"We raised you better than this," he hissed. "Is this why we educated you? So you could do this kind of lowly, degrading work?"
He gestured at the slums. "You might not have any shame, but we do! If my colleagues find out my daughter is a street hawker, how are we supposed to hold our heads up?"
There it was. They didn't care about my heart. They cared about their reputation.
I yanked free. "I make money with my own two hands. What's there to be ashamed of?"
I straightened my spine, staring him down. "There's no distinction between high and low work. Or do you think wearing a white coat makes you a superior species?"
I stepped toward him, forcing him back. "Actually, you're right. Doctors are supposed to have benevolent hearts. You're so noble you can sacrifice your own biological daughter to save a stranger. Truly saintly."
Mom grabbed my hand, panic rising. "Sam, please! We came to take you to treatment. Stop fighting us. I've already found a potential donor match—"
"Is that necessary?" Ice coated my voice. "If I take it, won't I just become another person using connections to cut the line?"
"Samantha—"
"Save it." I turned my back on them. "I don't want your charity."