The fluorescent lights of the lab hummed with an anxious energy. Dr. Maya Khan clipped the final report onto the lightbox, turning to face William and Julian.
“It’s confirmed,” Maya said, her voice professional but tight. “You are a 100% HLA match. It’s as if you are donating to yourself. The rejection risk is virtually nonexistent.”
William exhaled, a sound of relief. “Then let’s book the OR.”
“Wait,” Julian interjected, stepping forward. He pointed to the secondary screen monitoring William’s vitals. “We need to talk about the anesthesia risk. Your stress tests aren’t clean, William. The last six months–the divorce, the mania, the ‘Silent Winter’–have taken a toll.”
“Your heart is showing signs of arrhythmia,” Maya warned, referencing the symbolic ‘broken heart’ that plagued the family narrative. “Putting you under deep anesthesia for a nephrectomy puts significant strain on your cardiac system. There is a non-zero chance your heart could stop on the table.”
William looked at the scan, then at the door leading to his brother’s room. “My heart has survived worse than a scalpel, Maya. Malcolm dies without this. I don’t.” He rolled down his sleeve. “Do the surgery.”