Chapter 2The Price of My Heart

The next day, I didn't go to the hospital for my checkup.

I went to the insurance company.

The receptionist was taken aback when she saw a twelve-year-old girl walk in alone.

"Sweetie, who are you looking for?"

"Miss, I want to check on my insurance policy. My name is Lily Brooks. The policyholder is Victoria Brooks."

The receptionist hesitated but looked it up for me anyway.

"Your policy... the death benefit is five million dollars. The beneficiaries are your parents, Edward and Victoria Brooks."

"Miss, can the beneficiaries be changed?"

"Yes, but it requires the policyholder's consent. That would be your mother."

I nodded.

"And if the policyholder doesn't agree?"

"Then it can't be changed."

I thought for a moment.

"What if I buy my own insurance policy? Can I name someone else as the beneficiary?"

The receptionist looked stunned.

"Sweetie... you're only twelve. You can't buy life insurance yourself. And... why are you asking these things?"

I offered a small smile.

"Nothing. I just wanted to know if, when I die, the money could go to someone other than my parents."

The receptionist's face fell.

She knelt down, looking me in the eye.

"Sweetie, is something going on at home?"

"No. Thank you, miss."

I turned and walked out of the insurance company.

Standing on the street, the sun felt wonderful.

But I knew I probably wouldn't see many more sunny days like this.

Not because of my heart.

But because I had decided that before they could touch that five million, I was going to make sure they got nothing.

I would make sure they didn't see a single dime.

When I got home, my brother Noah was in the living room practicing the piano.

Seeing me walk in, he didn't even look up.

"Lily, Mom said you skipped your checkup. She's really mad."

"Oh."

"She said if you don't behave, she's going to cut your medication."

I stopped in my tracks.

"What does that mean?"

Noah played a chord, speaking casually:

"Exactly what it sounds like. Your pills are really expensive, right? Like twenty thousand a month. Mom said if you don't cooperate, she'll just stop buying them. Anyway—"

He paused, seemingly realizing his next words were a bit harsh.

"Anyway what?" I asked.

"Anyway, you can't be cured."

When my eight-year-old brother said those words, his tone was exactly like our father's.

Light, dismissive, treating it as a matter of fact.

I looked at him.

This boy who had been pampered since the day he was born.

He wasn't inherently evil. He just genuinely believed my life had no value.

Because from the moment he entered this world, everyone in this house had taught him one thing:

His sister was a burden, a financial drain, a defective product that could break down at any moment.

"Noah."

"Yeah?"

"You play beautifully."

Noah finally looked up, glancing at me in surprise.

"...Thanks."

I went upstairs to my room.

I opened the old iPad my dad had given me—the only electronic device in the house that belonged to me, and only because it was an outdated model Noah didn't want anymore.