Five years after a car accident left me paralyzed, I signed my organ donor registry form. As my heart began to fail, I called my mother, wanting to hear her voice one last time. "Chloe, why don't you just die already? Stop ruining everyone's lives!" "You shouldn't even be drawing breath in this world!" When she slammed the phone down, I smiled. Because I was finally going to die, just as she wished. But when my cold corpse ended up on her operating table, she completely lost her mind. Today was my birthday. I sat alone in my wheelchair in my cramped basement apartment. Just like every other year, there was no one else here. It was just like my mother always said—my birth was a disgusting mistake. I didn't deserve to celebrate. Staring into the pitch-black room, a crushing weight pressed down on my chest. It felt like something was expanding inside me, stealing my air. Ever since the accident paralyzed me, I had signed up to be an organ donor. Knowing my time was short, I had already notified the donor registry staff. As the suffocating pain intensified, I knew it was finally ending. It was an agonizing sensation I’d never felt before. It felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing my heart to pieces. Every breath felt like inhaling frozen needles, piercing my lungs. Yet, in that final moment, I didn't know if I felt sad or incredibly relieved. Tragic, painful memories flashed before my eyes like a broken film reel. The feeling in my limbs was slipping away completely. With the last bit of strength in my fingers, I picked up my phone. I slid my thumb across the screen and dialed that all-too-familiar number. I knew this would be my last connection to the living world. The call connected. My heart skipped a painful beat. "Chloe, what is wrong with you? Why are you calling to annoy me again?" Eleanor’s voice crackled through the speaker, dripping with absolute disgust. "Mom... I think... I'm dying," I whispered. My voice trembled, yet I sounded strangely at peace. Her tone didn't soften for a second. "Chloe, what kind of sick game are you playing now? Are you not tired of lying to get attention?" "It's real this time..." My breath hitched. The last word took every ounce of energy left in my body. "Fine! Do us all a favor and just die already! Stop being a curse on everyone!" "You shouldn't even be drawing breath in this world!" "Beep. Beep. Beep." The line went dead. In the final second of my life, a smile touched my lips. I finally did what she wanted. I died. Shortly after my soul detached from my body, the paramedics arrived. My lifeless body slumped in the wheelchair looked horrifying in the dark, empty basement. They bowed their heads to my corpse, covered me with a white sheet bearing the red cross, and wheeled me into the ambulance. I thought my soul would finally drift away into the afterlife. But a powerful, invisible force dragged me along, keeping me tethered to my physical body. Organ donors are sent to different hospitals depending on which facility needs the match immediately. As the streets outside the ambulance window grew familiar, my ghostly heart tightened. The ambulance pulled up to Westside General Hospital. This was a place I had visited in my nightmares a thousand times. This was where my mother, Dr. Eleanor Thorne, worked. It was the only place I knew I could ever find her. People bustled through the busy hallways. My invisible spirit floated past the doctors and nurses. And then, I saw her. The woman I couldn't forget even in death. She was laughing. She looked happier than I had ever seen her. Beside her, another surgeon was prepping for a procedure. "Eleanor, you’re so lucky. You finally found a matching liver for Maya." A few young nurses nearby chimed in. "I heard the donor is the exact same age as Maya. What a tragedy for the donor's family. They must be devastated." "Dr. Thorne loves Maya so much. She spent a fortune to bump her up on the priority list. Maya is so lucky to have a mother like you." A nurse said while organizing the surgical instruments. "Every mother loves her child. It’s only natural to want them to be healthy," Eleanor replied, her lips curving into a warm, gentle smile. "Every mother loves her child." I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Even as a ghost, I could feel a stinging pain where my heart used to be. "But Mom... wasn't I your daughter too?" Eleanor pulled out her phone and sent a Snapchat to Maya. The contact name was saved as "My Precious Angel." As she swiped back to her main chat screen, my eyes caught another contact name. Saved right below "My Precious Angel" was "The Mistake." That was me.
Her phone rang. The screen displayed "My Love." Eleanor picked up the call and stepped out of the office, telling the staff to double-check everything. I followed the medical team into the operating room. Under the harsh, sterile white lights, I looked down at my own corpse. They began preparing me for the extraction. Seeing the nurses work, it finally clicked. My liver was going to Maya. I couldn't escape that name in life, and now, I couldn't escape it in death. Maya was the daughter of Eleanor’s high school sweetheart, Richard Vance. Back then, Richard came from a poor, troubled family. My grandparents were completely against Eleanor marrying him. My dad, Arthur, loved Eleanor deeply. He did everything to win over her family—paying off her brother's college debt and buying them expensive gifts. Eventually, my grandparents forced Eleanor to marry my dad. Even though my dad treated Eleanor like a queen, she never loved him. My early childhood with my dad was the only happy time of my life. But then, the factory explosion happened. My dad died on the job. Eleanor didn't hesitate. She divorced his memory, packed her bags, and left. But to my surprise, she took me with her. I used to think she kept me because she loved me. Only later did I realize the sick truth: she kept me because she wanted to make sure I was miserable. She projected all her hatred for my father onto me. She forbade me from ever contacting my dad's side of the family. I was so desperate to make her happy that I obeyed. I never reached out to my grandparents, terrified of making her angry. Looking down at the cold metal table, I watched the surgeons make the first incision on my chest. Surprisingly, I felt a strange sense of peace. My mind drifted back to my childhood. I remembered my dad always greeting me with a big, warm hug. Meanwhile, Eleanor would stand in the corner, staring at me with icy eyes. Whenever I tried to grab her hand, hoping for a tiny bit of warmth, she would violently push me away. "Mom, why do you hate me so much?" I had asked her once with childlike innocence. She never answered. She just stared at me, her eyes filled with dark resentment. Now, I finally understood. Her heart was consumed by hatred. Hatred for my dad, and hatred for me. She poured all that poison onto me, leaving me to grow up isolated and helpless. And her hatred only grew a hundred times worse after Maya entered our lives. My legs became paralyzed during my freshman year of college. That day, Eleanor had taken Maya shopping for designer clothes. I was dragged along just to carry their heavy bags. While crossing the street, a speeding SUV came barreling toward me. The impact sent me flying. I crashed onto the asphalt yards away. The pain was blinding, and then my vision started to fade. Through the haze, I saw Eleanor and Maya slowly walking over. Maya looked at the bloody shopping bags on the ground, frowning in disgust. "Ugh, my new clothes are ruined! I can't wear these now." Eleanor gave me a look of pure revulsion. Then, she turned to Maya, her voice instantly turning sweet. "It's okay, sweetie. I'll buy you new ones." "Honestly, Chloe, you are such a curse. Bringing you out was a mistake." Those were the last words I heard before I blacked out. After the accident, I wasn't kept in the hospital for long. The initial scans didn't show any major spinal fractures. But soon, my legs began to lose sensation. Sometimes, I even lost control of my bladder. When I realized something was seriously wrong, I begged my mother to take me to a specialist. But she didn't hesitate to scream in my face. "You useless leech! You just want to drain every penny I have, don't you? You're a liar! Just like your pathetic father!" She ripped my self-esteem to shreds. Maya stood right behind her, arms crossed, watching the show with a smirk. The stress made me lose control, and I wet myself right there in the living room. Maya let out a dramatic shriek, pinching her nose in disgust. In my most vulnerable moment, Maya's scream felt like a knife slicing through my soul. Her face was twisted in mockery. Tears streamed down my face. No one comforted me. No one even came near me. Eleanor glared at me, her face pale with disgust. "This is repulsive! Mom, kick her out! She’s disgusting!" Maya yelled. Eleanor raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. "Clean this mess up right now!" Choking on my tears and shame, I dragged my useless legs across the floor to clean up my own waste. Later, Eleanor claimed a massive settlement from the driver's insurance. But she only threw $500 at me and forced me to move out. That $500 was barely enough to rent a damp, converted garage studio at the edge of town. And that was where I spent the hardest years of my life.
To me back then, $500 was everything. But that money didn't bring me any warmth. It was just a brutal reminder that I was completely unwanted in this world. Fortunately, my landlord, Mrs. Gable, took pity on me. She lowered my rent from $300 to $100 a month. As the days crawled by, my condition worsened. I lost all control over my bodily functions. Every time it happened, I felt an overwhelming wave of shame and despair. I tried calling Eleanor, begging her to help me get medical care. But her response crushed the last bit of hope I had left. She told me, "You're a leech. You brought this on yourself. You deserve it!" In my darkest moments, I wanted to die. I wondered if she would feel even a shred of regret or sadness if I was gone. But then I realized she would probably throw a party. She would finally be free of me. I tried my best to keep my dignity. I kept my tiny garage room spotlessly clean. But no matter how much I scrubbed, the heavy scent of decay and despair never left my mind. While I fought for my life in that freezing room, Eleanor and Maya lived in luxury. They lived in the spacious house my father had left behind. Maya's room was overflowing with expensive makeup and designer clothes. I, on the other hand, wore rags and used a squeaky, second-hand manual wheelchair. Eleanor treated Maya like a fragile princess. I was treated like trash. Every time I thought about it, my heart felt like it was being pierced by needles. I remember once, about six months after my dad died. I saw Maya running around our front yard, her laughter ringing out so happily. I tried to talk to her. I thought if I made friends with her, maybe Mom would love me a little more. "Maya, do you want to play with me?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful. Maya stopped and looked at me with pure disdain. "Why would I play with a dirty rat like you? You don't belong here." But everything she owned, the very ground she stood on, was paid for by my dad. As my health deteriorated, I started fainting frequently. Once, I collapsed near the sidewalk and a kind stranger called 911. When the hospital contacted Eleanor, she didn't show a single ounce of worry. Instead, she coldly told the doctor: "Why are you wasting your time saving her? She should have died a long time ago." The doctor stared at her in utter disbelief. I lay on the hospital bed, my tears blurring the bright ceiling lights. I had prayed so hard for just a drop of love from her. But I finally knew it was impossible. During my final days, I never tried to call her again. I knew her heart only belonged to Maya. I was just a stain she wanted to scrub away. Signing that organ donor form was my final choice. I wanted to believe that a part of me could go on living, doing something good for someone else. How ironic that my liver was destined for Maya. I was so envious of her. It felt like the entire universe existed just to serve her happiness, while my life was just a sacrificial offering. I watched the surgeons carefully extract my liver and place it in the cooler to transport it to Maya's operating room. Eleanor didn't participate in the extraction, but she was the lead surgeon for Maya's transplant. When the container holding my liver was handed to her, Eleanor knit her brows. She froze for a few seconds, staring at the organ container. Maybe mothers and daughters really do have a subconscious connection. But the feeling quickly passed. She threw herself into the surgery. I could tell she was incredibly nervous. When the transplant was finally completed, she let out a long sigh of relief. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, changed her scrubs, and prepared to head to Maya's recovery room. Right then, her phone buzzed. It was Mrs. Gable. I suddenly remembered I hadn't paid this month's rent. "Hello, is this Chloe's mother? Chloe hasn't paid her rent this month. I went to check on her, but the door was locked and no one answered. I'm really worried..." Mrs. Gable’s voice was gentle and filled with concern. "Enough! What does her rent have to do with me? If she didn't pay, throw her trash out and kick her onto the street! Stop calling me with her drama!" Eleanor snapped. Mrs. Gable tried to speak, but Eleanor hung up without giving her a chance. "Useless brat," Eleanor muttered under her breath. She unlocked her phone and sent me a text—the first text she had initiated in years. "You worthless parasite, if you’re going to die, do it quickly. Don't ruin my life. Pay your rent now. If your landlord calls me again, I’m cutting you off completely. You can starve on the streets for all I care!" She had completely forgotten that she hadn't sent me a single dime in over two years. She tossed her phone onto her desk. Outside the office, a couple of nurses were gossiping. "Hey, did you hear? The liver donor for Dr. Thorne’s daughter was a paralyzed girl. She lived all alone in a converted garage. It's so tragic. How could her parents be so heartless?" "Maybe she was an orphan. Poor girl." Eleanor froze. Her head snapped up. She stood still for a moment, then shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. She reached for her phone again. Underneath it lay a copy of the organ donor registry sheet that had been sent over with the organ. Her eyes accidentally grazed the bottom of the page. When she saw the signature, her face drained of color...
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