The Stolen Kidney: My Husband's Betrayal

The Stolen Kidney: My Husband's Betrayal

Kattie Eaton

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Six months ago, our perfect family shattered. My son, Leo, suffered a profound brain injury, and I lost a kidney in a traumatic hit-and-run. My husband, Andrew, was my rock, always there with a soothing hand, a comforting word. But then, I heard it. A whispered confession from his office. Andrew, my loving husband, orchestrated Leo' s accident to gain an inheritance for his secret son. My hit-and-run was a setup, designed to harvest my kidney for his mistress, who needed a transplant. The man I married, the father of my child, tried to murder our son and carved me up like an animal for his other woman. He forced me to be a human blood bag for her, then threatened to bleed Leo dry and replace him with his illegitimate child. The ultimate horror struck at a party, when Andrew, consumed by rage, shoved Leo, causing a severe head injury. His ultimate act of betrayal? Leaving our bleeding son to fuss over his mistress' s minor scratch. How could the man I loved be such a monster? How could he betray us so utterly? The rage, the grief, the sheer disbelief threatened to consume me. But as he walked away, abandoning our child on the floor, something within me snapped. I would not break. I would play along, biding my time. My son was not an accident; he was a target. And now, so was I. But they had underestimated this mother' s rage. I was going to fight back.

Introduction

Six months ago, our perfect family shattered. My son, Leo, suffered a profound brain injury, and I lost a kidney in a traumatic hit-and-run. My husband, Andrew, was my rock, always there with a soothing hand, a comforting word.

But then, I heard it. A whispered confession from his office. Andrew, my loving husband, orchestrated Leo' s accident to gain an inheritance for his secret son. My hit-and-run was a setup, designed to harvest my kidney for his mistress, who needed a transplant.

The man I married, the father of my child, tried to murder our son and carved me up like an animal for his other woman. He forced me to be a human blood bag for her, then threatened to bleed Leo dry and replace him with his illegitimate child. The ultimate horror struck at a party, when Andrew, consumed by rage, shoved Leo, causing a severe head injury. His ultimate act of betrayal? Leaving our bleeding son to fuss over his mistress' s minor scratch.

How could the man I loved be such a monster? How could he betray us so utterly? The rage, the grief, the sheer disbelief threatened to consume me.

But as he walked away, abandoning our child on the floor, something within me snapped. I would not break. I would play along, biding my time. My son was not an accident; he was a target. And now, so was I. But they had underestimated this mother' s rage. I was going to fight back.

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Other books by Kattie Eaton

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Second Chances: Love After Betrayal

Second Chances: Love After Betrayal

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My best friend, Emily, and I married into the powerful Thorne family on the same day. We thought we had it all, living a dream life as two of the luckiest women in the world. That illusion shattered on a Tuesday afternoon when Emily burst into my sunroom, her face pale, shoving her phone at me. The screen showed paparazzi photos of her husband, Liam, with another woman – his "childhood sweetheart," Olivia Hayes. Before I could process Emily's fury, my own tablet lit up. A press release from my husband Ethan' s company announced Olivia as the new face of his lifestyle brand, complete with a smiling photo of her next to him. Not only was Olivia the source of my best friend's pain, but my own husband, who had been distant and forgotten our anniversary, had made her our company's public face without a word to me. All my grievances, the neglect, the loneliness-they all flooded back. He didn't even think to mention it, treating me like just another asset to manage, not a wife to love. A cold resolve settled over me. Emily, still raging about her post-divorce plans, saw the press release on my tablet. A dangerous smile spread across her face. "Well," she said, "Looks like we' re both in the market for an upgrade." "Okay," I declared, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. "I' m in. We' re getting divorced. And I' ll find male models who are better than Ethan." Our laughter, wild and unhinged, was cut short by a low, cold voice from the doorway: "Better than me?" My husband, Ethan, stood there. He must have heard everything.

Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Despair

Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Despair

Mafia

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My twin sister Haleigh returned with a fake diagnosis of Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer and a "dying wish" to marry my fiancé, Jameson Blair. Without a second thought, Jameson, the most feared Underboss in New York, took the three-carat diamond meant for me and slid it onto her finger. I became the spare. The obstacle standing in the way of a tragedy's happy ending. When Haleigh planted a brown recluse spider in my room, I was the one bitten and poisoned. Yet, my brothers kicked me while I was delirious with fever, accusing me of trying to terrorize their "dying" angel. On her birthday yacht party, a grill tipped over during a storm. My synthetic dress caught fire instantly. As flames seared the skin off my legs, I screamed for help. But Jameson and my brothers formed a human shield around Haleigh, frantically checking her hand for a single speck of ash while I burned alive just ten feet away. The final straw came at the cliffs. Haleigh staged a suicide attempt to frame me for bullying her. To teach me a lesson, Jameson bound my wrists and hung me over the edge of the abyss on a rope, leaving me dangling helplessly over the churning ocean. They thought they were punishing a monster. They didn't know I had a jagged rock in my hand. As they drove away to comfort the liar, I didn't wait for them to come back. I sawed through the rope myself and let the ocean take me. Three years later, after discovering Haleigh never had cancer, my brothers and Jameson found me alive in Florence. They knelt on the cobblestones, weeping, begging for a second chance. I looked at the men who had watched me burn. "You aren't sorry you hurt me," I said, turning to walk away with another man. "You're just sorry you bet on the wrong sister."

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