I was born because my older sister had congenital heart disease. To save up for her surgery, my mom worked three part-time jobs a day, and my dad worked overtime until dawn every single night. My job was to stay home and take care of my sister. I fed her, rubbed her back when she was out of breath, and gave her sponge baths. If she even coughed, I had to jump up immediately to give her oxygen and her medication. Day and night, without a moment's rest. But I never complained. I knew that if I were the sick one, they would take care of me just the same. Until I fainted right before Christmas. I went to the hospital and was diagnosed with a primary brainstem tumor. Looking at the diagnosis report—"The tumor is already compressing the medulla oblongata; it is extremely advanced. Inoperable"—my first thought was: If I'm gone, who will take care of my sister? How heartbroken will Mom and Dad be? It was only after I figured out a way to take care of them that I finally felt at peace and decided to go home and tell them. But standing at the front door, I heard my parents talking inside: "Sigh, today Chloe cried and told me she didn't want to die. My heart just broke." "She's such a good girl, why did she have to get this disease?" "Why couldn't it have been Mia who got sick? My poor Chloe hasn't experienced a single day of health in her life." My hand froze on the doorknob. I looked down at the signed Organ Donation Consent Form in my hand and let out a bitter smile. Mom, Dad, after New Year's Eve, your wish will come true. 1 I tucked the consent form away, waited at the door for a few minutes, and then pushed it open. I acted as if nothing had happened, greeting them with a smile: "I'm home." My mom's mouth immediately turned down at the sight of me: "Running wild until now? The whole family is waiting on you." "Hurry up and call your sister; she can't go hungry." I answered obediently, my steps into the house as light as ever. As if I hadn't heard a single word just now. My sister lay in her darkened room, her breathing barely audible. I bent down and called her softly: "Chloe, it's time to eat." "Let me help you up, okay?" For a long moment, there was no movement. Worried, I reached out to feel her forehead: "Are you feeling sick?" Smack. Chloe slapped my hand away. Her hand fell weakly onto the blanket. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look at me: "Get away from me. Don't touch me." I paused for a second, pretended I hadn't heard, and continued trying to help her up. "Just eat a little bit, okay? Your body won't be able to take it if you don't." "If you don't want to move, I can bring it in and feed you, alright?" As soon as I offered to feed her, she slowly sat up, ready to go out and eat. I followed closely behind her, carefully hovering, finding a bitter sort of amusement in the situation. Just as I thought. She still hated me touching her so much that I could easily manipulate her with it. The moment we stepped out of her room, I blinked away the moisture in my eyes and put a smile back on my face: "Mom, Chloe's up. We can eat now." Our apartment was tiny. It was less than thirty feet from the bedroom to the dining table, yet Chloe was panting heavily by the time she made it. I followed behind her, watching her with concern, but didn't dare reach out to support her. As we reached the table, Mom just happened to walk out of the kitchen. She rushed over, casually shoving me aside, and carefully helped Chloe sit down. I rubbed my hip, which had banged hard against the corner of the table, and let out a quiet hiss of pain. Chloe looked up, glaring at me, her breathing turning rapid: "Are you doing that on purpose? Mocking how pathetic I look when I have an episode?" Before I could open my mouth to explain, a slap from my dad landed squarely on my face: "You're old enough to know better! Apologize right now, don't make your sister angry!" He turned to Chloe, his voice instantly softening: "Chloe, ignore her. Your health is the most important thing. Try to stay calm." I covered my face, my eyes stinging. I mumbled an apology, lowered my head, and tried to comfort myself. She doesn't hate me. She's just in a lot of pain from being sick. Chloe's breathing quickly steadied, and my parents finally sat down with peace of mind. I pulled myself together and hurriedly served them rice. My mom was ladling soup for Chloe and motioned for me to put the rice bowl on the table: "Never home during the day, and now you want to play the good daughter." "What exactly have you been so busy with these past few days?" My hand froze mid-air with the serving spoon. After being diagnosed with no hope of a cure, I had spent the last few days at the hospital, consulting about a heart transplant. Fortunately, my disease didn't affect my other organs; my heart was perfectly viable for transplantation. I also found out that donating organs could yield some compensation. If I sold off my usable corneas, kidneys, and liver, it could bring in forty or fifty thousand dollars. That way, I could rest a little easier after I passed. Before I could answer, my mom continued, laying down the law: "From now on, you stay home and take care of your sister. Do you know how much pay I've been docked for missing work these past few days?" "Alright, that's enough," my dad interrupted her nagging, turning to me. "Didn't you say you were going to the hospital to get those headaches checked out?" "How were the results? Everything okay?" "If you get sick too, this family won't be able to afford it." I lifted my bowl to hide my expression, trying my best to sound casual: "It's nothing. The doctor said it's just from staying up too late. It'll go away on its own in a couple of days." My mom's brow furrowed tightly, casting a dissatisfied look my way: "I told you it was nothing. Running to the hospital over every little ache and pain, do you think tests are free?" "You've always loved wasting money since you were a kid." I knew she just liked to complain. But hearing her scold me now still made my heart ache. I kept my head down, poking at the rice in my bowl with my chopsticks: "I've always been responsible. When have I ever wasted money?" My mom snorted disdainfully: "Plenty of times." "When you were in elementary school, you insisted on taking oil painting classes. Wasn't that a waste of money?" I had no rebuttal. Even now, I regret making a fuss about wanting to learn to paint. 2 In elementary school, I didn't fully understand what Chloe's illness meant. I didn't know why my parents were always frowning. Seeing my desk mate taking oil painting classes, I went home and made a fuss about wanting to learn too. My mom flat-out refused with a dark expression, and even rolling on the floor throwing a tantrum didn't work. A week later, Chloe secretly bought me brushes and paints. I excitedly hugged her, jumping and screaming with joy. But staying up late writing to earn that money took a toll on her fragile body; she had a severe episode and was hospitalized. In the hospital, thinking she was going to die, Chloe secretly told me: "I have a little bit of money left from writing, along with my allowance savings. It's under my pillow." "Mia, go home and get the money. Buy your own paints from now on." Thankfully, she pulled through in the end. And I suddenly grew up. Later, when the paints Chloe bought ran out, I quietly packed away the supplies and stopped asking for more. When my mom casually asked about it one day, I sheepishly scratched my head: "Painting is too hard. I don't want to learn anymore." Lost in my memories, my mom assumed my silence meant I was feeling guilty, and she pressed her advantage: "It's time you grew up. Stop running around all day not coming home." Hearing her words, I felt a sense of helplessness: "Mom, I really wasn't just out playing. I had things to do." "Getting checked for that minor issue wouldn't take all day. What could you possibly be doing, going out every single day this week?" "I..." I wanted to tell the truth, but seeing Chloe's pale face next to me and remembering she couldn't handle emotional stress, I swallowed the words back down. My mom seemed to think I had been caught in a lie and grew even angrier: "I just asked you to stay home and take care of your sister, and you dare make up excuses to slack off and run out." "Raised you all these years for nothing." "If it weren't for needing someone to take care of Chloe later on, I never should have had you." My dad also looked at me with disappointment: "Mia, when you were little, you used to say you'd grow up and protect your sister. Why are you being so disobedient now?" "Have you forgotten how good your sister was to you when you were kids?" Chloe kept her head down; I couldn't see her expression. I only saw the hand holding her chopsticks clenched tight, the veins on the back of her hand starkly visible. I opened my mouth to explain, but a knock at the door interrupted me. My mom got up to answer it. It was our neighbor, Mrs. Gable. She held up a bag of oranges and gestured: "Your Mia was standing at the door for a long time just now, and she left something outside when she went in." "Hurry and grab it, or someone might walk off with it." My mom's back went rigid. She forced out a few polite pleasantries and sent the neighbor away. She walked slowly back to the table and sat down, breaking the silence in the room: "Did you hear what your dad and I were saying? Is that why you were standing at the door?" I nodded gloomily, not saying a word. A flash of panic crossed my mom's eyes, quickly replaced by forced composure: "I just remembered how you insisted on changing jobs last month, got mad, and said some things I didn't mean in the heat of the moment." I stayed silent, staring at my rice bowl, my mind completely blank. Seeing my silence, my mom's tone took on an edge of irritation: "What I said wasn't wrong at all." "Why couldn't it have been an ungrateful wretch like you who got sick?" "You want to change jobs because you think we're dragging you down, just to shake us off." Her words were like a sharp knife plunging into my heart. I looked at her in disbelief, my lips trembling, unable to make a sound. After graduating, I listened to my parents and found a job close to home. The pay was low, but it made it easy to help take care of Chloe. But this year, her health had been deteriorating rapidly, and the medical bills were piling up. Seeing my parents so anxious, I wanted to help, but there was nothing I could do. Until last month, when I received a great job offer. The salary was triple, the prospects were good—the only downside was that it was in another state. I was ecstatic. With this job, I could make more money, buy better medication for my sister, and lighten my parents' load. I never expected my mom to disagree. I was utterly confused and was still trying to explain it to her. So that's what they were thinking. 3 Tears slipped down unnoticed, landing on my hand and jolting me back to reality. My mom was still rattling off a list of my supposed crimes. I wanted to speak, to tell her I wasn't going to change jobs anymore. After all, I only had a few days left to live; there was no point now. But a sudden onset of my symptoms cut off my explanation. A throbbing pain erupted in the back of my head, and my chest grew tight, like a heavy stone was pressing down on it. I gripped the table leg tightly to keep my balance. It wasn't until the wave of pain passed that I noticed the anger on my mom's face had intensified. She seemed to mistake my pain for defiance, her tone growing even harsher: "You think you're all grown up now, so you dare give me an attitude?" "You tell me clearly right now: are you going to take care of your sister or not?!" "Enough!" Chloe braced herself against the table and stood up, looking embarrassed: "Stop it. I won't need her help anymore." "If she wants to work, let her go. I..." Before she could finish, she collapsed back into her chair, clutching her chest and gasping for air. My mom shoved me aside and rushed to Chloe, rubbing her back to soothe her, while barking orders at my dad: "Hurry! Go get Chloe's medicine!" I crumpled to the floor, my vision going black in waves. I wanted to get up and help, but I couldn't move. My dad was in such a rush to find the medicine he didn't even see me on the floor. He didn't even notice when he stepped hard on my hand as he passed by. At that moment, the agonizing headache consumed me; I couldn't even focus on my crushed hand. Waves of sharp pain hit me, and I curled up on the floor, gritting my teeth. My parents' gentle, concerned voices directed at my sister seemed to drift in from far away, blurry and indistinct. After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally subsided. I held onto the table and shakily got to my feet. Looking around the living room, I realized I was the only one left. A warm, yellow light spilled from my sister's room, and through the crack in the door, I could vaguely see my mom tucking her in. I lowered my head and stood there. Even though I was in my own home, I felt like I had nowhere to go. It wasn't until Chloe fell asleep that my mom tiptoed out of the room. Seeing me standing in the living room, her brow immediately furrowed. She walked over quickly and pinched the flesh on my arm hard: "Your sister is sick, and you're just standing here like a log. Are your legs broken? Can you not move?" "Keep it quiet tonight, and make sure you're taking good care of her!" Ignoring the pain in my arm, I looked at her with a sliver of desperate hope: "Mom, my head hurts so much..." But before I could finish, she cut me off: "Why don't you just die of the pain then?!" "Faking sick every time I ask you to do something. Can you just act your age for once?!" My world plunged into a sudden silence; an empty, desolate void filled my heart. I could only see her mouth moving, but I couldn't hear her voice. I nodded numbly until she stopped, looking satisfied. After she walked away, I instinctively went to my sister's room. I don't know how long I stood by her bed. By the time Chloe's sarcastic voice broke the silence, my legs had gone completely numb. "Mia, stop pretending. You wish I were dead so you'd never have to take care of me again, don't you?" Her dark, brooding gaze pinned me to the spot. When I was little, I thought my sister was the gentlest person in the world. She would knit me stuffed bunnies, read me stories, and softly comfort me when I cried. But I don't know when it started—that gentle sister disappeared. Lost in thought, I didn't say anything, but she didn't need me to reply anyway: "So what if you're healthy? I'm the daughter Mom and Dad love the most." "In this house, you are the extra one!" "Get out now. Just looking at you makes me sick." My heart ached, but I didn't dare say anything, terrified of triggering another episode. I went back to the tiny storage closet that served as my room, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling with wide, tear-filled eyes. It's okay, I told myself. She's sick. She needs their love more. That's why Mom and Dad ignore me sometimes. Once she has the surgery, everything will be fine. 4 The hospital moved quickly. A couple of days later, my parents got the call. Someone had donated a heart. After the holidays, Chloe could prep for surgery. Seeing a glimmer of hope, smiles finally returned to my parents' faces. Light returned to my sister's eyes too; she no longer seemed to have given up completely. Seeing my family so hopeful, I swallowed the fear and reluctance in my heart. And waited with them for Christmas to arrive. On Christmas Eve morning, taking advantage of my mom's good mood, I whined and asked her to make sweet and sour ribs for dinner. Unable to resist my clinging, she laughed, scolded me playfully, and agreed. Because of Chloe's illness, there were many things she couldn't eat. Money was always tight, so our meals usually consisted of the same few bland, healthy dishes. I loved sweet and sour ribs, but I hardly ever got to eat them. Thinking about having them tonight, I even forgot my fear of checking into the hospital soon. All I felt was anticipation. But when it was time for dinner, there were no sweet and sour ribs on the table. I looked at my mom, confused: "Are there still dishes in the kitchen? I'll go get them." My mom answered casually while ladling soup for Chloe: "Your sister said she wanted shrimp, so I didn't buy ribs." "Shrimp is just as good, it's still a treat." I told myself I needed to be understanding. The family was under a lot of financial pressure, and my parents didn't have a choice. But I still heard my own voice trembling: "Mom, do you remember I'm allergic to shrimp?" She glanced back at me, her tone impatient: "Can't you just eat the vegetables? Do you absolutely have to have meat? Are you as fragile as Chloe now?" "She hasn't had much of an appetite lately, and today she finally craved something." "You can have your sweet and sour ribs some other time." I stood frozen, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. I couldn't speak. But Mom... I don't have a "some other time." A sour ache filled my chest, and I couldn't stop the large tears from crashing onto the floor. My dad looked at me with disgust and grumbled: "Throwing a tantrum over something so trivial. Let's eat and ignore her." "She'll come eat when she's tired of crying." Soon, the sounds of their cheerful laughter filled the living room. Standing right next to them, I felt like a ghost, entirely unnoticed. "In this house, you are the extra one!" Chloe's words echoed in my ears. This time, I couldn't find a single reason to argue with her. Early the next morning, I packed my things and checked myself into the hospital. My condition had been worsening, and the doctors had been urging me to admit myself for days. I just didn't want my family to worry about me missing the holidays, and I wanted to spend one last Christmas at home. That's why I dragged it out until now. While I was in the hospital, my mom kept texting me, scolding me: "You ungrateful brat, running away from home just because you missed out on one dish? If you've got the guts, don't ever come back." I brushed her off with the excuse that I was busy job hunting. A couple of days later, she texted again: "Your sister is in the hospital prepping for surgery, and you can't even be bothered to come see her?" I lay in my hospital bed and smiled bitterly. Mom, I'm actually staying right on the floor above you. I see everything. After I was admitted, my symptoms worsened daily. I kept slipping into semi-comatose states. The entire right side of my body was paralyzed; I couldn't even turn my head properly. Until one time, I woke up from a sleep and realized I was a spirit. I floated downstairs to find my family. My parents were waiting outside the operating room. My mom's face was pale and tense, her hands gripping my dad's shirt tight. They were both muttering under their breath, praying non-stop. Three hours later, the doctor walked out. He pulled down his mask, a tired smile on his face: "Congratulations, the surgery was very successful." My mom stumbled, as if all the strength had been drained from her body, and collapsed to her knees. My dad's eyes instantly went red, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. Soon, Chloe was wheeled out and taken to the ICU. Seeing her resting peacefully in the bed, my parents finally calmed down. And they finally remembered me. My mom couldn't help but complain to my dad: "I don't know what Mia is so busy with." "She barely replies to my texts lately, takes half a day to send one back." "I told her her sister was having surgery today. Even if she couldn't be here, she could have at least called to check in." My dad frowned slightly, then quickly smoothed his expression: "She's drifted apart from us." "Once Chloe recovers from the surgery, we won't need her anyway." "We'll just focus on taking care of Chloe from now on, and let her be." I floated beside them, listening to everything. So souls can feel pain, too. My mom looked like she wanted to argue, but her phone rang, interrupting her. She glanced at it casually, answered it, and put it to her ear. "Hello, is this the family of Mia Hayes?" "The donor's organ recovery surgery has been successfully completed. Please bring your identification to the morgue at Central Hospital to claim the remains."
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