HIS FORSAKEN WIFE HIS GREATEST REGRET

The Moment I Stopped Being His Child

Ziva's POV – Inside the Pre-Op Bay

The curtain was thin.

I heard everything.

The iPad was on my chest, the red light still on. I pointed the camera toward the gap. Mommy would see. Mommy would know.

I don't care about the risk.

Daddy's voice. Cold. Like he was talking about a car. Not about me.

I pressed my lips together. My eyes burned.

That girl in there.

He didn't say my name. He said that girl.

Like I was a stranger. Like I was nothing.

A tear slid down my cheek. I didn't wipe it. I didn't move.

The iPad kept recording.

At all cost. Even if it costs hers.

Hers. Mine.

Daddy was willing to let me die. So Nolan could live.

I wanted Mommy. I wanted her arms around me. I wanted to go home. I needed to see Mommy.

But I couldn't move. I couldn't make a sound.

The iPad was warm against my chest. Still recording.

Daddy had just paid money to save Nolan's life at the detriment of mine.

Doctor Connor. Only Doctor Connor cared about me. He asked if my Daddy is really my Daddy. I also want to know. Is Jace Riggs my real Daddy? Mommy wasn't even here to answer me.

My tears covered my eyes. Down to my neck.

I wiped them with the back of my hand. I can't cry. I have to stay strong to save Nolan and save myself.

The voices stopped.

I heard footsteps moving away. Then nothing.

I lay still, waiting. My heart was beating too fast.

Then I heard another voice. A woman's voice. Faint. Coming from somewhere down the hall. She was laughing.

Something about that voice made my stomach clench.

It sounded like Auntie Millie.

But that didn't make sense. Auntie Millie wasn't here. Auntie Millie was at her home.

But it sounded like her.

I shook my head. I was imagining things. The medicine they gave me was making my brain fuzzy.

I closed my eyes.

The iPad kept recording.

***

The Operating Room — Third Person POV

The lights were blinding.

Ziva lay on the table, her small body swallowed by the oversized gown. Nurse Patricia had taken the iPad. Set it on a shelf. Out of sight. Still recording.

The oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth.

She was already under. But the iPad wasn't.

Dr. Sammy stood at the extraction site. His hands were steady. Too steady.

"Needle in."

The machine hummed. Dark red blood moved through tubes.

Connor watched from the corner. His arms crossed so tight his knuckles were white.

"Volume target is two-eighty millilitres," he said, reading from the chart. His voice was careful. Controlled. "For a recipient Nolan's size, the protocol calls for a minimum of two-forty."

"Understood." Dr. Sammy didn't look up.

"She weighs thirty-four pounds." Connor said it to the room. To no one. To whoever was listening. "Her total blood volume is somewhere around one-point-two l****s. We are requesting nearly a quarter of it."

"The numbers are within range." Sammy said.

"They're within his range. Not hers."

Nobody answered.

The machine hummed. Ziva's blood pressure numbers flickered on the monitor.

"Pressure dropping."

"Within range."

"Barely." Connor stepped closer. "She's not tolerating this well."

"She's tolerating it fine."

The iPad's red light pulsed.

Recording.

***

Thirty minutes passed.

The room had grown colder. Or maybe it was just Connor's blood.

"We're nearing her limit," Connor said. His voice was louder now. "Two hundred and twenty millilitres extracted. She's lost volume fast. Heart rate is elevated. Respiration is shallow."

"We need more." Dr. Sammy adjusted the machine. "Nolan's protocol requires two-eighty minimum."

"Nolan's protocol was written for a donor twice her size." Connor moved to stand beside Dr. Sammy. "Look at her. Look at the numbers."

"I'm looking."

"Then you see what I see."

Dr. Sammy's jaw tightened. "I see a job that needs to be completed."

Connor grabbed Sammy's wrist. Stopped his hand mid-motion.

Dr. Sammy froze. His head turned slowly.

"Take your hand off me."

"No." Connor's voice shook, but his grip didn't. "Not until you hear me. This child is crashing. Her blood pressure is falling every minute. We are harvesting marrow from a seven-year-old who weighs thirty-four pounds. This isn't medicine. This is murder."

"Murder?" Dr. Sammy yanked his hand free. "You want to talk about murder in front of a man like Jace Riggs? That money on the table? It pays for this wing. It pays for your salary. It pays for the research that saves hundreds of children a year."

"It pays for my silence, you mean."

"It pays for results."

Connor stepped back. His chest was heaving. "Are you hearing yourself? You're talking about a child like she's a supply closet."

"I'm talking about reality." Dr. Sammy's voice dropped. Dangerous. Quiet. "The reality is, if we don't hit the volume, Nolan Riggs doesn't survive. And if Nolan Riggs doesn't survive, Jace Riggs pulls his funding. And if he pulls his funding, this hospital loses its transplant program. Do you understand what that means? That means every child after this one—every leukaemia patient, every immune disorder, every kid who needs a second chance—they get nothing. Because we couldn't take an extra sixty millilitres from a girl who was already here."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Dr. Sammy laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Fair died the moment you walked into this profession. Now step back and let me work."

Connor didn't move.

"Connor. Step. Back."

"No." Connor planted his feet. "I won't. Not until you promise me we stop at two-forty. No more."

"Two-forty won't be enough for Nolan."

"Then Nolan's parents should have found a larger donor."

Dr. Sammy's face went red. "You're finished here. Do you understand me? After today, you will no longer have a job in this hospital. In any hospital, I have influence over. And I have a lot of influence."

Connor swallowed. His throat bobbed. But he didn't look away.

"Fine." His voice cracked. "Then let me say this clearly. I don't care about my job. I don't care about your threats. I care about the little girl on this table. And if she dies on this table because we pushed too hard, I will testify. I will go to the press. I will make sure everyone knows what happened in this room today."

Dr. Sammy stared at him.

The monitors beeped. Slower now.

"Two-forty," Connor said. "Then we close. That's my final offer."

Dr. Sammy's hands hovered over the extraction site. His eyes flicked to the envelope on the counter. Then, to Ziva's pale face beneath the mask. Slacked. Completely unaware of the argument going on over her body.

"Two-fifty," he said. "Final."

Connor held his gaze. Ten seconds.

"Done. Two-fifty, and that's it."

The machine hummed again.

Connor watched the numbers. His hand rested on Ziva's ankle. The only comfort he could give.

"Pulse is thready," he said. "BP sixty-five over forty."

"We're almost there."

"Her body is telling us to stop."

"Twenty more millilitres. Then we close."

The machine clicked. The bag was filled.

"Two-forty five," Connor said.

"Almost."

The monitors beeped faster. An alarm started. Low and urgent.

"What's that?" Connor's head snapped up.

"Tachycardia. Her heart is compensating."

"Compensating or failing?"

Dr. Sammy didn't answer.

The alarm grew louder.

"Two-fifty," Connor shouted. "Stop. Now."

Dr. Sammy's hand hovered.

"Now!"

Dr. Sammy withdrew the needle. Pressed gauze to the site. His hands were shaking now.

"Close her up." Sammy said quietly.

Connor exhaled. His whole body sagged.

The nurses moved. Sutures. Bandages. The familiar rhythm of closing a wound.

Connor looked at Ziva's face. Her lips were grey. Her cheeks were sunken. She looked nothing like the little girl who had walked in this morning.

He leaned down. Whispered in her ear.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She didn't respond.

The monitors beeped. Slower. Slower.

"BP sixty over thirty-five," a nurse said.

"Push fluids."

"Already running."

The iPad on the shelf caught Connor's eye. The red light was still pulsing.

Still recording.

But the battery was dying now. The red light flickered.

But it kept recording.

Ziva's small hand twitched once. Then went still.

The lights burned on.

The machine hummed.

And somewhere, in a corner of the hospital, Jace Riggs was kissing and making out with Millie. Celebrating.

The iPad recorded until its last breath.