The kidney that was supposed to save my son was given by my wife to her white moonlight.

The day before our son’s kidney transplant, my wife, Emily, secretly swapped the donor list, giving our son’s kidney to her ex’s son instead.

Our son’s condition worsened. He died.

Emily celebrated her ex's son's successful surgery by handing out red envelopes to the entire hospital staff.

I collapsed. When I woke up, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Devastated, I left the hospital, clutching our son’s ashes, and drafted divorce papers in the silence of our empty apartment.

…

Emily came home at 10 pm. As she closed the door, the living room lights flicked on. She jumped, startled.

I sat on the couch, holding a white porcelain urn.

“Frank! What the hell?! You scared me!”

Even at this late hour, Emily’s hair was perfectly styled, her dress immaculate. She'd spent the entire day at the hospital, tending to her ex and his son. She'd clearly made an effort to look presentable for them. Not for me. Not for our son.

I just stared at her.

“Still brooding about the kidney?” she sighed, exasperated. “I told you, we’ll find another one! Ethan needed it more! He’s at a critical stage in his recovery! That kidney…it was his best chance!”

“I know you’re upset about Caleb, but he’s been waiting so long! He’s my son, Frank! I wouldn’t just…abandon him…” Her voice was sharp, dismissive. Like I was being unreasonable.

But Caleb had needed that kidney. He’d needed it now.

After the swap, his condition deteriorated rapidly. He never woke up. He'd held my hand, his small voice weak. “Where’s Mommy? Doesn’t she love me anymore?”

I’d kissed his forehead, whispering, “Daddy’s here, Caleb. Daddy will always be here.”

He never saw his mother again. Emily’s ex’s son, Ethan, lived. Because of my son’s kidney.

I hated her.

Apparently satisfied with her lecture, Emily tossed her perfume-soaked jacket at me. "Wash this. And iron it. I need it for work tomorrow.”

I didn’t move. The jacket landed on the floor.

She frowned.

I looked her in the eye. “We’re getting a divorce.”

She stared at me, stunned.

“What…what did you say?”

“We’re getting a divorce, Emily.” I slid the papers across the table. "I don’t want anything. The courthouse opens at nine. Be there.”

Silence.

She ignored the papers, her face contorting with rage. "You’re doing this now? Ethan needed that kidney, Frank! I told you that! Why can’t you just be…understanding?"

I met her gaze, my voice steady. “This is not a negotiation, Emily.”

She laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “Are you threatening me, Frank?” She snatched up her jacket and stormed towards the door. She wasn’t staying here tonight.

“Fine! Get a divorce! But you’re not getting Caleb! His custody is mine! Don't you forget it!" She slammed the door behind her.

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. I stroked the urn, a wave of grief washing over me.

She hadn’t asked about Caleb. Not a single word about our son, about how he was feeling, if he was sleeping. She hadn’t even asked about the urn.

I stared at the empty doorw...