They Took My Liver,Then They Cried at My Grave

I didn’t even flinch when I knew the death sentence.

What’s the point?

I’ve been living on borrowed time since they locked me up.

Lina sauntered over, slapped divorce papers down on the table in front of me, looking sad.

“Listen, Nick… Vincent’s liver is failing. You’re the only match. He wants us married before the surgery, so we’re signing these. It’s just for show, alright? I love you, but I just don’t want him going into that operating room with any regrets. Once he recovers, we’ll remarry. I promise.”

I didn’t even reach for the pen.

Of course that’s why they pulled me out of the sanatorium.

Neurotoxin doesn’t target my other organs.

They want the liver, and they can have it.

Little did they know I’d be dead by sunrise.

Before I could answer, my parents closed in.

Mother leaned in, using that tone she wielded like a blade in court.

“Your brother is dying. You’re gonna save him, or you will crawl back to that cell and never see daylight again. We don’t raise selfish cowards in this family.”

My father grunted in agreement.

“She’s right. Don’t make us regret letting you out.”

Lina stayed quiet.

Just stood there, like she didn’t know them.

Fair enough.

I picked up the pen without reading a word.

“I’ll do the surgery.”

Lina’s face lit up

She all but leaped into Vincent’s arms.

Mom rushed over in tears.

Dad shoved the surgical consent form at me before I could even set the pen down.

“There’s my boy,” my dad clapped me on the shoulder.

“Do this, and you’ll get your share of the family holdings. Understood?”

I shook my head and could taste blood in the back of my throat.

“Give it all to Vincent. I don’t need it.”

Mom swatted my arm like I was being dramatic.

“Don’t talk stupid, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Then she turned right back to cooing over Vincent, fawning over his every breath.

Three years ago, Vincent ran me off the road and broke my leg.

They begged me not to press charges.

Vincent claimed it wasn’t intentional, saying it was raining too hard to see.

I accepted his apology.

But the next day, I overheard him say that if he’d known he could walk away clean, he would’ve made sure I never got up at all.

So I insisted on filing my lawsuit.

But Mom’s connections buried every trace.

He walked free without a scratch.

After that? I became the problem.

The jealous, petty son, the stain on the family name.

Vincent started lying about me.

My parents ate it up.

They locked me in the family sanatorium after that, ordered regular brutal punishments to “fix” my attitude, all while preaching it was for my own good.

Used to yell and fight back, now I just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.

The three of them huddled on the couch, laughing, like a real family.

I stood in the corner, might as well have been a ghost.