A Heart for Her

"Ahem."

A soft cough slices through the silence, abruptly cutting our kiss short. Jennifer and I both turn toward the door.

Standing there—wearing a white coat, stethoscope hanging from his neck, a clipboard in hand—is a man in his early thirties. His awkward smile betrays a touch of embarrassment.

"Morning, Jen… I mean, Mrs. Bennet," he greets, a little flustered.

Jennifer's eyes widen slightly in confusion, but within seconds, her lips stretch into a bright, familiar smile.

"Peter!"

She doesn't yell—but the joy in her voice is unmistakable.

The man mirrors her smile, stepping closer. "Hi, Jen."

Jennifer reaches over and squeezes my hand excitedly. "Babe, this is Peter—my childhood friend I told you about."

Ah. That Peter.

The one from her stories. The genius. The best friend. Her first kiss.

I smile politely and extend my hand. "Of course. Peter. I'm Bennet—Scott Bennet. Her husband."

He accepts it with a firm shake. "Peter Thompson. Doctor Peter Thompson, actually." The subtle emphasis on "Doctor" makes my jaw tighten, but I keep my face neutral.

"Well," he continues, "turns out I'm also Jennifer's cardiologist now—assuming you both agree."

"We do!" Jennifer answers before I can even open my mouth.

She turns to me, glowing. "He was the smartest kid in school back then. Straight A's, top of the class, right, Pete?"

Peter rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly. "I'm no longer a kid—but yeah, still genius."

I almost choke on the cockiness, but Jennifer laughs with such ease that I know it's an old inside joke between them.

"I heard from the nurses you're the best cardiologist in town," she teases.

He grins. "I'm also the only cardiologist in town. That might have something to do with it."

They both burst into laughter.

But Jennifer suddenly coughs—hard. Her laughter morphs into wheezing. She clutches her chest and gasps for air.

"Jen!" I move forward in alarm, but Peter is already at her side, pulling a syringe from his coat pocket.

He injects her swiftly, then looks at me calmly. "Sedative. It'll help ease the pressure."

I instinctively grip his arm. "What did you give her?"

"Relax. Just a sedative. She'll be fine."

After a few tense seconds, Jennifer's coughing quiets. Her breathing evens out. I dab at the tears on her face with my sleeve.

"Feeling better, Baby?" I whisper.

She nods weakly.

Peter straightens. "Jen, you have to be careful now—your heart can't take sudden spikes in emotion. Happy, sad, angry, worried—any extreme response is risky."

Jennifer blinks. "So... what, I can't feel anything?"

"You can feel. But nothing too exciting," Peter replies, gently.

Jennifer drops her head onto the pillow, groaning. "I'm going to die of boredom."

"Don't say that," I hiss, shooting her a worried glance.

I turn to Peter. "This is only temporary, right? There's still a way to fix her heart?"

Peter nods, offering us both a reassuring smile. "Yes, but…" He gently pats Jennifer's shoulder. "Rest for now, Jen. I need to speak with your husband privately."

"She's right," I echo, kissing her forehead. "Rest, Babe. I'll be back soon."

Reluctantly, she lets go of my hand. I adjust her blanket, then follow Peter out into the hallway.

As soon as the door closes behind us, I turn to him. "So, when will her valves be replaced?"

Peter's smile fades. He lowers his voice. "I'm afraid… it's beyond that. The valves are too damaged. They can't be replaced."

A cold wave washes over me.

"You're saying…?"

"She'll need a heart transplant."

I stare at him, mouth suddenly dry.

"She needs a donor," he continues. "And a compatible one. A healthy heart, beating at the time of transfer. It's a rare thing, Scott. The waiting list is long, and matching is complex—blood type, tissue compatibility, timing…"

I lean against the wall, my knees nearly giving out. My hands ball into fists.

Peter rests a hand on my shoulder. "She's on the recipient list. We just need to hope… and wait."

I don't move. Don't breathe.

Then something clicks inside me.

Hope isn't enough.

"Peter," I whisper. "Take mine."

"What?"

"My heart. I want to be her donor."

Peter stares at me, stunned. "Scott…"

"I'm serious."

His brows furrow. "You're not a match. You don't even know if you're—"

"Then test me."

"Scott—"

"I said test me!" I bark, eyes burning. "And if I'm a match… I want to be the one."

"You'd die."

"I know." I take a step closer, my voice raw. "And I don't care. She's the mother of my child. She's everything. If one of us has to live… it should be her."

Peter is silent, torn between duty and disbelief.

"You'd do the same," I whisper. "Wouldn't you?"

He stares at me for a long moment. Then, finally… he nods.

"I'll run the tests."