Chapter 17 Hemorrhage Of Hearts

• The question slammed into me. He remembered. Not just the act, but the cost. The hidden pain I’d carried, buried beneath years of his contempt. The Mercy Hospital file with the November 7th date – the chronic anemia, the immune flares, the joint pain on rainy days – proof of the price I’d paid to save him, a price he’d never acknowledged, never cared to know.
• I couldn't speak. The clinical detachment shattered. The fury surged back, hot and bright. "You never asked," I managed, my voice tight as a wire. "You never cared what it cost me. Only what it gained you."
• He flinched as if struck. His gaze flickered from the IV line to my face, the feverish confusion momentarily pierced by a shard of dawning, awful comprehension. "The pain... the weakness... after?" he breathed. "That was... because of me? Because of... this?" He lifted his trembling right arm slightly, indicating the transfusion.