Chapter 2

My ears buzzed violently.

Suddenly, a story Grandma used to harp on came flooding back into my mind.

Back when prenatal care was less accessible, Dad didn't take Mom to the city clinic for an ultrasound until she was already five months along.

It contradicted the old wives' tales and superstitious signs Grandma had banked on.

Mom was carrying a second girl.

The entire family was crushed.

Especially Mom.

She threw herself down stairs, lifted heavy furniture, drank boiling concoctions—she did every dangerous thing a pregnant woman wasn't supposed to do, desperately trying to trigger a miscarriage.

Yet my heartbeat remained stubbornly strong.

She had no choice but to beg a clinic for an abortion, but at five months, the procedure was too dangerous and doctors flat-out refused. She was forced to carry me to term.

So the story Grandma constantly threw in my face was real.

Mom had never wanted me in this world.

Desperate, I thought of Emily.

I looked at Dad and whispered softly, "What about Emily? She’s older than me. Shouldn’t she get tested too?"

Dad glared at me with pure disgust.

"Your sister is studying for her college entrance exams."

Mom snapped coldly, "Emily already got tested. She wasn't a match. That’s the only reason we even called you."

I froze.

Before I could open my mouth, a hard, stinging slap cracked across my face.

"You useless little burden! Why wasn't it you who got sick instead of my precious boy? Why is my life so cursed? Are you actually trying to refuse to donate? If you dare back out, I swear I’ll beat you to death!"

The doctor couldn't bear to watch any longer. He stepped in and pulled me behind him.

"Keep your voice down, this is a hospital!"

"And she's just a child. It's completely normal for her to be scared. Bone marrow extraction is painful."

I couldn't stand being the center of pity and ridicule in the hallway anymore.

Tears blurred my vision as I choked back a sob.

"Grandma, I'll do it. If I'm a match, I swear I'll donate to save Leo. Just please... stop making a scene in front of everyone."

Grandma reached out and brutally pinched my bare arm.

The sharp pain sent fresh tears streaming down my cheeks.

She yanked me forward.

Like a broken puppet, I followed the nurses for a battery of tests, then missed several days of school to prepare for the procedure.

To everyone's delight, the match was a perfect ten out of ten.

Mom, Dad, and Grandma were overjoyed.

Mom even gave me a rare, fleeting smile.

Ironically, the doctor told them that for the graft to be optimal, the donor needed to be in peak physical condition.

Only then was I finally allowed to eat good food.

All my life, I had never tasted prime cuts of beef or lamb.

Even basic pork was something I only got a tiny taste of during holiday dinners.

So the first time a plate of roast beef was placed in front of me, I devoured it like a starving animal, wiping the plate completely clean.

I held onto the empty dish, wishing I could lick every stray drop of gravy.

Mom watched me with sheer repulsion and rolled her eyes.

"I have no idea how I gave birth to such a shameless glutton."

"Eating like a feral pig. Disgusting."

Growing up, I had heard insults like that thousands of times.

So I didn't react.

I just kept my head down, shoveling whatever scraps remained into my mouth, grease smeared across my lips.

When I was finally full, I let out a soft burp.

Then I curled into bed and fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

Around midnight, an upset stomach woke me up.

As I crept past my parents' bedroom, hushed voices made my feet freeze in place.