy right now."

"I have a hereditary heart condition."

"You're not having an episode right now."

She said, "Stop making a scene, all right?"

"A scene?"

I repeated the word after her.

My voice came out hoarse as I reminded her, "Angela, I paid the storage fees on that blood. It was only being held at the hospital, not donated. Without my consent, no one has any right to touch it."

Angela's voice went suddenly sharp.

"Well, the blood's already been used, and there's no getting it back now. So what are you going to do, report me?"

After a short silence, she let out a soft sigh.

"Adam, I don't have the energy to argue with you right now. Let's have a real talk tonight when I'm home, all right?"

When I didn't answer, she pinched the bridge of her nose and added a reminder.

"Your anemia's gotten worse lately. Remember to take your iron tablets when you get home."

Angela knew I was anemic.

She knew I had a hereditary heart condition.

She knew that for the past seven years, I'd drawn 200 milliliters of blood every month to bank.

She knew how rare a dual-population chimeric blood type was, how hard it was to match with any other blood.

She knew everything.

And still she gave away the life-saving blood I'd banked for seven years.

Without so much as asking me once whether I 'agreed.'

I said nothing and hung up.

Just as they were about to give me the anesthesia, a post popped up on my social media feed.

Antony had put up a photo.

In the hospital room, he and Angela were gathered around a little girl, a birthday cake set out in front of her.

The caption read—

[Three full blood transfusions later, my Edna finally gets a new life.

Thank you, our precious Dr. Gilbert. We're so lucky to have you.]

Below it were plenty of blessings from mutual friends.

Angela had left him a comment: "Wishing our precious Edna health and happiness forever."

I pressed a hand to my cramping heart.

And all at once my mouth was flooded with something bitter.