Chapter 4

Avery

Clara lay in the hospital bed, her breathing shallow and ragged.

She wasn't stupid.

"The donor backed out... didn't they?" she whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Avery... let's just stop. It hurts too much."

My eyes burned. I grabbed her frail hand and squeezed it tight.

"Don't talk like that. You're going to get better," I choked out. "Just trust me, okay?"

I stayed by her side until she finally fell asleep. As soon as her eyes closed, I practically ran to the attending doctor's office.

I pleaded with him. I refused to leave his office until he checked the registry one more time.

Seeing how desperate I was, he went back into the system and actually found another potential match. I immediately reached out and explained everything. By some miracle, the donor agreed to fly in and do the transplant right away.

A massive weight lifted off my chest. My hands physically shook as I thanked the doctor.

"Ms. Quinn, I have to be clear," the doctor warned, stopping me at the door. "There's a long waitlist. If you can't pay the surgery fees in full today, hospital policy says we have to pass the donor to the next person."

I nodded frantically. "I can pay right now."

For the last ten years, I poured every spare dollar I earned into one joint savings account. It was all for her surgery.

Knowing the money was there, I rushed down to the billing department and put my card on the counter.

The clerk swiped it. The machine beeped.

"Declined," she said. "Insufficient funds."

I froze. "That's impossible. There should be hundreds of thousands of dollars in there."

She checked her screen again and shook her head. "I'm sorry. The balance is zero."

The room spun. The floor fell out from under me.

There was only one possible explanation. Only two people had access to that account: me, and Brooks.

My hands shook as I dialed his number. He didn't pick up the first few times.

When the line finally connected, a deafening blast of noise cut through the speaker. People were cheering. I heard the booming pop, pop of fireworks in the background.

"Brooks, where is the money in my account?!" I screamed over the noise.

"Relax. I paid for a private fireworks show for Maddie," he said casually, like I was interrupting a normal evening. "It's the only thing that snaps her out of her moods."

"Are you out of your mind?!" I screamed, pure panic tearing at my throat. "That's Clara's surgery money! They found a match! If I don't pay today, she loses her spot!"

"Stop being so dramatic, Avery," Brooks groaned, annoyed. "I'm out of town right now. I'll wire the money back to you when I get back to the city."

"Brooks, wait—!"

Click.

He hung up.

I hit redial, but it went straight to voicemail. He had actually turned his phone off.

I stood in the hospital lobby, completely paralyzed. I had no other options left.

When I went back and told the doctor, he just shook his head. He had to follow the rules.

Clara's match went to someone else.

Seven days.

That was all it took.

For seven days, I sat helplessly by her bed, watching the life drain out of my little sister.

At the end, she gripped my hand with terrifying strength. Tears rolled down her sunken cheeks.

"Avery," she sobbed, gasping for air. "I don't want to die."

The second those words left her mouth, her hand went limp.

The heart monitor flatlined.

A sharp, endless beep filled the room.

Doctors and nurses swarmed the bed. They charged the defibrillator. They did chest compressions. But there was nothing left to save.

Clara was dead.

Seventeen years old, and she was gone.

I had the money to save her. But he took it all.

With nothing left to fight for, I became a walking ghost. I signed her death certificate. I bought the urn. I cremated my sister myself.

When it was all over, I went back to the apartment.

A thin layer of dust covered the furniture. I hadn't come back, and neither had Brooks.

I sat on the couch in the dead silence and checked his social media.

His timeline was flooded with updates. Videos of giant fireworks lighting up the sky. Pictures of him and Maddie on a yacht so she could "decompress."

He had shut his phone off just to make sure I didn't ruin his trip.

Staring at their smiling faces on my screen, a dry laugh slipped out.

I didn't cry. I didn't break down.

Instead, I just stood up, dragged my suitcase out of the closet, and started packing.

There was no hesitation.

I had spent ten years holding on to this relationship, constantly compromising to keep it alive. But looking around this empty room, that delusion was finally over.

This time, I was walking away.