“That’s normal,” she said in a detached tone. “You’ll feel sore for a few days after dialysis. Take a short break — a day or two should be enough. There’s a lot of work piling up at the company and you’ll need to get back soon.”
I looked up at her. There was no concern in her eyes, only impatience.
“I know,” I said quietly.
She nodded, turned and went to the bedroom.
A few minutes later, she came out with a suitcase.
“I’m going on a business trip. Take care of the company while I’m gone.”
I nodded, not asking where or for how long.
She must’ve taken my silence as understanding; her lips curved slightly. “When I’m back, we’ll deal with the company matters together.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her—but it felt like a heavy thud against my chest.
I looked down at the couch. The dark fabric was now darker, soaked with blood. The stain grew bigger. When I tried to stand, my legs gave out and I nearly fell. I had no choice but to head back to the hospital.
After registering and waiting in line, the doctor told me my kidneys were deteriorating fast. I needed a transplant soon.
He told me to wait upstairs for further tests.
In the crowded elevator, I leaned against the corner.