And when I look to my left, it looks like Justin is dead.
“Hold on,” I say, my voice shaky as fuck as I reach over and feel his neck. I think I can feel a pulse.
Suddenly, someone opens my door, and then it’s a flurry of chaos, first responders getting us out of the vehicle and into ambulances.
Voices.
Questions that I can’t answer.
Finally, after what feels like days, although it’s only been a couple of hours, I’m led into Justin’s room. He’s already in a room? How long have we been here?
Everything is a blur.
And through his window, I can see the rain still coming down.
“You need to say goodbye, Jules.”
My eyes move to the kind doctor standing next to me. Her arm is around my shoulders. I feel cold. I hate the smell in here.
“But before you do that,” she continues, “do you know if your husband is an organ donor?”
Something about that doesn’t feel right.
“Uh, why would you want a cancer patient’s organs?” I ask her, frowning in confusion. “Can they even donate?”
The doctor shakes her head in confusion. “Jules, Justin doesn’t have cancer.”
“Yes, he does. He gets treatment at this hospital. Check his records.”
“I looked through all his medical records. He had his tonsils out here as a child, and a broken arm when he was sixteen, but I assure you, your husband was a very healthy man before the accident.”
I stare at her. Swallow. My jaw drops, but no sound comes out.
“There wasneverany cancer?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No.”
I look back at the man lying in the bed. He’s completely still, his face swollen and broken. They had to shave his head because of the injuries there. His hands are on top of the covers. Tubes are breathing for him. I know he’s brain-dead and is never going to wake up.
There was never any cancer.
He tricked me into marrying him, just so he could treat me like shit for EIGHT MOTHERFUCKING YEARS.
“Jules—”
“Can I give consent for organ donation if he isn’t able to?”
“Yes, you can do that.”
“Take everything.” I don’t look away from him. I speak to her while keeping my eyes pinned to this piece of garbage inthis bed. “Take whatever you need. Organs, eyes, skin. Take it all. His life should bring some good to someone.”
“Are you sure? That doesn’t leave?—”
“I’m sure.” I swallow hard, feeling hollow.
He lied about everything.
He was never going to kill himself.
