ManyWriters

My wife sent our five-year-old daughter into a supposedly haunted, abandoned house to recover her engagement ring from a past relationship.
Inside, our child was horrified by the blood-spattered walls. Frightened, she stumbled and tumbled down the staircase. A corroded metal spike impaled her tiny frame.
When I discovered her, she had already passed away. Her small fingers were still tightly gripping the ring, unwilling to release it even after death.
I broke down beside her motionless form, weeping uncontrollably as I embraced her.
Overwhelmed with anguish, I repeatedly dialed my wife's number.
When she finally picked up, her tone was irritated and detached.
"Quit calling me!" she barked. "David's daughter is about to go into heart transplant surgery. Don't ruin this!"
Her statement struck me like a thunderbolt. I gazed at my daughter's lifeless face, my heart shattering.
In that instant, a part of me perished.
I ended the call with my wife and dialed another number.
"Hello. This is Emily's father," I said, my voice quivering with fury and sorrow. "I'm phoning about the heart donation."
"I regret to inform you that we've decided to withdraw from the process."
If you took my child from me, you don't merit her heart.

The Ring That Shattered Two Hearts

"I'm here today, and I won't let anyone speak ill of my daughter!" I declared, gripping the container firmly against my body, my fingers shaking.


David's eyes constricted as he spotted my protective hold and the faint shape of the Elsa toy attached to the container. His stare fixed on it, and a victorious smile emerged on his face.


"Monica, look! That's the toy!" he exclaimed.


Monica's face transformed into one of haughty contentment. Her tone was frosty as she proclaimed, "Caught in the act. Still want to deny it?"


With that, she sprang forward, attempting to seize the container.


On impulse, I drew it nearer, embracing it as if it were my child herself. To them, however, this desperate action only made me appear more culpable.


Monica scoffed disdainfully and, with David's assistance, clawed at my hands, forcing my fingers away from the container.


"No! Don't touch it!" I yelled, struggling to maintain my grip.


But I was no match for their combined might.


With a resounding crash, the container hit the floor, breaking apart on contact.


I fell to the ground, frantic and devastated, trying to collect what remained.


"Ugh! What is this disgusting stuff?" David recoiled, dramatically covering his nose.


Monica turned to me, her expression contorted with rage and incredulity. "Noah Carter, have you lost your mind? What's this mess? Did you orchestrate this knowing David's dust allergy? Were you attempting to undermine him?"


She signaled to the security personnel. "Remove this filth. Flush it down the toilet!"


Her words faded into the background as I disregarded her, crawling on the floor like a man driven mad, attempting to gather my daughter's remains with quivering hands.


"Stop! Don't touch her!" I cried out, my voice hoarse and pleading.


The guards, possibly fearing a commotion, restrained me, pressing my shoulders to the ground. I struggled against their hold, but I was powerless to intervene.


I could only watch in anguish as they swept up Emily's remains as if they were garbage, preparing to discard them.


I've failed you, Emily. I couldn't safeguard you in life, and now, I can't even protect you in death.


The anguish was unbearable. My chest constricted, and blood rushed up my throat. With a violent cough, I expelled it, staining the floor crimson.


"Noah!" Monica's voice escalated into a shriek as she retreated in alarm. She frantically gestured at the guards to release me.


I barely noticed her panic. Feeble and shaking, I inched toward the scattered remains, my body too weak to stand.


David observed me with contempt, his lips curling as if about to utter something cruel. But before he could, his phone rang.


He answered with his usual self-assurance, but his expression quickly changed.


The voice on the other end was audible enough for me to hear: "Mr. Lee, I regret to inform you that Sophie's heart transplant surgery has been canceled. The donor's family has withdrawn their permission."


"What?!" David shouted, his voice strained with anxiety.


The hospital director's tone was somber. "The donor's family had a last-minute change of heart. Sophie's condition is critical—any further delay will significantly reduce her chances of survival."


Chapter 3