I spent two years as a human guinea pig for three pharmaceutical companies while selling my blood three times a week at a private blood bank. I finally scraped together the 800,000 dollars for my daughter’s bone marrow transplant. But on the day the hospital tried to deduct the surgical deposit, my account balance read zero. At the same time, a new post appeared on the Instagram of my husband’s first love, Tiffany. Thanks to a certain someone for buying me this ruby bracelet~ It’s a one-of-a-kind piece from the auction house worth $800,000, but all I have to do is show the slightest interest and he’ll buy it for me~ That day, I called Abner ninety-nine times. He didn’t pick up. All he sent was one cold message: Tiffany had a heart episode. I was just comforting her. Angel’s not going to die from waiting a few more days. I’ll have the hospital schedule the surgery next month. But Angel didn’t make it to next month. At three in the morning, she died in my arms. I held my daughter’s body and sent him one final message. Abner, I want a divorce. … It was already dark by the time I walked out of the private blood bank. The crook of my arm was riddled with needle marks—ugly, angry, grotesque. Two years. Between selling blood and enrolling in high-risk clinical trials at three different pharmaceutical companies, I had finally scraped together the 800,000-dollar deposit for Angel’s bone marrow transplant. My fingers trembled violently as I transferred the money into the designated account. The pain and weakness from chronic blood loss crashed over me in waves, but in that moment, the only thing I felt was hope. Yet the first call that came wasn’t the hospital telling me Angel’s surgery was a success. It was a nurse on the line: “Mrs. Anna, the deposit deduction failed. Insufficient account balance.” I froze. Fumbling, I opened my banking app. The number on the screen was a clean, merciless zero. Then I saw the new post on Tiffany’s Instagram. Thanks to a certain someone for buying me this ruby bracelet~ It’s a one-of-a-kind piece from the auction house worth $800,000, but all I have to do is show the slightest interest and he’ll buy it for me~ In the photo, a blood-red bracelet sat delicately against her slender wrist. I nearly lost my mind. The money I’d earned selling my own blood—my husband had taken it, without a word to me, to buy jewelry for his mistress. That was my daughter’s lifeline! I called Abner. He picked up quickly, his voice tired and impatient: “It’s Tiffany’s birthday. She’s been running herself ragged over the merger acquisition for the group, and today she worked herself into another heart episode. The least I can do is show some gratitude. Angel’s condition isn’t new—a few more days won’t kill her. I’ll arrange the surgery next month.” The hatred inside me drove me to the edge of collapse. I needed an explanation—I refused to let this go. I screamed at him, demanding to know why he’d touched that account. His tone was righteous, unapologetic: “You’re my wife. What’s yours is mine. What’s the big deal if I use it? You—” I hung up before he could finish. I had no strength left to fight. Angel lay in her hospital bed, every strand of hair long gone, her small fingers tugging at my sleeve, her voice full of expectation. “Mommy, when is Daddy coming? He promised to bring me that talking bunny doll…” I held her, burying my face against her tiny shoulder, breathing in the smell of disinfectant and IV fluid and, underneath it all, a faint trace of warm, milky sweetness. My eyes betrayed me and filled with tears. They were the only answer I could give. Just then, a text from Abner came through: Anna, if Tiffany’s father hadn’t saved me and my dad back then, the Byron family would have been finished. I can’t be ungrateful. You’re my wife—why can’t you just be understanding? Tiffany’s message followed right behind it— Anna~ Abner says you’re upset? I actually told him not to buy anything that expensive, but he insisted. You know how stubborn he is. How about I ask him to return the bracelet? Oh wait, I don’t think jewelry can be returned lol. Don’t be mad~ Worst case I’ll just give you the bracelet, though I’m not sure you’d still want it after it’s been on me~ The double meaning was impossible to miss. After all—wasn’t Abner himself a man she’d already had her hands on? I closed every message. A notification from the clinical trial center popped up: Mrs. Anna, the Phase III drug trial you enrolled in enters its final stage next week. Based on your current health indicators, continued participation poses severe risk. We advise withdrawal. I closed that too. At three in the morning, Angel’s cardiac monitor erupted in a shrill, piercing alarm. When I rushed in, she managed a smile for me, slowly lifting her hand as if trying to reach for mine. I knelt on the floor outside the resuscitation room, praying with every shred of my being, tears pouring down my face, my heart fracturing with every second. They worked on her for forty minutes. The doctor pulled down his mask and shook his head. My world collapsed entirely. I gathered my daughter’s still-warm body into my arms and sat motionless until dawn, as though my soul had been hollowed out completely. Every last trace of warmth inside me had gone cold. I shifted my numb body and sent Abner one final message— Abner, I want a divorce.
After sending the message, I used the last bit of money left in my pocket to purchase a double burial plot for me and Angel. Without Angel, I had no reason to go on living. When I stepped out of the morgue after finishing the paperwork, I ran into Abner in the corridor. He was helping Tiffany out of the elevator. She’d twisted her ankle, and he was crouching down to massage her foot, his expression focused and tender. I had just come from the morgue. The smell of that place clung to me, mingled with the chemical stench that seeped from my pores after years of drug trials. My hair was a tangled mess. I was gaunt beyond recognition. I watched the scene in front of me in silence and found, miraculously, that it didn’t hurt anymore. Perhaps my heart had already died alongside Angel. When Abner walked past carrying Tiffany, he brushed against me, frowned, and stepped aside. He didn’t recognize me. He even muttered something disgusted under his breath. It was Tiffany who recognized me. “Abner, I think the person you bumped into is Anna. You should apologize to your wife.” There was a subtle condescension laced through her tone. “Put me down, quick—before Anna gets jealous and throws another tantrum at you.” Abner said nothing. He didn’t put her down. He glanced back at me, his brow furrowed tight. “Anna, what happened to you? You look like—” His frown deepened. Tiffany finished his sentence for him: “Anna, why do you look like some stray dog that’s been thrown out? And what is that smell?” “Abner is a man of status, you know. Walking around like this—are you trying to embarrass him on purpose?” Tiffany’s words made Abner’s expression turn ice-cold. “If you’re doing this to disgust me, then congratulations. You’ve succeeded.” The revulsion on his face was unconcealed. The smell on me was from holding Angel’s body through the entire night. But Angel’s own father found it repulsive—sickening, even. A nurse passing by glanced at me curiously, then caught sight of Abner and Tiffany and let out a small gasp. “Isn’t that Mr. Byron! I’ve always admired the love between you and Miss Tiffany!” All these years, Abner had never once acknowledged my or Angel’s existence in public. He said the Byron family was in a critical period of expansion, that there were many enemies, and that we needed to pretend we had no connection to him—for our own protection. Yet he openly doted on Tiffany, took her to parties, brought her to family dinners. When people called Tiffany “Mrs. Byron,” he never corrected them. Not once. I looked into his eyes. He hesitated for less than a second. “Oh, thank you. I’m sure you’ll find a love of your own someday.” So he had never been afraid of any enemies. He was simply ashamed of me and Angel. We were an embarrassment to him. After the nurse left, he finally set Tiffany down and leaned in close, lowering his voice: “Anna, I didn’t mean it. But look at yourself—how could I possibly tell anyone you’re my wife?” “You know the company is expanding right now. This—this is humiliating.” Tiffany stood beside him with her hand over her mouth, laughing theatrically. “Anna, look at you, dressed like a homeless person. If people found out you were Abner’s wife, they’d probably pull out of their deals.” My gaze fell to the ruby bracelet on her wrist. Eight hundred thousand dollars. My blood. My life. My daughter’s life—traded for that eight hundred thousand. My eyes went red. I lunged toward her. But before I even touched her, she shrieked, clutching her chest and stumbling backward. “Abner! She’s going to hit me! My heart can’t take this—” Slap. Abner struck me across the face almost instantly, so hard that I slammed into the fire hydrant mounted on the wall. The back of my skull cracked against it and blood began to trickle down. He pulled Tiffany into his arms, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me into the corner. “Have you lost your mind! You know Tiffany has a heart condition! Do you just have to bully her! Is that it!” My phone slipped from my pocket. The screen was lit—a confirmation text from the cemetery: Your daughter’s double burial plot has been confirmed. Plot number C-0237. Abner glanced at it. The color drained from his face. He shoved me hard against the wall. “Anna, what the hell are you up to now! To compete with Tiffany for my attention, you’d actually use your own daughter as a curse! Have you no shame at all!”
With that, he turned away in disgust, tossing back a single sentence: “Deal with Angel’s situation yourself. As punishment, I’ll wait until Tiffany is stable before I come see you two.” I leaned against the wall, blood trickling down from the back of my skull. Angel’s last words echoed in my ears, over and over. “Mommy, don’t cry. Angel doesn’t need Daddy anymore. I just need you, Mommy…” I couldn’t afford even the cheapest painkillers. All I could do was clench my teeth against the agony radiating through my body and drag myself to handle Angel’s arrangements. I’d scraped together just enough for the remaining balance on the burial plot, but when I reached the counter, the bank card was declined again. I opened my banking app. Another zero. I called Abner. His voice was all fury: “You scared Tiffany into nearly having a heart attack yesterday. I brought in a specialist for a consultation. The fee came out of the family account. Do you have a problem with that?” I had no tears left. “Give me the money back. That was Angel’s—” “I told you I’ll handle Angel’s affairs!” He cut me off, then his tone suddenly shifted. “What about you, though—why did you stop going to that research institute job? They contacted me, said they recommended terminating your contract, but expected me to pay the penalty.” I went rigid. The clinical trial center had reached out to him. “They said the pay was quite good, but that your body couldn’t handle it anymore.” He paused, a note of mockery creeping into his voice. “But you look fine to me. And since you love money so much, I put in a word for you—told them you’d show up next week as scheduled.” My lips began to tremble. If I went back there, it would kill me. But I didn’t say it. In two years, I had never once told him what “clinical trials” actually meant. High pay meant high risk. Human testing for high-risk experimental drugs was, in essence, selling my life for money. The side effects had already hollowed out my liver and kidneys. My bone density had plummeted. My clotting function was in chaos. But I knew that even if I explained, he wouldn’t listen. He would only think I was making it up to compete with his precious Tiffany for attention. “Be a good girl. Go to the institute, cooperate with the tests. Might do you some good—clear out all that nonsense in your head.” His tone softened. “Once Tiffany’s condition stabilizes, I’ll come see you and Angel.” The line went dead. A message from the trial center followed immediately: Mrs. Anna, Mr. Abner has confirmed your continued participation in the Phase III project on your behalf. Please note: given your current liver and kidney indicators and overall health status, the risk level for this round of trials has been elevated to the highest category. The morgue attendant was pressing me too: “Ma’am, your daughter’s remains can only be preserved for seventy-two hours. Please complete the arrangements as soon as possible.” I checked the compensation for continuing the drug trial. It was exactly enough to cover the remaining balance on the double burial plot—enough to let me and my precious Angel be laid to rest together. So I replied to the trial center’s message. Received. I’ll be there on time. Then let this body—already rotted through by chemicals—buy me and Angel a place where we can finally sleep in peace.
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