My Bone Marrow Saved Him And His First Love

The night the marrow match results came in, I called my boyfriend, Declan.

But the man who answered was Declan from exactly one year in the future.

Declan, I am a perfect match! My bone marrow can actually save you! I pressed a hand to my slightly rounded belly, crying tears of pure relief. Once we get you through this surgery, I have a massive surprise for you.

Dead silence filled the other end of the line.

"Harper. I was never sick."

A violent chill shot up my spine. "What did you just say?"

"Vanessa is the one who is sick. I took all the marrow they extracted from your bones and gave it straight to her."

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. "You told me she cheated on you! You said you wished she was dead!"

His voice was terrifyingly calm. "Harper, when a man says he hates a woman, it usually just means he cares too much."

My throat closed up. A sharp, piercing cramp twisted deep in my abdomen.

Before I could even process his words, the call cut out in a burst of static.

A second later, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from the present-day Declan.

[Harper, I am so sorry. The oncologist just gave me six months to live.]

[You told me you would do anything to save me. Did you mean it?]

The words burned into my retinas.

A heavy, dragging sensation pulled at my lower stomach. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I rested my hand on my belly, struggling to draw a breath.

For the past five years, from our college dorms to the real world, I had sacrificed everything. I even mortgaged my late parents' Victorian home to bail out his failed tech startup.

Why did I do it?

Because he used to hold me while he was drunk, sobbing into my shoulder, swearing he would give me the world one day.

Looking back now, it was nothing but a bounced check.

Fighting through the abdominal cramps, I dialed his number.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Harper." His voice was perfectly crafted to sound raspy and exhausted.

"Is the text true?"

"The doctor just made the final call." He let out a heavy sigh. "I was not going to tell you. I was terrified you would not be able to handle it. But I just cannot bear to leave you."

I dug my fingernails into my palms and played along. "Are you really only given six months?"

"The doctor said if I can find a perfectly matched bone marrow donor, I could actually survive."

"A marrow transplant?" I slowed my words down deliberately. "You know I have always had a weak immune system. What if my body cannot handle the extraction?"

He paused for exactly two seconds.

"Then I would rather refuse the treatment." He answered without a shred of hesitation. "I refuse to let you suffer for my sake."

I stared out the window into the pitch-black night and almost laughed out loud.

For the past month, he had been sneaking out to the balcony at 2 AM to take phone calls. Every time he crawled back into bed, he reeked of cheap, overly sweet perfume. He claimed it was just late-night networking with female angel investors, and like an idiot, I believed him.

Sick of listening to his amateur acting, I made an excuse and hung up.

The moment the screen went dark, a new message popped up.

It was from the number claiming to be the Declan from the future.

An image file loaded on the screen.

In the photo, Vanessa was lounging in a VIP hospital suite. She looked perfectly rosy and healthy. She was holding an iced latte in one hand and flashing a peace sign at the camera with the other.

A text immediately followed.

[Do not go! He is completely healthy. The match test was for Vanessa.]

[The aggressive extraction procedure is going to trigger a catastrophic hemorrhage. You will lose the baby, and they will take your uterus to stop the bleeding. You will never be a mother.]

The twisting pain in my gut spiked.

I hunched over, biting my lip hard enough to taste copper.

Vanessa.

Declan's gold-digging ex-girlfriend. The woman he used to curse out every time he had a few beers.

Male psychology really is a fascinating thing. The louder they curse a woman in public, the harder they protect her in the dark.

A draft of cold winter air slipped through the window crack, clearing the last bit of brain fog from my head.

A forced abortion? Losing my fertility entirely? All to buy a few healthy years for his manipulative ex?

My five years of absolute devotion were nothing but a spectacular joke.

I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and picked up my phone.

I replied to the present-day Declan.

[Okay. I will be at the hospital tomorrow morning for the full pre-op screening.]

I hit send, then pulled my suitcase out from under the bed.

The deed to the house, my passport, my bank cards. I shoved every single important document I owned into my leather tote bag.

If they wanted to put on a theatrical production, I needed to make sure I had front-row tickets.

The next morning, I stepped out of the elevator at the downtown hematology ward.

I immediately spotted Declan sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the hall. He was wearing an oversized hospital gown, looking completely swallowed by the fabric.

Seeing me approach, he lifted his head. His eyes were perfectly bloodshot.

"Harper. You came."

He grabbed my hand. Two perfectly timed tears dropped onto my knuckles.

The clammy, slippery feeling of his skin made my stomach turn. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to slap him across the face.

I had been terrified of pain since I was a little girl. I even passed out at the sight of my own blood. Whenever I nicked my finger chopping vegetables, he used to make a massive fuss over me.

Yet, to save his life, I had mentally prepared myself to endure a brutal, agonizing surgery.

I gave him everything, and he turned it into a knife to stab me in the back.

"Where are your lab results?" I smoothly pulled my hand away, pretending to dig in my purse for a tissue. "I want to see the exact numbers. It will help me prepare mentally."

His spine stiffened. He completely avoided my gaze.

"The attending took them for the archives. They said we can just go straight to your screening."

He mumbled the excuse, reaching out to grab my sleeve again.

Before he could touch me, the door swung open.

A female nurse wearing a surgical mask walked in, holding a stainless steel medical tray. Her cap was pulled down low, leaving only her eyes visible.

The second our eyes met, I recognized her.

Vanessa.

She grabbed the rubber tourniquet from the tray and aggressively wrapped it around my bicep.

"Blood draw," she muttered, deliberately deepening her voice.

I watched with dead, cold eyes as she picked up a thick gauge needle.

A second later, she intentionally missed the vein. She drove the thick needle straight into the sensitive muscle tissue of my arm.

A blinding, agonizing pain shot through my limb. A dark purple bruise instantly ballooned under my skin.

I hissed in pain, instinctively pulling my arm back.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat." Declan frowned, his voice dripping with intense irritation. "It is just a little blood draw. The nurse made a mistake. Why are you screaming?"

I stared dead into Declan's face.

My arm was swelling visibly, completely purple, and all he felt was annoyance that I was not being a compliant little blood bag.

Pure, unadulterated disgust hit me like a physical blow.

I stood up violently, ripping the rubber tourniquet off my arm. The tray clattered to the floor, sending bloody cotton swabs and needles flying.

"I cannot look at blood! I am not doing this!"

Ignoring Declan screaming my name, I slammed the door and bolted down the hall.

I ran straight into the emergency stairwell and leaned against the cold ceramic tiles. My hands and feet were freezing.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had not called in years.

Dr. Frank. An upperclassman from my university days, and now the leading hematology specialist at this exact hospital.

He answered on the third ring.

"Harper?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

I skipped the small talk. I gave him Declan's full legal name and social security number.

"Frank, I need you to pull his complete medical file. Right now."

I stood in that freezing stairwell for ten minutes.

My phone buzzed. An internal electronic health report downloaded to my screen.

I zoomed in, scanning line after line.

Every single metric was perfectly stable. Everything sat squarely in the healthy reference range.

No bone marrow failure. No terminal cancer.

He was healthier than a prize-winning stallion.

The glaring white light of the screen illuminated my face in the dim stairwell.

Five years of my youth. My parents' home on the line. All for a fabricated terminal illness.

I locked my phone and dropped it into my coat pocket.

They wanted me to be their sacrificial lamb? They could burn in hell.

I pushed the door to our apartment open, and the suffocating smell of cheap synthetic roses hit me instantly.

A lopsided heart made of pink electric tea lights was laid out on the cramped living room floor.

Declan was wearing a silk pajama set one size too big. He was holding a tacky bouquet of red roses, kneeling on one knee right in the center of the fake candles.

"Harper, I know I am running out of time."

He looked up at me, his eyes perfectly glassy. He pulled a cheap velvet box out of his pocket. "Before I die, I want to make you my wife."

He popped the box open. A ring sat inside.

The diamond was so microscopic you would need a magnifying glass to see it catch the light.

Five years. He blew through all the cash I got from mortgaging my childhood home. And at the very end, even his grand gesture of true love was insultingly cheap.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

I glanced down at the lock screen.

The sender was that unknown number again.

This time, it was a photo.

In a stark, white psychiatric ward, a skeletal woman with thinning, dead hair was rocking back and forth. She was clutching a dirty pillow to her chest, humming a hollow lullaby to a baby that did not exist.

It was me.

The version of me that was drained of her marrow, lost her baby to a hemorrhage, and completely lost her mind.

Ice water flooded my veins.

"Harper?" Declan reached out to grab my wrist, trying to force the microscopic ring onto my finger.

"Do not touch me." I slapped his hand away.

A sharp crack echoed through the room. The velvet box flew through the air and smashed into the wall. The tiny diamond popped out and rolled into the dark abyss under the sofa.

Declan's tragic romantic facade instantly shattered.

He let his real temper flare, his voice taking on its usual entitled, arrogant tone.

"Are you insane, Harper?! I am literally dying, and you will not even give me my final wish?"

"Dying?"

I unzipped my tote bag, pulled out the printed medical records Frank had sent me, and slammed them directly into his face.

"Do you have brain cancer? Kidney failure? Your vitals are stronger than an ox. Which doctor exactly gave you this death sentence?"

The white papers fluttered to the floor.

The top sheet landed perfectly face up. The bolded words Comprehensive Clean Bill of Health stared right at him.

Declan looked down at the papers. The color completely drained from his face.

He completely forgot to act weak.

But it only took him a few seconds to pivot. He aggressively adjusted his collar, looking down at me with absolute, sickening entitlement.

"Fine. Since you dug into it, I will stop pretending. The marrow is for Vanessa."

He took a step forward, towering over me.

"You are always preaching about how much you love me. You said you would give your life for me."

"So what is the big deal about taking my place to save Vanessa? She is sick. Have some empathy!"

What a fascinating leap of logic.

Using my life and my body to clean up his ex-girlfriend's mess, and he had the nerve to sound like the moral high ground.

Looking at the face I had loved for five entire years, I felt nothing but absolute disgust.

I did not waste a single breath on an argument.

Smack.

I swung my right hand with everything I had.

I slapped him so hard his head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint instantly swelled across his cheek.

He held his face, staring at me in pure shock. He never expected the quiet, obedient Harper to actually strike him.

"You hit me?!"

"I will hit a shameless animal anytime I want."

I shook out my stinging palm and glared dead into his eyes.

"The show is over, Declan. If you want to save your pathetic ex, carve out your own bones. You are not getting a single drop of my blood."

I turned on my heel and grabbed the front door handle.

"Do not you dare walk out that door! If you leave now, you are never coming back!" Declan screamed like a feral dog behind me.

The heavy steel door slammed shut, cutting off his pathetic rage.

The hallway lighting was dim and flickering.

But my mind had never been clearer in my entire life.

I dragged my suitcase down the hall. I had tossed my clothes in so quickly I hadn't even zipped it closed.

Before I could reach the elevator, a vicious, violent cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. The pain was paralyzing.

I braced one hand against the concrete wall, bending over, gasping for air.

Cold sweat dripped down my temples, soaking the collar of my shirt.

Back at the apartment, someone was pounding on the door from the inside.

Before I could catch my breath, I heard the sharp click of metal turning in a lock. Declan had grabbed his spare key and thrown the door open.

A massive crowd of people spilled out into the hallway.

It was not just Declan. It was half of our mutual friend group.

And standing right in the middle of them was Vanessa, still wearing her surgical mask.

This time, she dropped the act entirely.

Without a word, she dropped to her knees right on the dirty hallway floor.

"Harper, please! Have some mercy! Just give me a chance to live!"

Tears streamed down her face. She looked like a fragile, broken porcelain doll. "I am out of time. You are the only one on earth who can save me."

The mutual friends who had tagged along started looking at me with heavy judgment.

Declan took a massive step forward, aggressively shielding Vanessa with his body.

"I never realized how deeply malicious you were, Harper."

He pointed a finger at Vanessa on the floor, then glared at me. "Your marrow will grow back! Her life is gone forever! How can you be so incredibly cold-blooded and selfish?"

A guy who used to come over and eat the dinners I cooked chimed in from the back.

"Yeah, Harper. Saving a life is the greatest karma you can get. Besides, it does not even cause permanent damage to your body. Why are you being so extreme about this?"

Hilarious.

Looking at this crowd of hypocrites standing on their little moral pedestals, I was too exhausted to even yell at them.

The heavy, throbbing pain in my stomach was escalating rapidly.

Violent waves of nausea crashed over me.

"Excuse me." I ignored their ridiculous speeches and grabbed the handle of my suitcase.

I reached out to push past the wall of people blocking the elevator.

Seeing that I was actually leaving, Declan lost his mind.

He lunged forward, his hand clamping down on my wrist like an iron vise. The pressure was agonizing.

"You are not going anywhere! You are coming back to the hospital and signing those consent forms!"

He roared in my face, aggressively dragging me back toward the apartment door.

"Let go of me!" I fought back desperately, using my free hand to pry his thick fingers off my wrist.

During the struggle, he lost his temper and violently shoved me backward.

He put too much force into it.

I completely lost my balance. My heel caught the wheel of my open suitcase.

I fell backward, completely out of control.

My stomach slammed brutally into the sharp, solid oak corner of the entryway console table.

A catastrophic, tearing agony exploded in my abdomen.

A warm, thick liquid immediately began pooling down my inner thighs.

I collapsed onto the freezing hardwood floor, curling into a tight ball, both hands desperately clutching my stomach.

It hurt so badly I could not even produce a sound.

I prayed with everything I had to protect the tiny life inside me.

But my consciousness was already slipping away into the blinding white pain.

Through my fading vision, I could still hear Declan yelling at me.

"Stop playing dead! I barely touched you, and now you are throwing a tantrum on the floor?"

Right as the darkness began to completely pull me under, heavy, urgent footsteps echoed down the hall.

Someone violently shoved the crowd aside and sprinted into the apartment.

It was Dr. Frank.

He immediately stripped off his heavy wool trench coat and wrapped it tightly around me, completely blocking the prying, judgmental eyes of the crowd.

Declan was still running his mouth, spewing toxic garbage.

Frank pulled the medical lab results out of his pocket and whipped them directly into Declan's face.

The bolded words fluttered in the air for everyone to see.

"Open your damn eyes, Declan, and look at what you just did."

At that exact second, the phone in Declan's pocket vibrated sharply.

The screen lit up. A text from the unknown number appeared.

[I am begging you. Do not hurt the baby!]