The Epic Ending: My Choice Will Define Me
I finally inhaled, the first real breath in five years that didn’t feel like a lie. I made my choice.
“Ethan,” I said, my voice steady and cold, devoid of the emotion he was fishing for. “I hear you. I need time. I will call you back.”
I hung up the phone, the cheap plastic receiver vibrating slightly in my hand. I walked to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and neon. The old, familiar ache of betrayal tried to surface, but I pushed it down, focusing instead on the strange, cold clarity that had settled over me.
Time. That was what I needed. Time to transform this raw, emotional decision into a strategic maneuver.
Forty-eight hours later, I called Ethan back. His voice was laced with frantic hope.
“Elara, thank God. What have you decided?”
My voice was a low, steady current, emotionless and absolute. “I will donate,” I stated, allowing no room for interruption. “But this is not an act of forgiveness or reconciliation. This is purely clinical, and it comes with non-negotiable terms.”
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