Heartless Dad

My husband’s childhood friend's daughter was in a terrible car accident, losing a ton of blood. To save her, my husband actually brought our own preschool-aged daughter to the hospital to donate blood.

By the time I got the call and raced over, my daughter was gone. Her skin was pale and she was lying all alone on a cold operating table. Meanwhile, my husband’s friend's daughter was being fussed over in a warm room, with both of them hovering nearby.

I was desperate when I confronted my husband, demanding to know why he'd let our three-year-old donate blood. He didn't even bat an eye. "Her blood type was a match, okay? It was the fastest way, and Tiffany couldn't wait."

1

I blew through a few red lights getting to the hospital after the call. Right outside the OR, I saw a nurse wheeling a gurney out, covered with a white sheet.

I tried to hold on to a shred of hope, but then a tiny hand slipped out from under the sheet. It was a hand I’d held a million times. There was even the little gold bracelet I'd put on her wrist.

I crumpled to the floor, all the strength just drained out of me. Just that morning, I’d been holding Lily’s warm hand. How could she be like this by the afternoon?

I pulled the sheet back with shaking hands, revealing her little face, completely bloodless.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I took her small hand in mine, rubbing it again and again, as if I could make her warm again. I talked to her, trying to bring her back to me, desperate to hear her voice.

"Lily, please, don't scare Mommy. Come on, wake up, baby. Are you just too cold to stay awake? It's okay, Mommy will rub you until you're warm. Don't worry, honey, I’m gonna take you home and turn up the heat right now."

I swiped at my tears, wanting to pick Lily up and take her home.

The nurses rushed over to stop me. "Ma'am, please, you need to calm down. Your daughter has passed away. You can't be moving her like that."

As we struggled, Lily slid from my arms and fell hard onto the floor.

Lily was such a sensitive kid, even a little paper cut would send her looking for comfort. But now, she was just lying there, completely still. It finally hit me – she was actually gone.

My sweet, obedient three-year-old daughter was dead, killed by the father she adored. I'd never hear her call me "Mama" again, or kiss those chubby cheeks.

How could Jack be so heartless? Lily was his own flesh and blood. Did he have no conscience as a father? He didn't have to love her, but how could he use her to save that other woman's kid?

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Jack’s old friend, Ashley, the one he’d known since they were kids.

"Hey, Sarah, thanks for letting Lily come in. It was a close call, but Tiffany's going to be okay thanks to her. She's awake and asking for her dad. Jack's gonna stay here with us for a few days, hope you don't mind?"

Then she sent a picture of Jack reading a story to Ashley's daughter.

Ashley was the girl next door, they grew up together. She'd...