He hisses, the truth burning him. “This is where you were today?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because I knew you’d react this way! You gave me no other choice. You said that this was the only way. That a heart transplant would save your life.” Reaching for his hand, I place it over my chest. “Well, I have a heart. Take mine. I don’t need it.” Searching his face, I beg him to see reason. “It’s breaking every day anyway, knowing that you’re dying. I can do something to help save you. Please. Take it.”
He pulls his palm away, shaking it frantically. “I can’t! Don’t you see why I can’t?”
“No. All I see is your pigheadedness standing in the way.” We’re silent, both glaring at the other.
“Even if I did this, how could I live with myself? How could I live knowing I’m ali
