She nodded. Together, they walked up the driveway. The house was modest but well-kept, with flower pots lining the windows and wind chimes tinkling near the porch light. Maya’s stomach twisted with every step. The detective rang the bell. The door opened a few moments later.
Aiden stood there—alive, healthy, and visibly stunned. His eyes darted from Maya to the detective, then back again. “Maya?” he said, breathless, almost like a reflex. Behind him, a petite woman stepped into view.
She wore a soft floral sweater, her expression open, curious. “Honey, who is this?” she asked. “What’s going on?” Maya’s voice caught in her throat, but she forced the words out. “I’m someone your husband used,” she said, her eyes locked on Aiden.
“We met at a clinic. He told me he was sick. He made me believe we were in a relationship. That he didn’t have much time left. And I—” she swallowed hard, “I gave him my kidney.” The woman blinked, processing. “I’m sorry… what?” Her voice trembled, uncertain.