Part 2A Family Portrait for the Family I Left

The screech of brakes came from Caleb's end of the line.

He said, "Honey, wait for me at the shop. I'll have my secretary cancel the dinner. I'm coming to you right now."

Caleb only knew that my relationship with my biological parents was bad and that we had cut ties long ago. He didn't know the details of my past.

Hearing the panic in his voice, I suddenly changed my mind and said, "Don't cancel it. I'll go with you tonight."

After hanging up the phone, I stared at the photo I had accidentally taken when my hand shook just now and fell into deep thought.

In the picture, Mom was frowning, Dad had his fists clenched, and Eva stood with her arms crossed. Next to them, the dog had its tongue hanging out, wearing the same eager-to-please expression I used to have as a child.

The fact that my family didn't love me was something I had understood since I was a child. Back then, the sentence I heard the most from Mom and Dad was, "Your life exists because of Eva's pain."

Eva had severe aplastic anemia and had never been able to find a suitable bone marrow match.

With no other options left, my parents chose to give birth to me.

Their original plan was to send me away right after the transplant, so they didn't even register me into the family.

Then, after finally making it through the transplant surgery, they were hit with devastating news—my bone marrow was unable to produce red blood cells in Eva's body.

For the rest of her life, Eva could only survive through regular transfusions of blood produced from my bone marrow.

At the time, Mom held young Eva close and cried her heart out, devastated by the suffering Eva would have to endure in the future.

Dad's eyes were bloodshot as he slammed his fist against the wall, cursing the heavens for putting his precious daughter through such torment.

No one paid attention to me lying on the other bed, already so severely dehydrated that I couldn't even make a sound.

That was the earliest memory I could recall in my life. The unbearable thirst I felt that day had also followed me through the first half of my life.

My parents believed that it was because I stubbornly insisted on staying in this family that Eva couldn't recover.

To punish me, they left me out of the family registry altogether. They even named me Mora—as though my very name existed to remind me I was more than they had ever wanted.

I never had a room of my own. I slept in the living room my entire childhood, and the clothes I wore were always the ones Eva had outgrown.

Sometimes, Mom would soften and give me a cookie when she handed out snacks. Eva would cry until she could barely breathe, only stopping after Mom and Dad promised that all their love belonged to her alone.

I tried imitating her. I cried and threw tantrums, but all I got in return were slaps.

It was then that I truly realized my ability to receive any love at all depended entirely on Eva. So I began trying desperately to please her.

When she was old enough to start elementary school, Eva demanded that our parents put us in the same class, despite the two-year age gap between us.

She also told our classmates I was the maid Mom and Dad had birthed for her. Carrying her backpack, running errands, and doing her classroom chores for her—I did everything without complaint.

I had longed for Mom and Dad to take notice of me, longed to be considered a part of this family.

The monthly bone marrow extraction day became the day I anticipated the most. On that day, my parents would stay by my side, watching my blood flow inch by inch into the bag. They'd then cradle it like a precious treasure and bring it to Eva.

That half hour of being fully seen was enough to sustain me through all the days when I was regarded as invisible.

Just when I thought I would live like this forever, things suddenly changed. I had somehow made it into the honors track in the state's top high school.

On the day the results were announced, someone's parent patted Dad heavily on the shoulder and congratulated him. "Your younger daughter is amazing! She's so young, yet she managed to get into the honors track."

Dad was slightly taken aback. "My younger daughter?"

It took him a moment before he remembered my name. "Mora?"

Mom pointed toward the school gate in surprise. "They even hung a banner up. Mora is the top student?"

For the first time, they didn't look at me like I was a sinner or a human blood bag. Dad even patted my head and praised me for doing well.

A jolt went through my body, and I felt like I was in a dream. I was so overwhelmed that I forgot to pay attention to Eva's reaction.

Mom and Dad's joy lasted all the way home, and it wasn't until dinner that they realized Eva was missing.