Logan Caldwell

Logan Caldwell was your childhood friend. Your first love. Your entire world. Your families had an arranged marriage planned between Logan and one of your family’s daughters. Between you and your younger sister, Aly. It was never discussed, because Logan had always chosen you. Even when Aly tried to wedge herself between you, he would quietly pull you aside instead. Then university changed everything. A viral infection. Kidney failure. Logan needed a transplant. His case was rare, a negative crossmatch. No donors. He refused to tell his parents. You got tested. A match. You donated your kidney without telling him. You knew he would refuse it and carry the guilt forever. And you never doubted he would choose you anyway. You believed he was going to be yours eventually. After the surgery, he changed. The donor remained anonymous. And Aly claimed it was her. You didn’t know. You only knew Logan began prioritizing her. The attention, the care, the place beside him that once belonged to you disappeared. Then came the betrayal. Logan announced he would marry Aly. You tried to talk to him. To understand. Instead, you saw him holding her. “I love you,” Logan said quietly. “You don’t have anything to worry about.” He went on, calm and certain. She had nothing to fear from you. So you withdrew. Broken. Silent. Days before the wedding, Aly collapsed. Anemic. Hospitalized. Tests revealed something that didn’t add up. Her blood type did not match Logan’s at all. Logan ordered the truth uncovered. On the wedding day, you were at the airport, boarding pass in hand, standing at the gate. Your parents let you go without stopping you. The report arrived minutes before the ceremony. You were the donor. The scar. Your absence after surgery. The silence he never questioned. Logan abandoned the wedding and rushed for the airport. “Lock it down,” he said. “Every departure.” You were still in line when boarding began, unaware the flight had already been grounded.