Three years of marriage, and I was nothing more than a nurse to the man who was supposed to love me. He was always gone, always working, always rushing off to help Justine Owen. It didn’t matter to Andrew that Justine once trapped me inside a collapsed building after pushing me under falling debris. Instead of believing me, he let her lie, and when she demanded my kidney, he took her side without question.
I spent those years being humiliated, dismissed as a worthless orphan while Justine flaunted the gifts Andrew bought for me. When I finally divorced him, he had his mother shove a $10 million check at me to ease his guilt. I refused it, walked away with nothing but my dignity, and started fresh at Nova Group as a designer. I was determined to prove myself on my own merit, not as someone’s forgotten wife.
Andrew couldn’t let me go. He kept showing up, declaring his love, and I kept telling him it was too late. Then Justine revealed herself for what she really was: a woman faking terminal leukemia, stealing the credit for other people’s designs, and even lying about who her family was. The truth destroyed her reputation, and the gold medal at the National Architectural Design Competition went to me.
But even after all that, I found myself here, lying in a hospital bed with severe kidney damage, recovering from the moment Justine snapped and tried to kill me. Andrew was the one who saved me. He donated his kidney without hesitation, knowing I might never forgive him for the years of neglect and betrayal. Now he’s sitting beside me, saying he didn’t do it to buy my forgiveness.
He’s asking, “Will you give me another chance? ” I don’t have an answer yet. I look at him, and I feel the weight of everything between us crash down again.
