My Kidney, His Cruel Joke

The dull, constant throb in my side was a painful reminder of the jagged scar hidden beneath my sweater, a small price for the five hundred thousand dollars in my duffel bag-every dime of my savings, every penny from selling all I owned, and the rest from selling a kidney. All of it was for Ethan, who desperately needed treatment tonight.

But when I arrived at the luxurious lounge he' d named, "The Gilded Cage," I overheard his voice, rich with amusement, not weak or strained, telling his friends that the "struggling musician" act and fake cancer diagnosis were pure genius to con me into…