"Her sister was a failed experiment in hardship education. But Penelope? She's been obedient since birth."
"At three years old, she already knew how to read a room. She helped with all the housework."
"When she got her first period at twelve, she secretly used toilet paper for a whole year because she didn't want to waste our money."
"Yes, she has kidney failure. But the excellent qualities we deliberately cultivated in her have kept her going on her own."
My mother paused, her tone turning dismissive.
"Besides, if she passes our little test successfully..."
"What awaits her is wealth beyond anything ordinary people can imagine."
"So to avoid gossip, let her wait a bit longer."
"It's not like kidney failure actually kills anyone..."
With those airy words, she overrode Dr. Chavez's objections and replaced my name with someone else's.
In that instant, my body turned to stone.
Trembling, I remembered every moment of suffering from these past three years.
Hauling three bags of rice up seven flights of stairs for a few extra dollars in tips.
Sprinting up fifteen floors in under a minute to avoid late-delivery penalties, the taste of blood coating my throat.
Countless agonies.