His Final Collapse
On the tenth day after I perished in the avalanche, my husband finally remembered me.
His first love was suffering from aplastic anemia and urgently needed a bone marrow transplant—one that only I could provide.
He came home holding a donation consent form, ready for me to sign, only to find the house empty.
Kelly leaned weakly against him. "Vanessa must really hate me. She doesn't want to donate her bone marrow, so she ran away on purpose, didn't she?"
"Maybe we should just forget it," she sighed. "I can hold on a little longer."
Caden gently comforted her, his heart aching. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"It's just a bone marrow donation. It's not like she'll die from it."
Then he pulled out his phone and sent me a message:
[No matter where you are, come back immediately and sign the donation consent form.]
[Don't be so selfish! Kelly is seriously ill. If she doesn't get a transplant soon, she'll die. It's just bone marrow—I'm not asking for your life!]
[If you keep refusing, I'll stop paying for your mother's medical bills!]
Caden… I died the moment you walked away from the ski resort with Kelly.
The avalanche buried me and our unborn child beneath the snow.
My mother, in her desperate attempt to save me, was torn apart by wild wolves.
How could you not know?