Donor Against My Will: I Died After Saving My Sister

I had died. Yet, trapped by my obsession, my soul remained tethered to my mother, Maxine Avery—unable to leave even for an instant.

In the hospital, my parents stood vigil at my younger sister Lindsey Finch's bedside.

Mom, usually a pillar of composure and iron resolve, was trembling on the verge of tears. The formidable woman who had once faced me in court with ruthless precision now wore an expression so fragile it was almost unrecognizable.

When Lindsey's eyes fluttered open, relief washed over them. The crushing weight on their hearts seemed to lift at once.

Mom clasped Lindsey's hand, tears welling in her eyes. "Sweetheart, you're finally awake. Are you hurting anywhere? I’ll go get the doctor right now."

Lindsey shook her head, her gaze searching the room. "Where's Aurora? Why isn't she here? Does she still blame me for using her platelets?"

At the mention of my name, Mom's face hardened. Disgust clouded her eyes. "What right does she have to blame you? She's selfish and heartless. To think she dragged me into court while you were suffering! She has brought me shame enough to last a lifetime."

A searing ache tore through me. It was Mom who had taken me to court; she had given her all, wielding every ounce of her legal brilliance against me.

I was her daughter, not some unforgivable criminal.

My father, Austin Finch, slammed his fist against the wall in fury. "Call Aurora right now! Make her kneel before Lindsey and beg forgiveness. She can't stand to see Lindsey well—she wants everything to herself. How did I end up with such a cold-blooded, ungrateful daughter?"

My soul lingered among them, unseen. We were supposed to be family, yet not a single person spoke up for me. Even in death, they wouldn't let me rest. They smeared my name just as they always had.

Mom picked up her phone and tried calling me several times, but of course, there was no answer.

"That ungrateful wretch has grown a backbone," she spat. "How dare she throw a tantrum now? If I don't teach her a proper lesson when we return, she'll think she can walk all over us when we're old."

In that moment, my heart withered into gray despair—I wasn't refusing her calls; I was already gone.

I was three years older than Lindsey. When I was little, Dad spilled water on the floor. I slipped and accidentally knocked into Mom, who was eight months pregnant.

The shock sent her into premature labor. Lindsey was born frail, and from that day forward, Mom laid the blame squarely on me.

"If it weren't for a jinx like you, Lindsey would've grown up healthy and strong. You owe her everything!"

Filled with injustice, I looked toward Dad pleadingly, hoping he would speak the truth. Instead, he lashed out. "Why are you looking at me like that? You brought this upon yourself, so don't try to drag me down with you!"

That was the moment I understood—he would never defend me. He would only deepen my guilt.

Sure enough, Mom's hand cracked across my face, the blow ringing in my ears. I nearly suffered a perforated eardrum.

"Today, you will kneel before Lindsey and stay there until you understand your sins."

I knelt the entire day, clinging to the hope that my innocence might sway her.

She was a famous lawyer, after all. Surely, she wouldn't condemn the blameless. But reality gave me a harsh wake-up call. Her fairness was reserved for strangers, never for me.

When Mom kicked me squarely in the chest, I finally realized how naive I had been. Her eyes were cold, her voice venomous. "Aurora, you're the reason Lindsey was born like this, and you feel no remorse. How did I end up with a daughter as rotten as you?"

That incident ended with Mom starving me for three days until I broke. I could still remember her smug words to Dad.

"This is how you discipline a child. Otherwise, they grow up without knowing their place."

And this came from a woman who had graduated top of her class in law school.

I should have seen it then—the truth that my parents never loved me. Yet I clung to hope, desperate to awaken some spark of affection in them. The hope followed me to the grave, where I still couldn't bring myself to resent them.

Now,

My thoughts snapped back to the present.

Mom and Dad were still cursing me, their words sharp and merciless, as though I weren't their daughter but their sworn enemy.

Any last ember of hope died within me. For the first time, I realized that death might have been my best ending after all.