Part 2My Ex Came Back for Revenge, Only to Find Me Dead

"Mr. Miller? This is accounting. The ten thousand dollar deposit for Mrs. Davis's care is nearly depleted. You'll need to arrange further payment within 24 hours to continue services." The nurse's voice was flat, routine. It froze me to the core.

I clutched the pathetic five grand in my fist, knuckles white. "Damn it!" I slammed my hand against the damp concrete wall. Months of getting my brains beat in, and it still wasn't enough. Not even close.

A stale half-bagel tumbled out of my bag – tomorrow's breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I snatched it up, brushed off the grime. Time to go. But Alex caught up to me as I limped towards the exit.

"Hold up. What was that call? About Chloe's bill?" His voice was different now, confused. "You didn't… run off with the money? You've been paying for her?"

I didn’t want to explain. What difference did it make? Telling people wouldn't change anything.

But Alex wouldn't let it go. He grabbed my arm, spun me around, pinned me against the railing. "Tell me what the hell is going on, Jake!"

Pushed too far, something snapped. I threw his hand off, roaring, "It's exactly what you think! She's my wife! That's my kid she was carrying! She's sick! You think I'd just leave her?"

"Then why...?" Alex trailed off, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea how much she hates you right now? How hurt she is?"

"You don't understand!" I turned away, rain mixing with the blood dripping down my neck. "The doctors said… Chloe's eyes… only my corneas were a match…"

Alex’s hand dropped from my arm. He stumbled back. "So… this whole act… running off, the new wife story… you did it all… so she'd hate you?"

I didn't answer. Just walked out into the downpour.

I figured I'd never see Alex again. But the next night, when they dragged me off the canvas, barely conscious, he was there. Pushed through the jeering crowd, lifted me like I weighed nothing, and took me back to his place. Cleaned me up, best he could. Shoved a wad of cash in my hand before I left.

"Jake," he'd said gruffly, eyes red-rimmed, "we grew up together, man. You, me, Chloe. You're in trouble, I ain't gonna stand by." He tried to sound tough, but his voice trembled. "Take it. And don't you dare fucking die on me."

For three months, Alex showed up. Watched me get pulverized. Bandaged me up afterwards. The worst time, I got thrown from a five-foot platform, landed wrong. Coughed up blood, ended up in the ER. Woke up to Alex pacing like a caged tiger.

"You're insane, Jake! You keep this up, you're gonna kill yourself!"

I managed a weak smile. "It's okay. No more fights." Chloe's due date was almost here.

The day she went into labor, I was there, leaning on a crutch Alex had "borrowed" for me, pacing outside the delivery room. When that first tiny cry cut through the silence, I broke down, sobbing like a baby myself. Alex clapped me on the shoulder, grinning. "Alright! Go see 'em, man! Go see your family!"

I shook my head. Pointed to another form I held – a surgical consent form.

He read it. His face went slack, then white. "You're… giving Chloe… your eyes?"