Part 1The Spare Whitaker Daughter

I saw the numbers hovering over their heads right before I was scheduled to go under the knife to save my mother’s life.

It started as a flicker, then solidified into a cruel, neon reality. Above my older sister Serena’s head, the compatibility rating glowed at a staggering 80%. Above Weston, my twin brother—born only minutes after me—it pulsed at 85%.

Stunned, I blinked rapidly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I made a frantic excuse and retreated to the hospital bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. When I looked into the mirror, the number above my own reflection was a dismal 60%.

My blood turned to ice. I tried to tell myself it was a hallucination brought on by pre-op stress, a glitch in a brain starved of sleep. But then, through the thin partition of the vanity wall, I heard my mother’s voice—hushed, urgent, and devoid of the warmth she usually reserved for my siblings.

"Keep your mouths shut about the donor results," she hissed to Serena and Weston. "Serena’s wedding to the Price heir is weeks away. I won't have her scarred or weakened. I won't let a surgery ruin her future."

"And Weston," she continued, her voice softening with maternal doting, "he’s a man. He’s the legacy. I can’t have him compromising his health for me."

Then came the needle that popped the bubble of my world. Her tone flattened when she spoke of me. "It doesn’t matter for Natalie. Her husband is already stepping out on her with that actress, and she’s getting rid of that baby anyway. Losing a kidney is the least of her problems."

The words felt like a jagged blade plunged directly into my chest. To test her—to see if she cared for me at all—I had spent weeks playing the part of a woman in a crumbling marriage. I had even let her believe I was going to terminate my pregnancy, the first grandchild of the Blackwood estate, just so I could be "healthy enough" to save her.

I was the least compatible match in the family. And yet, I was the only one she was willing to sacrifice.

Fine. If I’m not the match she wants, she’s not getting the kidney she needs.

"Marcus," I said into my phone, my voice trembling but certain as I leaned against the bathroom tile. "I need a car. Now. Get me away from the clinic."

"Of course, Mrs. Blackwood," my husband’s lead assistant replied immediately. "I’ll have a driver at the north entrance in five minutes. Should I alert Hudson?"

I thought of Hudson. He was currently in London, finalizing an international merger that would solidify the Blackwood name for the next century. "No," I whispered. "Not yet."

I tucked my phone into my bag. A notification chimed. It was a message in the family group chat from my mother-in-law, Eleanor.

Natalie, sweetie, have you… have you gone through with the procedure yet?

I’m not trying to pressure you. I just keep thinking about you in that hospital. I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Please don’t overthink this.

When I didn't reply immediately, a notification from my banking app popped up. A wire transfer of one million dollars.

A little something for you, Natalie. Buy yourself something that makes you smile. We love you.

My eyes blurred with hot, stinging tears. In the seven years I’d been married to Hudson, the Blackwoods had never pressured me to produce an heir. Even now, when I told them I was choosing my mother’s life over my pregnancy, they had offered nothing but silent, agonizing support.

And here was my biological mother, trading my health for my siblings’ convenience.

I typed a quick message back to Eleanor: I’m keeping the baby. I’m coming home.

I barely hit send before the bathroom door was nearly kicked off its hinges.

"Natalie! What the hell are you doing in there?" Weston’s voice boomed, dripping with his usual entitled impatience. "The surgeon is waiting. You aren't getting cold feet, are you?"

He shoved the door open before I could reach for the lock. "You’re the only match we have. Don't you dare screw this up for Mom."

I didn't say a word. I swung my hand and slapped him across the face so hard my palm stung.

"I am your sister, Weston. You will speak to me with respect," I spat.

He recoiled, his eyes wide with fury. Just as he raised a hand to strike back, Serena stepped in, her silk wrap fluttering as she grabbed his arm.

"Natalie, honey, don't be upset," Serena said, her voice a saccharine trill. "Weston is just stressed. We all are. It’s almost time for your… appointment. The termination needs to happen before the transplant prep begins."

"I’m not terminating the pregnancy," I said, stepping past them into the hallway. "And I’m not giving up a kidney."

The color drained from Serena’s face. "What? Natalie, what are you talking about? You’re the only one who can save her. Do you want to watch her die?"

She began to sob, her theatrical cries drawing the attention of other patients in the ward. "She’s your mother! How can you be so heartless?"

"Look at her!" a woman in a nearby waiting chair whispered loudly. "To leave her own mother to die? What a monster."

The murmurs of the crowd rose like a tide, but I looked at the numbers glowing above my siblings' heads—80% and 85%.

"I want the original lab reports from the county hospital," I said, my voice dead calm. "I want to see your results, not the summaries you gave me."