Part 2The Spare Whitaker Daughter

The initial tests had been done at a smaller, rural facility near my mother’s house while she was in "critical condition." I had never questioned them. I had simply flown in, terrified, and stepped up when they told me I was the only hope.

"We already told you the results!" Weston shouted, his face reddening. "You’re just looking for an excuse to be a coward!"

I gave him a thin, cold smile. "The results. Or the deal is off."

I didn't wait for an answer. I walked out of the ward, down the stairs, and into the waiting black Town Car. Marcus was there, holding the door open with a grave expression.

"Ma'am, are we going to the Blackwood estate or the apartment you’ve been renting?"

"The apartment first. I need to pick up something."

When my mother "fell ill," I had moved into a cramped, two-bedroom walk-up in a gritty part of town. I told her Hudson had kicked me out after his "affair" went public. I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her. It wasn't pity. It was relief. If I was a social pariah with nothing left, then taking my kidney wouldn't lead to any messy legal blowback from the Blackwood lawyers.

I walked into the dusty apartment and looked at the mantle. My father’s urn sat there, next to a framed photo of him in his police uniform.

"I’m sorry, Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I tried to keep the peace. I tried to be the daughter you wanted me to be. But I can't let her destroy me anymore."

I carefully tucked the urn and the photo into my bag. As I turned to leave, I heard a commotion outside.

"You can't go up there!" Marcus was shouting. "Mrs. Blackwood doesn't want to see you!"

"Mrs. Blackwood?" Weston’s voice sneered. "Natalie Whitaker got dumped months ago! Get out of our way, you pathetic rent-a-cop!"

I heard a heavy thud—the sound of Marcus being shoved against the hallway wall. I stepped out of the door just as Weston and a couple of his "buddies" reached the landing.

"There she is. The Golden Child," Weston mocked, holding up his phone. He was live-streaming. "Hey guys, back again. Today’s episode: My sister, the billionaire's ex-wife, tries to murder our mom by skipping out on her surgery."

He leaned in, his breath smelling of cheap energy drinks. "The clinic called. Your abortion appointment was ten minutes ago. If you don't get in the car right now, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of bitch you are."

He glanced at his phone, grinning at the comments. "Don't worry, babe," he said into the camera, likely to his influencer girlfriend. "I’m not the one going under the knife. I promised you that."

The 85% above his head seemed to mock me.

I helped Marcus up. His forehead was scraped, bleeding slightly. "Marcus, call the police. File a report for assault."

"Assault?" Weston laughed. "You’re delusional, Nat. This is a family intervention."

Serena stepped forward then, her eyes red-rimmed. "Natalie, please… I’m begging you. I’m marrying into the Landros family. I just want Mom to be there to see me walk down the aisle. If I have to undergo surgery now, the recovery… the scars… the Landros family expects perfection."

I looked at the 80% above her head. Then I looked past them to my mother, who was sitting in the back of a beat-up SUV at the curb, a catheter bag hanging visibly from her waist, her face a mask of pale, calculated suffering.

"Mom," I called out, my voice echoing in the narrow stairwell. "Is it true? Am I really the only one who can save you?"