I donated a kidney to my husband and my incision still burning, the bandages not even removed—when he threw divorce papers onto my hospital bed. “Thanks,” he said coldly. “Now you’re useless.” But I didn’t cry. I actually smiled… because I already knew something he didn’t.

Connor did not take my hand or sit beside me, and he did not ask how I was feeling after everything I had gone through. Instead, he reached into his briefcase and tossed a manila envelope onto the blanket covering my legs with a casual motion.

“Sign these,” he said in a flat tone that carried no warmth.

I blinked slowly, trying to process what I was seeing and hearing at the same time. My body ached, but the confusion in my mind felt sharper than the pain.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice weaker than I intended but still steady enough to hold together.

“Divorce papers,” he replied calmly, as if he were discussing something routine and expected. “My lawyer prepared them already, and this makes everything simpler for both of us.”

My mouth went dry instantly, and the pain in my side seemed to sharpen in response to his words. It was as if my body understood what was happening before my thoughts could catch up.

“Connor, we just went through surgery together, and I gave you everything I could,” I tried to say, but the words felt fragile as they left my mouth.