I knew from a young age that my parents played favorites. That they didn't want me.
So I tried. I tried to be obedient. I tried to get good grades. I tried to be better.
But no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't worth a single strand of my sister's hair.
The truth is, I hated them.
I hated my parents. I hated my sister. I hated the world.
Especially after hearing that vicious curse from my mother's mouth. The hatred only deepened.
My father sighed and told her to stop.
"What's done is done. What's the point of saying all that now?"
Then he turned to look at me. "Lily, everyone in the family has already gone in for HLA typing. Will you go get tested too?"
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I'd known all along my parents would eventually ask me to get tested.
The reason they hadn't asked sooner was simple: they thought my marrow was too dirty to be worthy of my sister's precious body.
They'd always believed I wasn't worthy of her. That's why, growing up, when my sister outgrew her clothes, they'd rather sell them or give them away than let me wear them.