The Walking Blood Bank Has Left the Chat
My fiancé dumped me the moment he found out about my rare blood type.
"That condition of yours? Yeah, it'd just drain my wallet."
I was spiraling when Vincent showed up—like some knight in shining armor, pulling me out of the wreckage. He didn't care about my blood type. We barely dated before he proposed, and for a while, married life felt perfect.
Until a year later, when I overheard him talking to a doctor.
"Vincent, you already took 400 milliliters of Sophia's blood last month, and now you want another 200? Are you insane? Even if you love Emma, you can't just drain an innocent woman dry for her!"
"A little more won't kill her. Stop overreacting."
My head spun. My whole body went cold.
That's when it hit me—our perfect marriage had been a lie from the start.