The campus heartthrob I’d secretly loved for three years asked me to donate my heart to save his fiancée as his very first words to me.
I smiled and named my price: be my boyfriend for three months, and I’d give her my heart.
For those three months, he walked me to and from school, helped me with my homework, and bought me candy. I almost believed that this tenderness, bought with my life, was real.
But when a suitable heart became available, I still packed my suitcase and left.
I told him I was going to Australia, but had my grave dug beside the lake where we first met.
Years later, he came looking for me. Before my lonely grave at the heart of the lake, he lay beside me in his suit, clutching a marriage certificate.
