Chapter 8
I looked up, surprised.
Mers
“You know this is my dream, how hard I’ve worked for it. And you want me to give it up?”
Why?
“I can’t agree.”
Bastian Hanson frowned again.
“It’s just a spot. What’s the big deal? Quilla is different. She’s afraid of the surgery and wants to fulfill this small wish before it. As her sister, can’t you grant her this?”
My eyes welled up.
How could he say that so casually?
As if everything I’d done didn’t matter.
Anything Quilla Lewis wanted, I had to give up.
“I’m already giving her my blood. Now, she wants to steal my dreams too?”
I said, tears in my eyes.
Bastian Hanson flinched.
From outside, came Quilla Lewis’s choked sobs.
“If you don’t let me have it, I won’t have the surgery. It’s so dangerous. What if I don’t come out… I just want to fulfill this small wish. If you won’t let me, I’d rather die!”
My father shook his head frantically.
“Silly girl, don’t say such things!”
“I promise! I promise!”
He strode to me, ordering, “Give the spot to your sister!”
It wasn’t a request.
I refused. “The organizers invited “me“. It’s my life’s work!”
His face turned dark.
He shouted, “Quilla is your sister! Can’t you be less selfish? Are you trying to drive your sister to her death?” My eyes were red, but I stubbornly refused to yield.
“Fine, fine!”
He repeatedly said “fine,” then pulled out his phone.
“You’re disobedient, huh? Forget about your company.
I
can have someone buy it right now.
You care so much about your work, think about it.
Is the company more important than a spot?”
I was shocked, looking at him in disbelief.
This was my father.
He used my weaknesses to hurt me, to force me to comply.
My fists clenched.
08:18
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I knew he would do it.
Bastian Hanson urged, “You can get another spot. Just give this one to Quilla. Don’t be stubborn.” Tears streamed down my face, but I suddenly smiled.
I looked at
them–m
husband,
my
family, my son–all siding with Quilla Lewis.
“Fine, I’ll give it up.”
I looked at them.“Are you satisfied now?”
They all sighed in relief, turning to Quilla Lewis.
Only I looked up, closing my eyes, letting the tears flow freely.
The light in my eyes dimmed, fading to ash.
That night, Bastian Hanson brought seafood porridge–the kind I supposedly loved. The aroma was rich, but I had no appetite, lying on the bed numbly.
In the trash can lay the ruined sketches.
He brought the spoon to my lips.
I turned my head coldly.
After a long silence, he put down the bowl.“Then eat it yourself.”
Silence returned to the room.
I looked at the porridge, then threw it in the trash.
The next day, I saw Quilla Lewis waiting for me in the hallway, her eyes full of triumph.
“Sister, what good is your talent? The opportunity is mine in the end.”
