My new heart wasn’t beating for Fiona, it felt numb. My soul was astonished. The good memories I shared with her tried to knock on the door of my love for her, but were unsuccessful at moving me to unlock it. I scanned Fiona from head to toe and judged her to be beautiful despite gaining weight, even so, I felt Bettie was perfect fit for me just like my mother said. I subsequently landed my eyes on Fiona’s bump: she looked well matured in an oversized yellow dress, a wrap one.

“Elijah, my love.” Fiona impeded my thoughts, placing her hands on her wide waist.

“Hi.” I cleared my throat twice, staring at her like a total stranger. “Is that…what you’re carrying…our child?” I asked in a low tone.

Fiona nodded her head yes, silent tears flowing from her eyes. “I saw you kissing Bettie. What’s going on?” she asked, snorting.

Her voice carried weight as evidenced by trembling. I knew we were about to argue. She had a right to be jealous of course.

I stood up from the couch in attempt to calm her, or I would say dishonestly calm her. “You were not here when—”

“I’ve been here since you were hospitalized two months ago,” she interrupted me.

“Oh, alright…okay.” I lost eye contact.

“I’m very happy you’re alive.” She stepped closer and hugged me—her bump poked my belly (I felt connected to our child). “I missed you, did you?” she queried.

“I…missed you too.” I hesitated to hug her as she sobbed into my chest. I could feel her desperation to regain me.

I pecked her trimmed hair and she cried even louder; she may have thought I meant love, but it was just a fake on my part.

“Let me get you something I cooked,” she said, wiping her tears as she walked away.

I remained rooted on my spot, trying to make sense of my life. I regretted the heart transplant without blaming myself or anyone whilst my soul again announced its intentions to reject my new heart. I lost the strength in my legs and fell.

After a while, I reopened my eyes and found my mother by my side. I was in bed and oxygen tubes were back in my nostrils. My mother noticed my eyes and pretended not to cry. I slowly turned my head to concentrate on her.

“My son, I’m here for you,” snorted Diana, holding my right hand in her warm hands.

“What happened to me?” I asked in a weaker tone.

“You collapsed in the morning. What’s bothering you?” asked Diana.

I sighed like my last. “It’s a story about Fiona and Bettie.”

I narrated my love story to my mother. I told her everything about five subjects: my old heart, Fiona, Dr. McCain, my new heart and Bettie. I encouraged my mother to take care of Fiona’s pregnancy and to tell my story to others if any case I don’t make it out alive (because in my collapse I heard Dr. McCain telling her that my body was rejecting this new heart).

“I’ll do so, my son.” Diana vowed, sobbing. “I’ll also take Doctor McCain to court, I feel he didn’t do his best to treat you because of jealous.”

I wanted to tell her that she had a point there, but I didn’t have a chance to.