AB Negative
Harvey's never believed an appendage makes a man.
His father taught him there are more important things a person should own; compassion, family, love... A belief his mother blew to shit when she cheated, knocking him into a different life.
Maintaining a strong physique, impeccable suits and flashing cash, all dressed up the deep-seated fear that no matter what, everyone leaves. He wore his armor with pride. Openly mocked those who hung their hearts around their necks like a medallion. For years he surrounded himself with people and power and city lights that never breached his walls, only painted them with temptation, and he rejoiced in the safety of solitude.
He didn't care for the bleeding hearts that littered the ground he walked. Sympathy was for the weak and determination for the brave. Morality was a fools game designed to keep sheep in herds and wolves low in their numbers.
Things might have turned out differently had his father's beliefs not been abolished by reality. Had he found a way to forgive his mother sooner, maybe he wouldn't be laying in a hospital bed, facing his own mortality and questioning the road he traveled to get here. Though regret isn't an ink he's ever liked to let dry. Far better to write a more hopeful end than go back and scribble all over pages of history that can't be erased.
Which is why, when the door to his room swings open, he tries to smile. But his mouth feels like a block of wet putty, so he isn't entirely sure the sentiment translates as Donna's soft expression bleeds the strain of tension from his eyes.
He's missing a piece of himself, and maybe a year ago he would have felt like a lesser man. But a year ago compassion, family and love were still an out of reach myth. He can survive without a kidney, he can't live without his wife. "Hey."
"You didn't have to—"
"Stop." The word feels like cotton in his mouth, and he's thankful when she tips a glass of water to his lips. He knows he didn't have to. She has the same rare blood type he shares with her father. Jim could have waited an hour for her to arrive, there was time. But he was already here, and it had to be one of them—he wanted to do this for her. "Your father's family."
She places the cup down, finally answering his smile. "Thank you, Harvey."
Grateful tears decorate her cheeks as she sits down, taking his hand. But he's the one who should be thanking her. She taught him how to follow in his own father's footsteps.
And he's a better man for loving her.