Part 1A Song for the Stolen

On Christmas Eve, I was delivering food on my e-bike through a blizzard when my phone suddenly buzzed.

"Sister."

Just one word, mixed with static, struck me like a thunderbolt.

But I had signed a non-disclosure agreement and disappeared with that money ten years ago.

I didn't understand why my biological sister, who took the college spot I sold to her, was contacting me now.

"I'm at the gate of the complex where you're delivering."

"Mom and Dad are dying. They want to see you one last time."

The gate?

I slammed on the brakes, the tires carving a black mark in the snow.

A stretch Lincoln was parked at the complex entrance. The window rolled down halfway, revealing a face with exquisite makeup and well-maintained skin.

Looking at that face—identical to mine in features but worlds apart in fate—my freezing red hands gripped the handlebars tightly.

I didn't understand. They sucked my blood dry to pave her way. What more could they want from me now?

Breathing out a puff of white mist, I ignored her. I twisted the throttle and rode past the luxury car without a glance.

* * *

I didn't even look back at the stretch Lincoln.

Behind me came the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut.

Chloe didn't chase after me.

Of course.

Wearing a couture gown worth tens of thousands and three-inch lambskin heels, how could she step onto this muddy, snowy ground?

Ten minutes later.

I parked my bike downstairs at the dilapidated apartment complex scheduled for demolition.

My hands were frozen stiff; I could barely unclench them from the handlebars.

I struggled to untie the delivery box.

My phone buzzed again.

An unknown number.

I knew who it was without answering.

I hung up directly.

Then came a barrage of text messages.

"Ava, how long are you going to be stubborn?"

"Dad has uremia, end-stage. He needs a kidney transplant immediately."

"If you have any conscience left, stop playing dead."

Seeing the word "uremia," I just wanted to laugh.

I really wanted to laugh.

Ten years ago, they tricked me the same way.

Said Grandma had a brain tumor, was dying, and urgently needed that so-called "selling price."

And the result?

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and rubbed the back of my hand, covered in chilblains.

The cracks opened again, oozing blood.

I climbed up to the sixth floor.

Before I even entered, I heard coughing inside.

I pushed the door open.

A damp, moldy smell hit me.

The rental, less than 300 square feet, was piled high with scavenged cardboard boxes.

"Honey, you're back?"

Hearing the noise, Mark dragged his lame leg, limping over to greet me.

He held a cup of steaming hot water.

"Warm your hands, quick."

I looked at his faded work pants and the leg crippled by a workplace injury.

A corner of the ice in my heart melted.

"Mommy!"

My daughter, Lily, crawled out from behind Mark with a paintbrush.

She had a streak of ink on her face, smiling to reveal a row of tiny teeth.

"Mommy look, I drew a big house. We'll live there one day!"

The squiggly lines on the paper depicted a villa with a garden.

My nose stung.

I squatted down, about to hug my daughter.

The door was pounded heavily.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The force was strong, urgent, carrying an arrogance that refused rejection.

No neighbor in this broken building knocked like that.

Mark's face changed. He instinctively shielded me and the child behind him.

"Who is it?"

He went to open the door.

As soon as the door cracked open, it was violently kicked wide by a foot in a black leather shoe.

Mark, unsteady on his feet, staggered back and almost fell onto the coal stove.

Two bodyguards in black suits walked in.

Followed by...

An expensive perfume scent.

Chloe, in her high heels, covered her nose in disgust and walked into my "pigsty."

She scanned the moldy wallpaper.

Her gaze finally landed on Mark and me.

The condescending charity in her eyes stung.

"Sis, you live in a place like this?"

She kicked a cardboard box aside.

"Come back with me. Save Dad's life, and I'll give you fifty thousand dollars."

Fifty thousand.

To buy my kidney.

Just like ten years ago, three hundred thousand bought my life.