If You Only Had 72 Hours to Live

The day I signed my organ donation papers, my family was gathered around my adopted sister, Hailey, holding a cake they'd baked themselves to celebrate the start of her first clinical trial.

I have terminal brain cancer, and my stepsister, Hailey, had stolen my husband Zane's medical credentials.

She'd blackmailed a member of his staff to swap her healthy medical records with my terminal diagnosis, stealing the one spot in an experimental treatment that could have saved my life.

The pain became too much. I swallowed a handful of painkillers, only to overhear the nurses whispering, "It's a good thing Dr. Zane secured that spot for Hailey. They said she only had three days left."

So, in the last 72 hours of my life, I quietly let go of everything.

When I signed away the publishing rights to my novels, my father and brother gave me a satisfied smile.

When Zane handed me the divorce papers and I signed without a moment's hesitation, he sighed and praised me for finally being "so reasonable."

And when I was the one who coaxed our daughter, Olivia, into calling Hailey "Mommy," Olivia gushed that her new mom was the best.

Even when I offered Hailey the seaside villa and all my assets, their expressions softened into something like relief.

"Don't worry," my brother soothed, gesturing toward Hailey. "We're just keeping it safe for now. Once she's gone, it'll all come back to you."

I gave them everything they wanted. So why, when they find out this was all Hailey's vicious lie, do they come crying, saying I'm the one they wanted all along?

...

My body was tearing itself apart, the pain a phantom ache that was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

With trembling hands, I fished out the last of my painkillers from my purse.

Three days to live. Good. This should be just enough.

The pill dissolved under my tongue, granting me a sliver of strength. I called a cab to the seaside villa.

The moment I pushed open the door, I froze. Hailey was lying on the white sofa in the living room. My father was sitting beside her, peeling an apple, while my brother fluffed her pillow.

I stood at the threshold, suddenly aware of how out of place I was.

Just then, my phone rang. It was the donation center, calling to confirm the arrangements. Zane overheard and his brow furrowed. "Organ donation? Who for?"

I managed a weak, bitter smile. "Me."

The words had barely left my mouth when a dry, mocking laugh cut through the air. It was my brother, Ethan.

"Done playing the victim, Clara?"

"If you're going to keep up this act, you shouldn't have bothered coming home at all."

My father shot me a cold glare and tossed a broom at my feet.

"We don't air our dirty laundry in public," he bit out. "I don't know where you get this spiteful streak, envying Hailey since you were kids. And now this? Fighting her for a spot in a clinical trial that could save her life?"

"If you have the energy to fake being sick, you have the energy to do something useful. Go sweep the floor."

"What did I do to deserve a sister like you?" my brother sneered, pointing at me. "You should have left with Mom when you had the chance."

Hailey, feigning weakness, shot me a taunting, triumphant smile the moment our father and brother looked away.

I lowered my head and said nothing.

I'd heard these words countless times. From my father and brother as a child, and later, from Zane.

In their eyes, I was the jealous, vicious one.

This time, Zane had gone so far as to bring Hailey here, to the seaside villa where our love story began.

The old me would have burst into tears. I would have screamed, trying to expose Hailey's charade for everyone to see.

Not that anyone ever believed a word I said.

But now, I had no energy left. Besides, for a dying woman, none of it mattered anymore.

"But since you're here, there's something I need to discuss with you," my father said.

I gave a bitter smile. "Dad, I have something to tell you, too."

"Hailey wants my publishing rights, doesn't she? I've thought it over. She can have them."

My father and brother stared at me, stunned.

Zane walked in at that moment, freezing when he heard my words. "Clara, are you serious? You're really agreeing to this?"

I managed a faint smile and nodded.

I couldn't blame them for their shock and repeated questions.

Hailey had coveted my publishing rights for a long time. My father and brother had tried everything—cajoling, threatening—to get me to hand over the business I had worked so hard to build.

To be precise, they had always wanted me to give everything I owned to my dear sister, Hailey, for free.

But these novels were what my mother and I had poured our blood, sweat, and tears into, and I had never budged, no matter what they said.

Now, however, none of it mattered anymore.

I just felt like I was letting my mother down.

Seeing I was serious, the worry etched on Zane's forehead eased. He stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug. "That's wonderful, Clara!"

"Thank you for doing this for Hailey."

"Even though she's still in treatment, I know she'll do a great job with it."

I pulled away from his embrace and handed the transfer agreement to Hailey.

After Hailey signed it, my father and brother beamed, grabbing my hands and calling me a good girl over and over.

A sense of absurdity washed over me.

My husband, my father and brother—the people I loved most—would only smile at me when I gave in to Hailey.

But I was also curious. When they finally saw Hailey for who she truly was, and when they discovered I was the one who was dead, would they feel any regret?

The pain was starting to break through the medication's hold. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

I turned and walked into the bedroom.

When I woke up, our daughter, Olivia, was home from school. She was quietly sitting beside her father in the living room.

Wasted away to skin and bones, my footsteps made no sound on the floorboards. They were so absorbed, they didn't notice me at all.

Zane was on a video call with Hailey, explaining some surgical precautions and related medical details. Olivia listened attentively by his side, her eyes focused and obedient.

"Before the surgery, try not to sneak any midnight snacks or sips, okay? We need you nice and empty for the operation because I want you at your best."

It was ironic. I was on the verge of death, and only now did I see this patient, sharing side of my husband.

I remembered asking him once for some professional medical knowledge I needed for a plot point in my new novel.

And what had he said then?

"Clara, those sentimental novels you write hardly require that level of scientific accuracy." He hadn't even bothered to look up from his work.

He'd never read a single word I'd written, always dismissing it as a worthless hobby.

At first, I tried not to let it bother me. I told myself I just needed to believe in my own work.

But then came the day I saw Olivia standing on a stack of my published books, trying to reach a music box on a high shelf. "I'm getting it for Aunt Hailey," she'd said so innocently.

In that moment, I felt a crushing sense of worthlessness.

I had poured my heart and soul into this family, only to earn not a shred of respect.

In the past, I might have become hysterical, but now, I just calmly walked past them and sat on the sofa, organizing the papers in my bag.

Seeing my silence, Zane stopped playing. He paused for a moment, then walked over.

"Clara, there's something I'd like to talk to you about today."

Zane rubbed his nose, a nervous habit, and hesitated before speaking.

"It's about your sister, Hailey."

My heart sank as a terrible thought surfaced.

The next second, Zane's words left me stunned.

"Hailey's been so fragile these last few days. Your father and brother thought… well, they were hoping I'd marry her. To make her final wish of being a bride come true."