After Our Son Died in Second Marrow Harvest, Husband Regretted

To save my daughter Sophie Abbott when her leukemia relapsed, I went through six rounds of hormone stimulation, two miscarriages, a hemorrhage after delivery, and finally gave birth to Leslie, the one match she needed.

The year Leslie turned five, he completed his marrow harvest.

Those life-saving cells that should have gone straight into Sophie's transplant unit were signed away instead, by my husband Patrick Vance, to the son of his first love, Melanie Acevedo.

He lied to me. He said an overseas donor would arrive in three days.

Sophie held on for three days. In the end she died in my arms.

I was destroyed with grief, and then, of all things, Irvin Fox developed graft rejection, and Patrick wanted Leslie, still burning with fever, to donate his marrow a second time.

The doctor said another harvest might mean the boy never came off the operating table. I knelt on the floor and begged him, and he had security drag me away.

"Sophie is already dead. Are you going to stand there and watch Irvin die too?"

Two hours later, a nurse wheeled out a small bed with a white sheet over it.

Patrick pulled me in, my hands still covered in blood.

"Stephanie Simmons, it's all right. We're still young. We can have another."

I didn't cry. I just tucked away both my children's death certificates.

He didn't know that this body of mine, worn down by the miscarriages and the births, would never carry a child again.

And that after tonight, he would never have a wife again either.

Sophie's heart stopped at three in the morning.

When the monitor started shrieking, I was still kneeling at her bedside, holding a hand that had wasted down to bone.

For three days she had kept asking me,

"Mommy, is my little brother a superhero? With his help, does that mean it won't hurt anymore? When is he getting here?"

Every time, I told her soon. But soon never came for Sophie.

The doctor took off his mask and said he had done everything he could.

I wiped the blood from her lips and fastened the top button of her hospital gown.

The nurse who had cared for her handed me a piece of paper, her eyes red.

"Mommy, when I get better, I'll protect little brother. I'll be his hero."

I stared at it a long time, long enough for my tears to run dry, and then I asked,

"The marrow Leslie donated three days ago. Why was it never brought over?"

No one in the room answered. There was only the doctor's flickering expression and the nurse's face, full of anger she couldn't voice.

I turned and went to find Patrick.

The other side of the transplant center was blazing with light. Melanie sat at the bedside of Irvin, who had the same leukemia, and Patrick stood behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

I moved closer, step by step, until I could read the donor's name spelled out plainly on the electronic screen. Leslie Simmons.

My son. The marrow that should have gone to his own sister.

I rushed in.

"Why is Sophie's marrow here? That's what my son donated."

Melanie's face changed.

Patrick turned, his eyes worn out.

"Irvin took a sudden turn for the worse last night. He couldn't wait for a new donor, so we had to use Sophie's."

Irvin wasn't the only one who took a turn for the worse. My Sophie died last night.

"Patrick, that's the marrow my son donated. Sophie is your own daughter! You gave up on Sophie to save a stranger?"

"What stranger? Both children were waiting to be saved. Irvin's case was more urgent. The overseas donor's marrow arrived. Sophie will be fine soon."

Patrick had arranged everything, so pleased with himself, but my Sophie couldn't wait for marrow anymore. She was already dead.

Half-blind with rage, I slapped Sophie's death notice against his chest.

"Your daughter couldn't wait. She's dead. She's already dead!"

The paper slid to the floor.

Patrick went rigid. Melanie was already crying, clutching at my hand.

"Stephanie, hit me, curse me, whatever you want, but Irvin is only seven. I can't watch him die! I'll pay for Sophie's life, I beg you, don't blame Patrick, he only did it for me!"

I threw her off and stared at Patrick, hurting so much I couldn't squeeze out a single tear.

"So you already knew Leslie's marrow would never reach Sophie. To save Melanie's son, you could stand by and watch your own daughter go to her death. Is that it?"

He said nothing. The silence itself was the clearest answer.

Crying came from the far end of the corridor.

A nurse was wheeling Leslie out, his face ghostly pale, a thick wad of gauze taped to the small of his back.

He saw me and forced himself up, still smiling at me.

"Mommy, did Sophie get to use my marrow?"

I choked, and not one word would come.

He was so small. He had bravely gone up on that operating table to save his sister. How could I tell him that his sister was gone, that the marrow he had nearly killed himself to give had gone into someone else's body?

Patrick pressed him back down.

"Be good, Leslie. There was a little accident on Sophie's side."

Leslie saw the death notice in my hand, and his tears spilled over.

"Is Sophie dead?"

I held him.

He was shaking all over from the pain, and still he whispered,

"Mommy, I'm sorry. I didn't save Sophie."

He was only five years old.

From the day he was born, everyone had told him he had come into this world to save his sister.

Six years ago, when Sophie was first diagnosed with leukemia, I had given her a transplant. After it failed, I went through six rounds of hormone stimulation.

Two miscarriages, and the last time seven months of bed rest to hold on to the pregnancy. I hardly ever got up, all so I could give birth to a child who was a match for Sophie.

The day Leslie was born, I hemorrhaged, and Patrick held my hand and said,

"Stephanie, our child can be saved now! I'll never let you and the children suffer again!"

Now Sophie was dead, and Leslie could barely lift his hand.

I shoved Patrick aside and held Leslie tight.

"Mommy's taking you home right now."

But Patrick blocked the way. He kept his head down, not daring to meet my eyes.

"Leslie can't leave yet."

Melanie explained, wiping her tears,

"After the transplant Irvin might reject it. The doctors recommend the donor stay in the hospital, and if it's needed, there'll have to be a second harvest."

A second harvest.

My Leslie was only five. The doctor had said it was a miracle he'd survived the table at his age. How could he possibly go through a second harvest?

I looked at Patrick.

In silence, he handed the authorization form to the hospital security.

"For the next few days, Leslie will be under the transplant center's care."

Two guards held me back at the door, and I saw clearly the signature at the bottom.

Guardian. Patrick Vance.

Two security guards blocked me at the door. Leslie struggled to get out of bed at once.

"I want Mommy!"

The gauze at the small of his back was already soaking through with blood, and a nurse rushed to hold him down.

I tried to force my way past, but the guards wrenched my arms behind me and dragged me to the end of the corridor.

My baby, no!

I fought them like my life meant nothing, and Leslie cried out for me the whole way, but no matter how hard we struggled, the door to his room swung shut.

Dr. Dickerson, his attending physician, came running out and pushed a test result into my hand, frantic.

"Leslie's mom, his fever won't break, his platelets are at half the normal count, the first harvest has already damaged his body. He cannot go back on that operating table anytime soon. It will kill him!"

Kill him?

The world went black in front of me.

"Does Patrick know?"

Dr. Dickerson was silent a moment.

"He signed the risk consent form himself."

So Patrick had allowed everything that was being done to Leslie.

My legs gave out, and a cold sweat broke over me from sheer terror.

No. I had already lost Sophie. I could not lose Leslie too.

I took that paper and went to arrange his discharge, but the nurse told me Patrick had put a hold on Leslie's paperwork, citing a dispute between guardians.

Even Sophie's death certificate and medical records couldn't be released until the hospital's investigation was finished.

Melanie came toward me carrying Irvin's coat, tears still in the corners of her eyes.

"Stephanie, Patrick only wanted to save one more child. Sophie was never going to make it. If Irvin can be saved, both Patrick and I will be grateful to you."

I stared at this woman who couldn't hide her triumph. She was flaunting my son's life to my face.

I slapped her across the cheek.

She let herself fall against the treatment cart, and Irvin's IV pump started blaring. Melanie flung herself into the room, sobbing that I'd tried to pull out Irvin's line to avenge Sophie.

Patrick came quickly.

He didn't ask a single question about what had happened. He just had the guards pin me against the nurses' station, my face pressed to the cold counter, my wrists cinched until they bled.

He looked at me, the guilt gone now, nothing left but endless irritation.

"I know you're grieving Sophie, but no matter what, you can't take it out on a child. Irvin is innocent. He lost his father when he was little. He's more pitiful than Sophie ever was."

As he spoke, he pushed a document in front of me. It said Leslie had donated his marrow to Irvin's recovery of his own free will, and that Sophie's death had nothing to do with Irvin.

The more I read, the more something broke loose in me.

"Patrick, Sophie is dead, and now you want to force Leslie to his death too! He can't survive a second harvest. It will kill him!"

"Don't sign, and you don't take Sophie, and you never see Leslie."

I looked up at this man I no longer recognized. He knew I would give my own life for my two children, so every single time he used them to force me to my knees.

In the end, I signed.

In front of everyone in that room, I told Melanie I was sorry.

At last she was satisfied. She handed me Sophie's death certificate and the bag of her belongings.

Inside there was only a hospital gown, a hairclip with the paint worn off, and that paper on which she'd written that she would protect her little brother.

After the cremation was done, I carried Sophie's ashes through the lobby. In the patient families' group chat, the surveillance screenshots Melanie had posted were already everywhere.

I had become the villain who deliberately harmed her and her child. People pointed at me and cursed me, saying my own daughter had died so now I wanted to kill someone else's child.

A woman rushed over and shoved me.

I went down hard onto my knees, the urn in my arms striking the steps. I didn't care about the blood on my knees. I only pulled it tight against my chest.

Patrick stepped out of the elevator, and his face changed in an instant.

He drove off the people crowding around and handed me a document envelope.

"Stephanie, I'll make it up to you for what happened to Sophie. The fertility center has already scheduled your appointment. Once your body has recovered, we can have another matched-donor child, just like Leslie."

Trembling, I opened the file, looked at the egg-retrieval date printed in bright red, and closed my eyes.

Six rounds of ovarian stimulation, two miscarriages, a postpartum hemorrhage. To him it all came down to one notice that could restart everything whenever he wanted.

Sophie had never been in his heart. Neither had I.

I quietly put the file back into his hand, turned, and carried Sophie away.

It rained all night at the cemetery.

Alone, I set up Sophie's headstone and laid her favorite hairclip beside her photo.

"Sophie, Mommy didn't keep you safe."

Once the words were out, I finally couldn't hold on, and collapsed into the mud and rain.

When I opened my eyes again, Patrick was sitting beside the hospital bed, playing the video of me collapsed at the grave on his phone.

"Melanie's been getting cursed at all night. Stephanie, did you let someone film all this on purpose, just to blow the whole thing up?"

"Delete the video."

Patrick tossed his phone onto the edge of the bed. I didn't touch it. I only asked him,

"Where's Leslie?"

"Still in the transplant center."

I pulled back the blanket and got out of bed. The moment my knees hit the floor they buckled with pain, and Patrick reached out to catch me. His voice finally softened.

"Stephanie, stop putting yourself through this. Sophie's already gone. We still have Leslie, and we can have another daughter someday. When that happens, we'll still be a family of four. Nothing has to change."

His palm was warm, and he smelled of the perfume Melanie always wore.

Disgusting.

I shoved him off hard, doubled over the edge of the bed, and heaved until my whole body shook. There was nothing in my stomach, only sour bile rising again and again.

Patrick's face went dark.

"Stephanie, don't push your luck. What, I touch you once and now you can't stand it?"

I wiped my mouth and only repeated it.

"I want to see Leslie."

After I begged and struggled, I found Leslie outside the donor ward, pressed up against the glass, waiting for me.

The moment he saw me he lifted up the hero's badge Sophie had given him.

"Mommy, has sis gone to heaven already? I miss her so much. When can I see her again?"

I flattened my hand against the glass, forced the lump in my throat back down, and comforted him.

"Sophie's doing very well right now. She wanted Mommy to tell you that when you saved her, you were so brave. Like a real superhero."

His eyes went red, but he still tried to smile at me.

"That's so good! Then I'll do the draw one more time and bring sis back!"

Draw? What had Patrick told Leslie?

My chest felt like it was being torn open. Before I could answer, Melanie was already walking over with people from the hospital.

"Stephanie, you posted that video from the cemetery, so now there are reporters all over the hallway outside Irvin's ward, and now you want to take Leslie away too. Are you trying to cut off my son's only chance to live?"

She held out a rejection report. The look in her eyes was pure, bone-deep hatred.

Irvin's first transplant had failed. They needed another harvest.

I slapped the test results Dr. Dickerson had given me down in front of Patrick, my eyes red.

"Leslie has a fever that won't break, and his platelets are half the normal level. You signed the risk disclosure. You know he'll die!"

Melanie was crying, tugging at his sleeve.

"Patrick, Irvin's out of time."

I stared at Patrick, not looking away.

"When Sophie was waiting for marrow, you saw her critical-condition assessment too, didn't you?"

He was silent for a long time. At last he spoke.

"I saw it."

Three words, and they crushed the last shred of hope I'd been holding onto.

"You knew Sophie wouldn't last three days?"

"The overseas donor was already going through confirmation. I thought she could hold on. Irvin only had Leslie as a donor back then. I could only save him first."

"So you gambled your own daughter's life on an outcome you knew was already lost? Patrick, you're heartless."

Anger flickered in Patrick's eyes.

"Stephanie, you schemed your way into marrying me back then, didn't you? Wasn't it all for this? You could use me as your stepping stone, so why can't I let Leslie save Irvin just once?"

I grabbed the scissors off the treatment tray and lunged at him. A security guard slammed into me, and the scissors only grazed his arm.

Melanie shrieked, snatched up a shattered medicine vial, and cut a bleeding line across her own wrist.

"It's all my fault. I'll pay Sophie back with my life right now!"

Patrick dropped me at once, caught her in his arms, and shouted for a doctor.

The next second, a shrill alarm went off in Irvin's ward.

Her face streaming with tears, Melanie begged him:

"Patrick, save Irvin. Please."

Dr. Dickerson was blocking the door of the harvest room, still making his last stand.

"Leslie's infection hasn't cleared. If you do a second harvest now, he may never come off that operating table!"

Patrick glanced at his son behind the glass.

Leslie was patting the door, calling for his daddy.

He paused for a moment. Guilt crossed his face and was gone. Then he still took the consent form and signed his name in the guardian's line.

"Harvest him now. If anything goes wrong, I'll take responsibility."

"I won't allow it!"

I lunged for the consent form, but a security guard caught me from behind.

Patrick handed the signed papers to the nurse.

"Prep him now."

I kicked and thrashed until the guard's grip cut a raw line into my wrist.

"Patrick, Leslie still has a fever! He's only five. You've already killed Sophie. Are you going to put him on that table too?"

At last he looked at me.

"It's just a routine marrow draw. Irvin can't wait any longer. I can't stand by and watch him die!"

"And Leslie? What about your son!"

He didn't answer. He shut his eyes.

The guard dragged me into the family waiting room and locked the door from outside. I pounded on the glass, watching them wheel Leslie out.

He was swallowed up in an oversized surgical gown, his face frighteningly pale, and when he saw me he still tried to lift his hand.

"Mom, after this draw, Sophie can come back, right?"

I shook my head as hard as I could through the glass.

"Leslie, don't go! Sophie can't come back. Mom just wants you to come back!"

He froze, and the tears spilled over.

"Then why did Dad say if I'm brave one more time, Sophie will forgive me from heaven?"

Leslie wiped his eyes and turned it around to comfort me instead.

"Don't cry, Mom. After this one draw we'll go home, and I'll protect you from now on."

But the surgical bed kept rolling forward.

Patrick heard those words, and his steps stopped.

It felt like the last hope in the world, and I threw everything I had into hitting the glass.

"Please, leave him here! I'll agree to anything. I'll apologize to Melanie, I won't press the matter of Sophie's marrow, I just want Leslie alive!"

But Melanie came rushing out of the ward and dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Patrick, Irvin's almost gone!"

Patrick closed his eyes and finally waved the nurse on.

When the operating room door shut, I grabbed a chair and swung it at the glass, again and again.

On the third swing, the glass finally cracked.

The shards sliced my arm and my palm, and I ran through my own blood. Before I even reached the operating room, the frantic sound of resuscitation had already started inside.

"BP's dropping!"

"Massive bleeding, transfuse him now!"

I threw myself at the door and a nurse held me back with all her strength.

Patrick hurried over, and for the first time there was panic on his face.

"That's not possible! It was only a marrow draw. Nothing could happen to Leslie!"

Half an hour later, Dr. Dickerson came out of the operating room and pulled down his mask.

"I'm sorry, Leslie's mom. We couldn't save him."

I shoved past him and rushed in.

Leslie lay quietly on the bed, his chest no longer rising and falling, the hero's badge Sophie had given him still clutched in his hand.

I gathered him into my arms, and no matter how I held him, I couldn't warm him.

Patrick stood in the doorway, his voice shaking.

"Stephanie, I didn't mean for him to die. I only wanted to save Irvin. This was just an accident!"

Irvin! Irvin! What did Melanie's child ever have to do with me!

I broke completely, and I turned and set Sophie's and Leslie's death confirmations down in front of him.

"You saved Melanie's child twice, and you killed both of your own children. Patrick, I hate you. I will never forgive you as long as I live. You and Melanie, you're going to answer for my children's deaths!"

"I will not let you get away with this! I won't!"

Melanie came after me, crying, urging him to send me to psych first so I wouldn't blow the whole thing up.

Patrick didn't stop her. He let it stand.

I held Leslie one last time and slipped out of the hospital while they argued.

The wind was strong on the great river bridge.

By the time Patrick caught up, I was already standing outside the railing. He reached his hand out to me, still thinking I was forcing him to back down.

"Stephanie, come back. Don't threaten me with your life! If you die, both children are gone for good!"

I let the two death confirmations go into the wind and looked at them with all my longing.

"You used Sophie to save Irvin once, then you used Leslie to save him a second time. Patrick, I have nothing left, and I owe you nothing now."

His face went white, and he rushed at me.

I let go, and fell backward into the river.

The last thing I saw was him kneeling at the railing, holding nothing but a torn, blood-stained sleeve.