The Underestimated Husband's Dominance

Chapter 2

The doctor spoke carefully, looking between the machines and the chart in his hands. “Mrs. Drayton, Mr. Carver’s condition is critical. He’s losing blood faster than we can replace. We checked our supplies and the other admitted patients’ records. So far, there is only one compatible match.”

Connor tried to focus. His world felt thin and fragile, like tissue paper. He could see Lena standing there stiffly.

“And who is that?” Lena asked, her voice almost sounding bored, as though this were an annoyance to be dealt with and then forgotten.

The doctor swallowed, stammering a little. “It’s… Mr. Drayton, your husband. Connor’s blood type matches Mr. Carver’s. If he agrees, we can transfuse from him. But I should warn you. Mr. Drayton has already lost blood in the crash. Taking more could risk weakening him further.”

Connor’s heart paced. The word match landed like a stone. He wanted to reach out, to speak up, to tell the doctor he was barely hanging on, but his mouth felt heavy, his throat dry. He watched Lena instead, waiting for the one soft look he’d been hoping for.

She turned to the doctor with the exact same cold voice. “Then what are you waiting for? Do it. Take whatever Benjamin needs.”

A cold numbness washed through Connor. He tried to make sense of it. “Lena…” he said with a raw voice. “You want them to take my blood? You can’t just—”

She didn’t look at him. “You’ll be fine,” she said briskly, as if dismissing a minor inconvenience. “You always pull through.”

The doctor stepped forward with his hands up in a professional gesture. “Mrs. Drayton, with respect, Mr. Drayton’s vitals are unstable. We should consider the risk, if we draw too much now, it could compromise his recovery.”

Lena snapped as she grew impatient. “Do whatever it takes to keep Benjamin alive. I don’t want excuses. If you can save him with Connor’s blood, then save him.”

Connor tried to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasped. “I was in the crash too. I’m dizzy, I’m weak. You can’t just…”

Lena finally looked at him, and whenever she had looked at him before it had been with a kind of restrained tolerance, not love. Now her gaze was cold. “Stop whining, Connor,” she said flatly. “You’re not dying. This is a small sacrifice. Benjamin needs this.”

He stared at her. “Benjamin? Lena, he’s—he’s your ex. You left him. He’s not your…”

“Don’t make this about you, Connor,” she interrupted. “He mattered to me. He still matters to me. He helped me at a time when it counted. If you can give what’s needed, then give it.”

The doctor looked uncomfortable. “Mrs. Drayton—”

Connor pushed a hand weakly toward the doctor. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely. “Tell her. Tell her what this will do to me. If you draw too much, I might not…”

Lena’s laugh was small and bitter. “Tell me? I’ve heard him cry before. I’ve heard him make himself small to win pity. This isn’t about pity. This is about who actually did for me when I needed help. Benjamin was there.”

The doctor’s face was conflicted. He glanced at Connor’s chart, then at the steady beep of the monitors. “Mr. Drayton has already lost a considerable amount,” he said gently. “We can take a unit, but beyond that we risk hypovolemia. I don’t want to make a choice that harms him.”

Lena’s expression hardened. She stepped in close until she was almost right over Connor. “If you refuse,” she said in a low, icy voice that made the doctor and the nurse in the doorway straighten, “if you refuse to help, then we have nothing to talk about. I will not have a husband who won’t do what is necessary and always choose to be useless. You refuse, and I will end this marriage. Do you understand me?”

Connor’s heart sank. The words landed heavier than any blow. “You’d divorce me… for this?” he breathed. “Over a transfusion?”

“Over your cowardice,” Lena said without hesitation. “You’ve made this marriage useless. If you won’t step up even once, then step out.”

The room grew quiet except for the machines. Connor felt small and foolish and raw. He swallowed. His throat became tight. “So that’s it,” he said softly, more to himself than to her. “I’m just a resource when you need one. Not a man you love.”

Lena did not move. “You can call it what you like. I call it reality.”

The doctor cleared his throat, the professional mask slipping for a second as the human in him showed. “Mrs. Drayton, Mr. Drayton, this is a medical decision. I need informed consent from Mr. Drayton for any transfusion. He must agree to it.”

Connor looked at the doctor, and for the first time that day the doctor met his eyes squarely. There was sympathy there. “If you wish to proceed,” the doctor said to Connor, “we’ll only take what’s safe. We’ll monitor you closely.”

Lena’s jaw tightened. “Do it,” she said finally, as if ending a transaction. “Prepare the transfusion.”

Connor let out a hollow laugh that turned into a cough. He felt hollowed out, not just by blood but by something that had been hollowing him for years, the slow, steady knowledge that he’d never been the one Lena loved. “If I survive this,” he whispered with a breaking voice, “I’ll remember this.”

Lena straightened her jacket, already turning away. “Then survive. And keep out of my way.”

The doctor hesitated, his conscience and protocol warring with the woman’s command.

The nurse stepped forward to start prepping the supplies. Connor lay back, small in the hospital bed, listening to the shuffling feet and the sound of syringe caps clicking open.