Chapter 3

The studio erupted.

How could anyone need help remembering her own birthday?

A terrible thought took hold of me. Mother had aged visibly since my diagnosis. She spent night after night reading medical studies, and strands of white had appeared at her temples. Perhaps prolonged stress really had affected her memory.

It was the last excuse I ever made for her.

Mother selected Dad as her outside contact. When the line connected, he answered without hesitation.

“January eighth. Your birthday is January eighth.”

Mother nodded and reached for the confirmation button, but Ethan stopped her.

“Mom, did you hear him?” He held her gaze. “Repeat the date.”

“January eighth.”

“Again.”

“January eighth.”

“One more time.”

Open irritation crossed her face.

“Ethan, I heard him perfectly. My birthday is January eighth.”

Only then did he lower his hand.

Still, Mother did not submit the answer.

The ten-minute clock continued to run.

Nine minutes and twenty seconds.

Eight minutes and forty-three.

First she asked whether the rules required her to follow the answer given by her outside contact. After the host said no, she asked him to explain the payment terms again.

His professional smile disappeared.

“The rules have not changed, Dr. Carter. The moment you answer correctly, our financial team will begin transferring five hundred thousand dollars to the cardiac center. Your daughter is waiting for that money. Please confirm your answer.”

Mother stared down at the controls without speaking.

The pain in my chest intensified, and my heart rhythm became more erratic. The nurse reached for my medication, but the doctor stopped her. My blood pressure was falling. A higher dose might make me lose consciousness completely.

I clenched my teeth and looked at the screen.

“Don’t be afraid, Mom. It’s only one question. Once you answer, this will all be over.”

At last, she lifted her head and gave me a gentle smile. Then she pressed the confirmation button.

“My birthday is January ninth.”

For one stunned moment, I forgot the pain.

The studio became deathly quiet. The host recovered first.

“Dr. Carter, your husband clearly stated that the correct date is January eighth. You still have time to change your response. Please confirm it again.”

Mother looked at him with unnatural calm.

“There’s no need. I know my birthday is January eighth.”

The host stared at her. “Then was that a slip of the tongue?”

“No.” Her voice carried through the studio and into millions of homes. “I answered incorrectly on purpose.”

The comment feed exploded.

[She admitted it.]

[Why hasn’t the show disqualified her?]

[Let the hospital or the father take control of the money.]

[She is murdering her own daughter.]

The nurse reached for the control to end my connection. I stopped her. I needed to know why.

“Why?” Each word cut through my chest. “Why would you do it again?”

Tears filled Mother’s eyes.

“Because your father has never truly respected me.”

Dad stared at her. “What does that have to do with Chloe?”

Mother turned toward the camera instead of answering him.

“Two months ago, on my birthday, I received a lifetime achievement award from the National Institute of Artificial Intelligence. It was the most important ceremony of my career, and Daniel failed to attend.”

Dad’s face changed.

“Because Chloe collapsed at school that day. The hospital thought the tumor had begun restricting blood flow to her heart. I went straight to the emergency room. Was I supposed to leave our daughter alone so I could attend your awards ceremony?”

“Later, you even got the date wrong.” Mother wiped away her tears. “You said the ceremony was on January ninth. You couldn’t even remember my birthday.”

Dad closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yes. I missed your ceremony, and during our argument afterward, I said the wrong date.”

He turned to face the livestream camera.

“I hurt you. I admit it. If you want to blame me, you can blame me for the rest of my life. But answer the question first. Chloe is waiting in a hospital for us to save her. Don’t use her life to punish me.”

Mother’s lips trembled, but she did not change her response.

“If I correct myself now, you’ll never truly remember. You need to understand that every act of neglect and every bad decision can destroy a family.”

The host checked the screen.

“Five minutes remaining.”

He walked directly toward Mother.

“Dr. Carter, you have explained your grievance publicly, and your husband has admitted his mistake. Change your answer to January eighth.”

Mother stepped back.

“He apologized because he wants the prize money, not because he understands what he did.”

“You can address your marriage after the show.” Anger entered the host’s voice for the first time. “Your daughter may not have an afterward.”

At the hospital, the doctor transmitted my heart-rate data to the main studio screen.

“Chloe’s blood pressure is dropping quickly. Unless we can transfer her to the surgical center immediately, she could go into cardiac arrest at any moment.”

People in the audience began shouting the answer.

“January eighth!”

“January eighth!”

The chant swelled until it shook the studio. Ethan stood beside Mother, begging her to press the correction button. Dad contacted the producers and the hospital, trying to find some way around her and release the medical funds.

But the program contract required the contestant to confirm the final answer herself.

Mother knew that. So she stood beneath the lights and watched everyone plead with her.

The countdown reached three minutes.

She had not forgotten the answer. Pressure had not impaired her judgment. She was waiting for Dad to display enough remorse, for Ethan to admit that her lessons were always right, and for the entire family to submit to her again.

Her purpose mattered more to her than my life.

“Mom.”

I called her that one last time. She looked at the screen immediately.

“You made Dad admit he was wrong. Everyone heard him.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Can you save me now?”

Tears remained in her eyes, but her answer did not change.

“Wait a little longer, Chloe. He still doesn’t truly understand.”

Those words destroyed the last of my hope.

I signaled for the nurse to end my video feed. Before my image disappeared, Mother’s expression shifted.

“Chloe, what are you doing?”

I did not answer. The doctor hurried to my bedside.

“Your condition is deteriorating. We will continue treatment, but if you go into cardiac arrest, how aggressively do you want us to intervene?”

The nurse handed me a tablet containing the authorization forms.

I was eighteen. I had the right to issue my own medical directives.

I did not ask anyone to punish Mother, and I did not demand that she witness my death. I simply revoked her authority to make medical decisions for me and designated Dad and the hospital ethics committee as my emergency representatives.

Then I signed the organ-donation consent form.

Mother had already turned my body into an object lesson for the rest of the family. At least in the final moments of my life, I wanted to decide what happened to it.

Pain tore through my chest as my electronic signature was completed. The tablet slipped from my hand.

The television in my room continued carrying the livestream. Before I lost consciousness, I heard Mother say angrily, “Why has everyone decided she is going to die without warning? She has been sick for months, and she was fine this morning. What harm can a few more minutes do?”

Twenty seconds remained.

In front of the entire country, Dad admitted again that he had missed the most important ceremony of his wife’s career. He promised to accept her anger for as long as she needed.

“But Chloe should not be punished for what I did. Answer the question, Evelyn.”

With one second left, Mother finally pressed the correction button.

“January eighth.”

The chime for a correct answer rang through the studio. Five hundred thousand dollars returned to the screen.

But I could no longer hear it.