Chapter 2The Winds of Lake Tahoe Never Reach Me

It felt as though something detonated inside my brain, leaving my ears ringing violently. I looked up at Chester, but he quickly averted his gaze, looking thoroughly guilt-ridden.

"Lena has been in a terrible state lately. She lacks the stamina to handle the trauma of a major operation," he stammered. "Besides, she's only 19. Her life is just beginning. If she loses a kidney now, what is she supposed to do for the rest of her future?"

Before I could respond, Milford frowned. "Don't look at Chester like that. Lena is a year younger than you. Are you really going to drag her onto an operating table? She doesn't owe you anything."

I turned to look at Collin. When our eyes met, he stayed silent for a while before speaking in a gentler tone than the others, but the underlying accusation cut just as deep.

"Medical technology is so advanced these days, Vicky. We can just take our time and wait for a donor from the national registry. You can't afford to be this selfish."

My throat tightened until it ached.

They were the ones who had brought Lena home and given me hope in the first place. Yet now, they were standing in a unified front to snuff it.

They had no idea that during my last solitary chemotherapy session, the oncologist had grimly informed me that the surgery couldn't wait any longer.

That was fine. I silently resolved that since my brothers and my childhood sweetheart couldn't bear to let Lena suffer, I would never ask for her kidney again.

I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue, using the sharp physical pain to force back the tears, and signed the document with a trembling hand.

The three men visibly exhaled. Almost simultaneously, they each produced a gift bag from behind their backs.

"Alright, drop the miserable face," Milford muttered. "These are the birthday presents we prepared for you. Lena got hers, and you get yours. Don't say we play favorites."

I stared at the three bags piled on the table, a hot, stinging sensation flooding my eyes.

That day wasn't even Lena's actual birthday. As an abandoned orphan, she didn't even have a clue about when she was born.

It was Chester who had decided that since she was brought home to be my savior, she would share my birthday.

In the beginning, the icing on the birthday cake only bore my name. Then, it became "Vicky and Lena." Eventually, my name was erased, leaving only Lena's.

She moved into my home, took my necklace, and stole those close to me. In the end, even my birthday became hers.

A sharp, breathless laugh escaped my throat. "If I hadn't signed that waiver just now... would these gifts have stayed hidden? What is this supposed to be? A violent slap to my face, followed by a cheap piece of candy?"

"Vicky, don't be ungrateful!" Milford huffed. "Take them or leave them!"

He reached out and snatched the bags back. His movement was so aggressive that one of the bags fell off the coffee table, spilling its contents across the floor.

There was a pen, a book, and a dress with the price tags already cut off. Just moments ago, I had seen what lay in front of Lena—the latest smartphone model, a limited-edition designer handbag, and VIP floor-seat concert tickets.

Seeing that I remained frozen, Milford shoved my shoulder in a fit of irritation. "Get over your pathetic attitude! Who are you throwing this tantrum for?"

I stumbled backward from the force of his hand. As I staggered, his knuckles accidentally caught the edge of my hairline.

A sudden, terrifying lightness swept over my head, and my wig fell directly onto the floor. My bald, sickly scalp was exposed to every eye in the room.

Milford froze, and Chester's expression shifted. Collin stared at me in horror before finally finding his voice. "Vicky, you..."

I didn't offer them an explanation. I simply bent down to pick up the wig, my hands shaking so badly I couldn't put it on properly.

Hot tears began to crash onto the floor, but I refused to lift my face to let them see.

They hadn't accompanied me to a single hospital appointment or chemotherapy session in three years. Of course, they didn't know that my hair had been shaved off two winters ago.

I clumsily crammed the wig back into place, turned on my heel, and walked toward the door. Just as I reached the entrance hallway, Chester's voice cut through the stifling silence.

It sounded hesitant, raw, and deeply uncomfortable. "Do you... want to stay for dinner?"

I paused, staring down at my shoes with a hollow, bitter smile. This was supposed to be my home, too. Yet even eating a simple meal under this roof was now framed as an act of casual hospitality.

I swallowed the rising sob and the familiar, metallic tang of blood in my throat.

"No need." I shook my head.