He Gave My Mother’s Corneas to His Mistress

The steady beep of monitors pulled me from the depths of unconsciousness. My eyelids felt heavy, useless as always, but now weighed down further by grief and exhaustion. I lay still, trying to orient myself in the darkness that had been my constant companion since birth. The antiseptic smell confirmed I was in a hospital—Northwestern Memorial, if I remembered correctly. They had brought me here after I collapsed at Mom's funeral.

Mom. The thought of her sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest. Just three days ago, she had been alive, her voice warm and steady as she promised me that even in death, she would give me the greatest gift—her corneas, my chance to finally see the world.

'She's still sedated,' a male voice said somewhere to my left. Dr. Sanders, I recognized. Jonathan's friend and my ophthalmologist for the past five years.

'Good.' My husband's voice was clipped, authoritative. 'She doesn't need to know yet. The grief is already too much.'

Know what? I remained perfectly still, my breathing measured. Years of blindness had taught me to gather information through stillness, through listening.

'I still don't understand why you made this decision, Jonathan,' Dr. Sanders said, his voice lowered. 'The compatibility was perfect. Her mother's corneas could have given Isabella sight.'

My heart stuttered. Could have?

'Victoria's vision was deteriorating,' Jonathan replied dismissively. 'And Isabella has been blind her whole life. She doesn't know what she's missing.'

The words hit me like physical blows. Victoria? My best friend Victoria?

'But to give her mother's corneas to Victoria instead...' Dr. Sanders sounded uncomfortable. 'It wasn't your decision to make.'

'I have medical power of attorney,' Jonathan said coldly. 'And I made the call. Victoria needed them more.'

My mind reeled, trying to process what I was hearing. The corneas that were meant for me—my mother's final gift—had been given to Victoria? My best friend who already had sight?

'What will you tell Isabella?' Dr. Sanders asked.

'That they weren't viable,' Jonathan replied without hesitation. 'That they were damaged during extraction. She'll never know the difference.'

The casual cruelty in his voice—a voice I had loved and trusted for seven years—made me feel physically ill. I fought to keep my breathing steady, to not betray that I was awake and hearing every word of their betrayal.

'I need to check on another patient,' Dr. Sanders said, his voice tight with what sounded like disapproval. 'She should wake up soon.'

Footsteps retreated, and I heard the door close. I sensed Jonathan moving closer to my bed, felt his presence looming over me. His cologne—the expensive sandalwood one I had given him for his birthday—filled my nostrils. How many times had I breathed it in, finding comfort in its familiarity? Now it made me want to gag.

I couldn't pretend anymore. I opened my eyes—useless as the gesture was—and turned my face toward where I knew he stood.

'Isabella?' His voice immediately shifted to the gentle tone he always used with me. 'You're awake. How are you feeling, darling?'

The endearment that once warmed me now felt like acid. I swallowed hard.

'Where are my mother's corneas?' My voice was raspy, raw from crying at the funeral.

A pause. I could almost hear him constructing the lie.

'I'm so sorry, bella,' he said, his hand finding mine on the bed. I resisted the urge to pull away. 'There was a problem during extraction. The corneas were damaged. They... they weren't viable for transplant.'

The lie hung in the air between us, a tangible thing. In that moment, I realized that the darkness I had lived with all my life was nothing compared to the darkness in the heart of the man I had married.

'You're lying,' I whispered, my voice stronger now, fueled by a rage I had never known I was capable of feeling. 'You gave them to Victoria.'

His hand stiffened on mine, and in that small gesture, I felt the confirmation of everything I had heard.

The door to my room swung open, and the familiar click of Victoria's heels against the linoleum floor sent ice through my veins. Her perfume—always too sweet, too cloying—wafted toward me.

'Isabella, darling!' Her voice dripped with false concern. 'How are you feeling? I came as soon as I heard you were awake.'

I turned my face toward her voice, imagining for the first time what she might look like with my mother's corneas—my corneas—in her eyes.

'Victoria,' I said flatly.

'Oh, honey.' The bed dipped as she sat beside me, her hand reaching for mine. I pulled away before she could touch me. 'I know you must be devastated about the corneas. Jonathan told me everything.'

I bet he did.

'How's your vision, Victoria?' I asked, my voice deceptively calm.

A beat of silence. I could almost feel the look she exchanged with Jonathan.

'What do you mean?' Her voice had a nervous edge now.

'Just curious,' I said. 'You mentioned last month that things were getting a bit blurry. Any improvement?'

'Oh!' Her laugh was too bright, too forced. 'Actually, yes! I saw a specialist. New treatment. It's... it's remarkable, really. Everything is so clear now. The colors are so vibrant. You can't imagine how blue the sky is today.'

The casual cruelty of her words—you can't imagine—twisted in my chest like a knife. She knew I couldn't imagine. I never could. And now, because of her, I never would.

'How wonderful for you,' I said, the words like ash in my mouth.

Suddenly, there was a commotion—the sound of something falling, Victoria's exaggerated gasp, and then her voice, high and accusatory:

'Isabella! Why would you push me?'

I froze, disbelief washing over me. 'What?'

'She pushed me, Jonathan!' Victoria's voice was shrill, theatrical. 'I was just trying to adjust her pillow, and she shoved me!'

'I didn't—' I began, but the door burst open again.

'What's going on here?' Jonathan's voice was sharp, authoritative.

'Your wife pushed me!' Victoria was in full performance now, her voice trembling with fake tears. 'I nearly fell!'

'Isabella!' Jonathan's tone was one I'd never heard directed at me before—cold, disgusted, as if I were a stranger who had disappointed him. 'What were you thinking? Victoria is trying to help you!'

'I didn't push her,' I said, my voice small against their united front. 'I didn't even touch her.'

'I know you're upset about the corneas,' Jonathan said, his voice dripping with condescension, 'but that's no reason to lash out at Victoria. She's been nothing but supportive.'

The injustice of it all burned in my throat. They were gaslighting me, making me doubt my own reality—a reality where I couldn't even see what was happening around me.

'I think you should apologize,' Jonathan continued, his voice hard.

I heard the soft rustle of fabric—Jonathan adjusting his cufflinks, a habit I knew meant he was irritated and trying to maintain control.

'I'm not apologizing for something I didn't do,' I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

'Come on, Victoria,' Jonathan said after a tense silence. 'Let's give Isabella some time to calm down. She's clearly not herself.'

The click of Victoria's heels, the firm stride of Jonathan's expensive shoes, and then the door closing behind them. Alone in the sterile room, I finally let the tears come—hot, angry tears that burned down my cheeks.

But as quickly as they came, they dried. In their place, something harder, colder began to crystallize in my chest. A resolve I had never known I possessed.

They thought they had won. They thought that because I couldn't see, I couldn't fight back.

They were wrong.

I would find a way out of this darkness—both the physical one I had lived with all my life and the emotional one they had thrust me into. And when I did, they would regret ever underestimating me.

I wiped away the last of my tears and began to plan.