Part 1A Heart Left Behind

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.

* * *

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.