For over a decade, I thought I couldn't survive without Spencer.
Turns out, life was simpler without him.
In the fishing village, most young people had moved away, leaving behind the elderly—people who'd watched Clara and me grow up.

They didn't use smartphones and had no clue about the online world. Here, I felt no malice, just warm, familiar smiles.
Clara went back to being a nurse at a clinic in town. With little else to do, I spent most of my time wandering down to the shore to watch the moon.
The sea breeze carried that faint fishy smell I'd known forever.
I'd always liked crescent moons more than full ones. Grandpa used to laugh and say, "The full moon's better—it's round and perfect, a sign of unity."
I missed him.
If life could stay this peaceful, I wouldn't need anything else.

But one night, during my usual walk to the shore, everything changed.
Someone grabbed me from behind, pressing a cloth over my face. It reeked of chemicals. I tried to fight, but darkness swallowed me whole.
***
When I woke up, I was in a familiar apartment.

Spencer sat across from me, smoking. He looked rough—like he hadn't slept in days.
Clara must've been losing her mind by now, realizing I was gone. The thought of her panicking irritated me.
"Stop smoking. I hate the smell," I said. For once, I didn't hold back.
He froze, staring at me for a second before stubbing out the cigarette.
Then, hesitantly, he slid closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
"Maya, I was wrong. Let's get back together, okay?"
I blinked, stunned.
No Fiona. The room was quiet, empty except for us.
But my heart felt nothing. No joy. Just exhaustion.
I pushed pushed him off. "Spencer, cut the act. What do you want this time?"
I knew him too well. When Spencer played nice, it was always because he needed something.
Dragging me from the village, acting like he cared... it had to be big.
His eyes darted away. His words faltered.
"Fiona... she's having kidney issues. Could you... donate one to her? You can live with just one. I'll take care of you, I swear. Once she's better, I'll send her abroad. You'd never have to deal with her again. Please, Maya, just—"
Maybe it was the ice in my stare, he couldn't finish.
"If losing a kidney's no big deal. Why don't you donate yours? Isn't Fiona your everything?" I said.
Spencer dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Doctor Bever said I'm not a match. Physically. I don't have another choice."
That was it. I couldn't hold back anymore. My hand flew, slapping him hard across the face.
He didn't even flinch, just took it. A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Done venting? Fine. But stop being so stubborn. After this, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you," he said.
Before I could respond, the door creaked open. Fiona's doctor strolled in casually.
"You really brought her back. Fiona owes you for this," Doctor Bever said with a smirk.
"What do we need to do?" Spencer asked, as if I weren't even there.
Doctor Bever's eyes swept over me. "She's too thin. Doesn't meet the minimum criteria for surgery. Start feeding her properly. Once she's gained enough weight, bring her to the hospital for a full workup. If everything checks out, we'll schedule the transplant. In the meantime, keep searching for other donors—just in case."
That was it. In a few clipped sentences, they'd decided my fate like I was some object.
***
Spencer kept me confined in that apartment.
He took my phone, cutting off any connection to the outside world. Guards patrolled in shifts, stationed at the door 24/7.
The windows were all sealed shut. The only one that could still open had been reinforced with a metal safety grate.
The housekeeper shoved nutrient-packed meals at me daily, watching like a hawk to make sure I ate.
I wasn't giving in; I'd force myself to throw up in the bathroom.
Once they figured out what I was doing, they didn't even let me go to the bathroom alone.
In less than a month, I'd gained enough weight to pass for healthy.
One day, I hit my breaking point. I was on edge, worried sick about Clara. No matter how much they coaxed, begged, or threatened, I refused to eat. Instead, I threw a full-blown tantrum, smashing anything within reach.
Panicked, the servants called Spencer, but he couldn't leave Fiona—her condition was getting worse.
So, they sent Doctor Bever instead.
With his white beard, he looked like some warped version of Santa Claus. But the glint in his eyes? It was pure malice—a perfect match for Fiona's.
"Why are you still fighting this?" he asked, settling into the seat across from me like the mess around us didn't exist. "Wouldn't it be easier to just cooperate?"
"I only have one kidney left. If you take it, I'll die. Why? Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because Fiona wants you dead."
That was it. My life meant less to them than a speck of dust.
"Aren't you afraid Spencer will find out the truth?" I shot back.
Doctor Bever's eyes lit up with amusement, like I'd just cracked the funniest joke.
Then he laughed. A real, booming laugh that made his beard wobble, turning him into some twisted parody of Santa Claus.
"You think you'll live long enough to tell him?" he sneered. "Or better yet, even if you did—do you really think Spencer would believe you?"
I froze.
Would Spencer believe me?