On the day Marshall Ward stood at the pinnacle of global technology to receive his award. I, Millie Martin, was being denied further treatment by the hospital because I couldn’t afford the costs for my kidney failure. On the television screen, the host asked him to call the person he wanted to thank the most. Without hesitation, he dialed my number. He said, “Millie, do you regret leaving me?” The exorbitant medical bill in my hand was already crumpled from my grip, but I still responded casually, “Marshall, you’re a big celebrity now. Would you consider keeping me as your sugar baby?” On screen, he hung up the phone with a stone-cold expression. Then, his familiar voice reached my ears, ice-cold. “Now, I have nothing to thank anymore.” But what he didn’t know was that I was the one who had donated my kidney to him when he was critically ill five years ago. ***** After Marshall’s interview aired, the name “Millie” instantly became the target of public ridicule. A gold-digging woman who betrayed trust, a young man who achieved fame and success. This kind of revenge story was enough to spark heated discussions in any era. Fortunately, I was just a nobody, so the storm of cyberbullying hadn’t reached me yet. There were many discussions online, most of them hurling abuse and insults at me. “Stop looking at that.” My attending physician, Ayden Simmons, snatched my phone away and shook his head, his tone gentle but firm. “I’ll help you apply for hospital assistance. It’s too early to give up now.” His words were earnest, filled with a desire to save my life. I smiled and shook my head. At this moment, he was probably the only person in the world who wanted me to live. I said, “Don’t bother, it’s not worth it.” As soon as I finished speaking, I adjusted my breathing and turned to leave. The door of the consultation room had barely opened a crack when a familiar figure flashed by not far away. Five years had passed, but I could still recognize his silhouette instantly in a crowd. Just as I was about to close the door to avoid running into Marshall, a man waiting nearby suddenly pulled the door open. “What are you dawdling for?” Due to the momentum and the constant pain in my body, my legs gave way, and I fell straight to the ground. This scene caught the attention of those around, including Marshall. I struggled to stand up, leaning against the wall, just wanting to escape quickly, but he firmly gripped my wrist. “What, are you so powerful now that you can track my schedule?” His breathing was a bit rapid from running. I looked at him through the hair scattered across my forehead, silently relieved, thinking, “Good, he looks healthy. He must have recovered well.” Five years ago, our careers were just taking off. But the good times didn’t last. Long periods of staying up late and business socializing eventually led to Marshall developing uremia. The costs of dialysis and medication were astronomical for us, and some investors withdrew their funding after learning about his condition. To pay for his treatment, I supported the company during the day and worked several part-time jobs at night to supplement our income. But fate is cruel like that; it doesn’t grant extra favor just because of your efforts. We persevered for a long time, but he never found a suitable kidney donor, nor did he experience a miraculous recovery. On that winter night five years ago, as the first snow fell gently, I received Marshall’s critical condition notice. The attending physician at that time was Ayden. Looking at my exhausted state, he couldn’t even bring himself to hand me the document. “Is there really no way?” My voice trembled as I knelt on the ground, desperately clutching his clothes. He said, “A suitable kidney donor is hard to come by, and almost no one is willing to be tested for donation. Ms. Martin, I…” Full of hope, I asked, “Can I be tested as a donor?” Later, Ayden told me that he had agreed to my request only to provide some comfort to me in my desperation. But what he hadn’t expected was that the compatibility test between Marshall and me actually turned out successful.
“Speak up. Weren’t you so tough on the phone?” Marshall grabbed my wrist and yanked it hard when he saw me silent. The pain made me gasp, and his brow furrowed in response. “Hey, isn’t that Marshall from TV?” “I think so. And who’s that woman? Is she that shameless Millie?” The commotion drew a crowd, and Marshall’s face was quickly recognized. I frantically tried to hide my face with my hair, desperately struggling to break free from his grip. But this only seemed to make him angrier. During the struggle, my bag was thrown aside, and the medical records inside scattered across the ground. He bent down to pick one up, examined it carefully, and a cold smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. He mocked, “Kidney failure? Millie, have you no shame at all? Last Christmas, didn’t you leave me because of my kidney disease? And now you’re trying to trick me with the same condition?” I bit my lower lip hard, praying for this mental torture to end quickly. I thought to myself, “It’s okay, Millie. This is the path you chose, isn’t it? Just endure a little longer. Just a little longer.” I silently encouraged myself, but the next second, he roughly dragged me into the center of the crowd. He lifted my hair, allowing the spectators to freely photograph my face. A sharp pain shot through my lips, followed by the taste of blood in my throat. I desperately held back the tears in my eyes, hoping only to preserve my last shred of dignity. “Marshall, what are you doing?” A figure walked into the center of the chaos. I looked up and recognized her. She was Marshall’s current rumored girlfriend, the famous actress Sophia Gordon. She surveyed the scene, quickly assessing what had happened. She said, “Didn’t you say you were coming with me to see the doctor? How did you disappear first?” “Miss Gordon, she’s that Millie who dumped your boyfriend because he was poor and now wants him to be her sugar daddy!” The crowd erupted in laughter, mixed with insults directed at me. Someone in the chaos threw a can at my head from the crowd. The scene before me made it difficult to breathe. Marshall was close to me, and perhaps because of my terrible state, a flash of doubt crossed his eyes. “You…” The intense pain made my vision go black, and I could only wave my hand to signal him to let me leave. Sophia said, “Marshall, maybe you should take her to the hospital. Kidney disease isn’t common. If she weren’t really sick, how could she fake it so convincingly? She’s not a professional actress.” Marshall scoffed, “Huh, she knows exactly how painful this disease is.” Sophia’s few words extinguished any sympathy he might have had. Then, as if to spite me, Marshall took out a check and handed it to her: “Sophia, your stomach isn’t feeling well. Here’s two hundred thousand dollars for you to buy some supplements.” Then, he threw the medical bill in my face and said, “Millie, see this? The money you’ve been dreaming of, I can give away casually now. How does it feel? Do you regret leaving me last Christmas for money?” I clenched my fists and struggled to stand up, my nails digging into my palms. The pain of broken skin brought me back to my senses. I said, “Mr. Ward, since you’re so rich, why not lend me some?” Marshall snapped, “You’re completely unreasonable!” Seeing that I wouldn’t back down, his mouth twitched slightly, and then he left with Sophia. I watched their retreating figures and smiled bitterly. Then, I leaned against the wall to stand up and walked in the opposite direction amid the accusations of the crowd.
Marshall has one of my kidneys inside him, but he doesn’t know it. Ayden once suggested I tell him the truth after I developed complications. “Why don’t you tell him? He has everything now, even if it’s just to save your life…” “Dr. Simmons, his father died saving me,” I sighed, explaining the complicated connection between Marshall and me. Marshall’s mother passed away early, and he was raised by his father, who worked as a firefighter. That Christmas when I was fourteen, my house caught fire. My parents protected me by shielding me beneath them. In the raging flames, Marshall’s father rescued me but was forever lost in that sea of fire. From that moment on, I owed Marshall a life. So when the Christmas matching was successful, I signed the donation consent form with almost no hesitation. Marshall, like his father, is a loyal and good-hearted person. If he knew the truth, he would never accept my donation. To avoid complications, I made up a flimsy excuse and broke up with him. I told him I’d met a boss who wanted to keep me as his mistress, someone willing to provide me with a luxurious lifestyle. “I’m not that kind of person, Millie!” he protested in shock. “Well, I am!” I said. To hide my true feelings, I turned away, my gaze falling on the withered sunflower on the windowsill. I said, “Marshall, people change. I’m tired of your weak body and exhausted from all this endless work. When you received that critical condition notice the other day, I’d had enough of living in fear and worry for you.” Marshall said, “I can accept breaking up, but how could you do this for money…” I said, “Why not? Aren’t we all trying to live better lives? Now I can live in luxury without even trying. Marshall, you should be happy for me.” My voice trembled, barely maintaining composure. I said firmly, “That’s it, Marshall. We won’t see each other again.” The sound of the bus arriving at the stop pulled me back from my memories. I returned to my shared apartment. The space was cramped, cold in winter, stuffy in summer, and even using a slightly high-powered electric pot would trip the circuit breaker. However, my roommates were quite kind. Because they knew about my poor health, they took extra care of me. “Millie, is that you on TV?” my roommate Camila Bradley asked. I nodded and smiled at Camila beside me. “That’s right, I’m just a gold digger. You’d better stay away from me…” “What are you talking about, Millie? When my dad kicked me out, you took me in, fed me, and even bought me clothes. How could you possibly be that kind of person? There must be some misunderstanding!” Camila said excitedly. Looking at her concerned eyes, my vision began to blur. Since leaving Marshall, I rarely cried. After all, with my frail body, just staying alive took all my strength. But at this moment, I felt inexplicably wronged. However, before tears could fall, my phone rang. It was the manager from my workplace, calling to fire me because my identity and appearance had been exposed. Suddenly without income, I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and quietly felt the darkness gradually consuming my consciousness. “Millie, don’t worry. I’ll talk to my boss where I work. She’s a good person and might be able to help,” Camila squeezed my hand, her eyes full of sympathy. “Okay, thank you,” I responded softly, gazing out at the clear, cloudless blue sky. I thought, “The weather is so beautiful today.” The job Camila introduced me to was as a server at a private dining restaurant. The owner was a lady with big wavy curls who always wore vintage clothes from the last century and sported exaggerated earrings. She never told me her full name, just asked me to call her Vanessa. Looking at her, I felt a strange sense of familiarity, which helped me relax a bit. I asked, “You don’t mind that I…?” She replied nonchalantly, “You’re just a dishwasher, what’s there to mind? Clean yourself up and come to work tomorrow. Oh, I should warn you, taking days off will cost you your perfect attendance bonus.” With this job, I could finally afford my pain medication. These days, I’m not so much afraid of dying, but when the pain flares up, it’s truly unbearable. Marshall never contacted me again, yet he started appearing frequently on social media with Sophia. Everyone said they made a perfect couple, while my photos were mixed into their news by unscrupulous media outlets, with internet users mocking me for not knowing what was good for me. Whenever Vanessa saw these news stories, she would sigh and add two extra pieces of meat to my staff meal. Sometimes I would console myself, “See, life may be terrible, but I’ve still met some decent people.” Thinking this way, the rest of my days didn’t seem so unbearable. As finals week approached, Camila couldn’t balance her studies and part-time work. Since Vanessa didn’t want to hire anyone new, I started working in the dining area serving food. Thankfully, with my mask and hat, no one recognized me. Except Marshall. I never expected to see him again. Perhaps we truly had some karmic connection—why else would he choose this restaurant out of so many? The first thing he said when he saw me was, “Millie, why are you everywhere?” I replied, “Mr. Ward, I was wondering the same about you.” He frowned, his eyes flickering with unclear emotions. I pulled my mask up higher, preparing to escape to the kitchen. He asked, “Weren’t you being kept by some rich guy? How did you end up like this?” I said, “Life is unpredictable. His family went bankrupt, so here I am. Mr. Ward, please enjoy your meal with Ms. Gordon. I should—” Before I could finish, Marshall was already standing in front of me. He yanked down my mask, gripping my chin and examining my face. “No wonder, you’re as thin as a skeleton.” An eerie atmosphere filled the private room. Sophia coughed awkwardly twice, seemingly bringing Marshall back to his senses. He forcefully shoved my face away, causing me to fall to the ground from the momentum. He said, “Go, bring us a few bottles of red wine.” As if afraid I might refuse, he kicked my hand lightly as he walked past me. “This is to support your business, Ms. Martin.” As dinner time progressed, the restaurant got busier, and I knew what would happen if they caused a scene. I didn’t care about myself, but Vanessa was innocent, and I didn’t want to cause her trouble. Several expensive bottles of wine were lined up on the table. Marshall sat across from me and snorted coldly, “Drink.” I widened my eyes. “What?” He repeated, “I said, drink all of these.” Ayden’s medical advice still echoed in my ears. In my current physical condition, drinking this much alcohol would be suicidal. Seeing my hesitation, Marshall’s temper flared again. He grabbed a glass and threw it at me. The shattered glass exploded against the wall behind me, with some pieces flying back and cutting my cheek. He said, “If you finish all of these, we’ll call our grudge settled. Otherwise, I’ll make sure all your friends know your true intentions.” I shouted angrily, “You’ve been investigating me!”
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