Wyatt, not to be outdone, had handed him the keys to a Bugatti, vowing with absolute sincerity, "You’ll always be my only true brother in this life."
And yet—the photos of us, of the twelve years we had spent together—studying side by side, saving each other seats, teaming up in games, sharing a single cup of instant noodles, promising to grow old in the same retirement home—had all been deleted. Not a single one remained, except in the trash bin.
My vision blurred.
My heart felt like it was being carved apart.
How?
How could a friendship that had once meant everything suddenly become nothing?
I scrolled absently, until my fingers accidentally opened a private group chat—their group chat.
And there, sitting in plain sight, was a kidney transplant agreement.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands trembled as I read it again, my eyes widening in disbelief.
The recipient was Wyatt, and the donor was Henry.
A slow, numbing realization crept through me.
I bit my lip hard, my fingers pressing unconsciously against the scar on my waist.
Years had passed, but the pain returned in full force, as if a knife were twisting inside me all over again.
A sudden thought struck me.