Chapter 2

"Clara Moore, what did you do to my son? You can hate me, but you can't hurt a kid," Lily roared.

I laughed in disbelief. "Are you kidding? I didn't touch him. It was Lucas pushing Emma. Don't twist this."

"Guards! Get them!" George barked, cutting me off.

Several bodyguards rushed over and grabbed my arms. Emma cried, trying to protect me, but they yanked her away.

Seeing her pinned to the ground, gasping, I fought like a madwoman, yelling, "George Quinn, you monster. Emma is your daughter. How could you..."

A blow to the back of my head knocked me out cold.

...

When I came to, Emma's faint sobs reached my ears. "Dad, please, no more needles."

I bolted upright, my heart stopping at the sight.

A doctor held Emma's thin arm, drawing blood. The dark red liquid looked stark in the syringe.

"Stop it!" I lunged, but the guards pinned me down.

George stood stone-faced nearby, Lily weeping on his shoulder.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "The patient has acute leukemia and needs a bone marrow transplant. A half-sibling is the best donor."

Even knowing Lucas's collapse wasn't our fault, George didn't hesitate. "Fine, schedule the transplant as soon as possible."

I shook with rage. "Are you insane? Emma is only seven."

He looked down at me, unmoved.

"Dad..." Emma weakly reached out, the needle mark glaring on her pale skin. "I'll be good. Can you stop the blood draws?"

George frowned, dodging her touch, and told the doctor. "If the match works, book the surgery. I need the best anesthesiologist."

He paused, then added, "As for the donor, use the lowest dose of painkillers. Emma has always been healthy; she'll be fine."

I couldn't believe a father could be so heartless.

To keep me from interfering, George had me locked in the basement, forbidden to leave without his saying so.

Two weeks later, Lucas's surgery went smoothly. But Emma, used up like a discarded tool, was tossed back into the basement with me.

Her arms were covered in needle marks and bruises.

In just half a month, she'd lost over ten pounds, light as a feather in my arms.

"Mom, don't worry. I'm okay," Emma whispered, pale but trying to comfort me despite her pain.

She lifted her hand to wipe my tears, her eyes drifting to the basement's tiny window. Outside, fireworks boomed, and cheerful voices echoed.

I gently laid Emma on the damp, filthy mattress and peered through the window.

A ribbon drifted to the ground. Outside, the garden buzzed with guests celebrating Lucas's successful surgery, unaware of our confinement in the basement.

"Mr. Quinn, it's Miss Emma's birthday today. Didn't you promise to spend it with her?" reminded the butler.

George snorted, "A fortune-teller said Emma's existence cursed Lucas, causing his leukemia. He and Lily have been struggling for years, making him weak. Don't ruin a good day with bad talk. I'm kind enough not to kick her out. She's got food and shelter, isn't that plenty?"

His words chilled my heart. My legs buckled, and I collapsed backward.

Emma suddenly let out a piercing scream and coughed up blood. "Mom, it hurts!"