I gave my husband one of my kidneys because I believed love meant sacrifice. I never imagined that saving his life would be the moment he decided to destroy mine.Not long ago, I donated a kidney to my husband, Nick.But just two days after the surgery, he weakly said, “You finally fulfilled your purpose. Let’s get divorced. Truth is, I can’t stand you. And I never loved you.”I was still weak and groggy myself, my side stitched and aching every time I shifted in the hospital bed.At first, I thought he was trying to be funny. I even gave a weak smile.”Stop,” I whispered. “The nurse will hear you.””I’m not joking, Rachel,” he said.Something inside me went quiet.We had been married and living together for 15 years at that point.When Nick became seriously ill, I didn’t hesitate. I gave him my kidney because I loved him more than anything.

When the transplant coordinator asked if I was sure, I said, “Test me first. I don’t care what it takes.”
Nick squeezed my hand back then.But after getting what he wanted, he wanted to leave me. I was devastated.That wasn’t even the worst part.He wanted to take our daughter, Chloe.explained it as if he were talking about refinancing the house.Full custody makes sense. You’ll be recovering. You won’t be stable.”I stared at him. “I just saved your life!””And I appreciate that,” he replied, adjusting his blanket as if we were discussing the weather. “But appreciation doesn’t equal love.”I feared for Chloe more than for myself.When I was discharged and arrived home, walking up the stairs felt like climbing a mountain.