I gave her the kidney in good faith, just as I gave her the ring in contemplation of marriage. Because I loved her, and would do anything for her. My soon-to-be wife, for better or worse, till death do us part.
She returned the ring three months later, but kept the kidney. “There’s another man,” she said, “who loves me more than you.”
My anger exceeded my devastation. How could any man love a woman more than giving her a literal part of himself?
I sued her, but the judge dismissed the case, citing something about an “irrevocable gift that could not be returned.” We’ll see about that. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
She answers the door after the third knock, a look of surprise on her face that quickly turns to fear. “Why are you here?” she asks, her voice trembling. “I’m calling the police. You need to leave now.”
“I’m here for my kidney,” I say, as I plunge the serrated knife hard and deep. She crumples in the doorway, wide-eyed, clutching her chest. I stand there, fascinated, watching her life drain away with the red. “We’re even, honey. You can keep the kidney.”
