Chapter 1

• My mom held her pen against the surgical consent forms, hovering above my name, Ella Millis.
• “Ella, sign it.”
• She didn’t even look up. Her voice is distant, ice-cold.
• “This is what you’re supposed to do, Ella.”
• I cast my eyes down.
• Everything in my sight was a blur.
• I was only nine when my left cornea was transplanted to Grace, my sister. Since then, my world had been cut in half—one side clear. One side completely hazy.
• “Mom.” My throat was so dry that it hurt to speak. “I want… I want to see Grace first.”
• Mom froze mid-signature.
• When she finally looked up at me, there was nothing but impatience on her face.
• “See what? Grace just fell asleep. You want to wake her up?”
• “I swear, I’ll just take one look. I won’t make a sound.”
• My hands twisted around the hem of my shirt, my knuckles almost as white as the fabric.
• I just needed to make sure….
• Make sure that Grace still remembered our promise.
• “What trick are you trying to pull now, Ella?” Her gaze sharpened. “Did you grow a backbone overnight and decided you can defy us now?”
• “It’s not that,” I reasoned out. “I didn’t—“
• “Then shut up and sign the papers!”
• She slammed the consent forms in front of me.
• “You think we sacrificed so much to raise you all these years so you can talk back to us?” She let out a derisive, bitter laugh. “Grace’s life is worth a thousand times more than yours!”
• Her words froze me to the bone.
• The living room door opened. Dad walked in, reeking of cigarette smoke.
• He saw the consent form and me, and his brow creased.
• “Victoria, don’t yell at the kid like that.”
• Hope flickered in me. I looked up at him.
• “You feel sorry for her?” Mom blew up instantly. “Richard, are you forgetting that Grace is still in a critical condition? The doctor said if she doesn’t get a new heart soon, she could die any minute! If you feel so sorry for this charity case we took in, then what about your own daughter’s life?”
• Whatever softness Dad had disappeared in a flash.
• He walked over without a word, his shadow swallowing me up. He looked at Mom and said soothingly, “That’s not what I meant."
• Then, with the same placating tone, he added, "The sooner she signs, the sooner we set the surgery. Stop dragging this out.”
• He lowered his head. His gaze felt like ice on my skin.
• “Ella, be good,” he said. “Do it for Grace. Do it for this family.”
• I stared at him, and suddenly I was eleven again.
• They’d pushed me out of the operating room. The pain from the bone marrow donation had ripped through me so badly that my whole body shook.
• I’d cried for Mom. I’d cried for Dad.
• Mom had rushed over, but the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t asking if I hurt.
• Instead, she had pushed past me, grabbing the doctor’s arm and asking, “Doctor, how was the marrow quality? When can my daughter Grace start the transplant?”
• And Dad had just stood a few steps away, watching in silence.
• And here I was now, knowing that nothing was different.
• Now, Dad’s hand was reaching out, clamping around my cold wrist while he jammed the pen between my fingers.
• “Sign.”
• His voice was low. Final. Leaving no room to argue.
• The pen dug into my palm as he tightened his grip, forcing me to write my name.
• No.
• I couldn’t sign.
• I made a promise to Grace.
• Just when he forced my hand to make the first stroke, I yanked it back with everything I had.
• The tip of the pen carved a harsh black slash across the consent form.
• Mom’s scream almost bust my eardrums.
• “How dare you!”
• She lunged at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my head down on the table.
• “You bitch! You think you can fight back now?”