Chapter 3Two Organ Donations, Two Broken Sisters

I ate cheap takeout for three days straight.

My phone lit up on the coffee table. A message in the Harrington family group chat from Eleanor.

Kate agreed to go for a walk today! We only made it ten minutes, but it is a massive step forward! [Heart] [Heart]

A cascade of celebratory emojis followed.

Richard replied with a proud "Fantastic news." Paul sent a row of digital fireworks.

I stared at the glowing screen. My fingers hovered over the digital keyboard, but I typed nothing.

I exited the chat and opened my files app.

It was a scanned copy of the organ donation consent form I had finalized three days ago.

My eyes locked onto the beneficiary line. Kate Harrington.

Below it was a clinical checklist of harvested parts. Heart. Liver. Kidneys. Lungs. Corneas.

It read like a menu for my own death.

I locked my phone and shoved the paperwork into the deepest corner of my desk drawer, right next to the agreement Kate had signed a year ago.

Two contracts. Two sacrifices. Two destinies swapping places.

Outside, the sky turned pitch black.

I stood up and began to clean the apartment.

In truth, there wasn't much to clean.

I had been renting this place for barely six months, and my possessions were pitifully scarce. A few articles of clothing, a handful of books, some basic toiletries.

When they brought me home from the foster system, I only had one small suitcase. I suppose I would be leaving the same way.

On the desk sat a single framed photograph. It was the only picture I had of the entire family.

We took it during my first month back at the estate. Eleanor had insisted on a portrait.

In the picture, Richard and Paul stood in the back, their postures rigid and uncomfortable.

Eleanor was in the center, her arms wrapped protectively around Kate, smiling with genuine warmth.

And then there was me, standing on the far edge, looking like a stranger who had accidentally wandered into the frame.

The Kate in the photo hadn't gotten sick yet. Her eyes were bright, her lips curved into a beautiful, effortless smile.

She wore a pristine white cashmere sweater that made her skin look like porcelain.

I was wearing a cheap, ill-fitting red coat. Eleanor had pulled it out from the back of a closet at the last minute, mentioning it was something Kate bought years ago but never wore.

"Red suits you," Eleanor had told me before the photographer snapped the picture.

But her eyes had never left Kate.

I took the photograph out of its frame and placed it in the drawer with the medical documents.

It was late. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The walls of the apartment were paper-thin. I could hear the couple next door arguing, a baby crying on the floor below, the distant hum of traffic on the wet asphalt.

These sounds used to make me feel overwhelmingly lonely. Tonight, they brought me comfort.

They were proof of life. They were the heartbeat of the world.

And my own heartbeat was a rhythmic reminder that I was draining the life out of someone else.

The thought wrapped around my throat like ivy, pulling tighter and tighter.

I sat up, switched on the desk lamp, and began to write a letter.

I wrote incredibly slowly. Every stroke of the pen carried an impossible weight.

I didn't have a formal will to draft.

Just a few words I never had the courage to say out loud.

When I finished, I folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope, and left the recipient blank.