Chapter 3

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...