Chapter 3

Bowie's POV

I curled up in the freezing corner, my empty stomach aching painfully.

The hunger gnawed at me from the inside, leaving me shivering and cold.

What was worse was the itching.

I couldn't stop scratching, my nails dragging across my skin and leaving red marks behind.

Yet the more I scratched, the more unbearable the itch became, until I almost wanted to roll on the ground.

"Don't be hungry... Mom doesn't want me anymore…" I muttered to myself, digging my fingernails deep into my skin.

"Once the heart transplant is done… If I scratch it all away, Mom will come back…"

My nails broke the skin, and a warm liquid seeped out. The pain finally drowned out the itch.

I couldn't see anything in the dark, but it made my other senses painfully sharp.

I could hear my own heavy breathing and smell the sweet aroma of cornbread in the air.

Every family ate cornbread on New Year's Day. I wanted to eat it so badly.

As my consciousness faded, I saw that woman again.

On a night of heavy snow, she wore a thin cotton coat, holding a child tightly bundled in her arms. I couldn't see her face and could only remember how she cried, her shoulders shaking violently.

She set the child down on the cold steps and turned to leave.

"Mom… Mom…" the child cried, reaching out a tiny hand.

That was me. I was probably three years old.

The woman paused for a moment, but she didn't look back. Snowflakes fell on her head, quickly turning her into a faint white blur.

"Mom, take me with you! I'll be good! Don't leave me… Please… Don't leave me," I begged.

Crying, I chased after her, but she grew smaller and smaller until she completely vanished into the snowy street corner.

I knelt in the snow, crying until my throat was hoarse and my body went stiff.

A staff member at the orphanage came out. She dragged me back like trash and threw me into the dark, windowless room.

"What are you crying for? Your mother abandoned you! Crying won't help!"

The sound of the lock turning was exactly the same as tonight.

"No… Mom… Don't abandon me…"

I woke up sobbing from the dream. My face was wet, and I was unable to tell cold sweat from tears.

Dawn had broken.

I struggled to get up. The wounds I'd scratched had scabbed over slightly, tearing with sharp pain whenever I moved.

Holding onto the wall, I slowly shuffled to the door and pushed it open just a crack.

The living room was brightly lit, and a large plate of plump golden cornbread sat on the dining table.

Bruce sat in his special high-backed chair with some cornbread in his small bowl. Esther picked a piece up with a fork and carefully blew on it to cool it. Then, she offered it to him.

"Here, Bruce, open up. This cornbread is delicious. It's fresh out of the oven," she said.

Bruce opened his mouth obediently and took a bite. "Yummy!" he said, smiling with satisfaction.

"Have some more if it's good," Philip said, sitting nearby and pouring a warm glass of milk for him with a smile. "It's New Year's Day today, after all. Eat as much as you like."

I looked intently at that plate of cornbread. I was hungry, so hungry that my vision turned dark.

I forgot the pain and last night's punishment. At that moment, I saw nothing but the food.

"Bowie?" Philip noticed me first, startled.

Esther and Bruce turned around, too.

But I couldn't care about anything else now. All my attention was on the single piece of cornbread that had fallen beside Bruce's plate.

Before my fingertips could touch it, he instinctively tried to protect his plate. His arm accidentally bumped into my hand.

Already weak, I lost my balance at his touch and tumbled down, crashing into the dining table.

Then, Bruce burst into tears.

"My cornbread… My cornbread… It's gone…" he lamented.

Esther's face twisted in rage. She stood up abruptly and slapped me hard across the face.

My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing as half my face went hot and numb.

"Bowie Easton, are you doing this on purpose? You just can't stand seeing Bruce happy, can you? You even have to snatch his cornbread?" she shouted.

I shook my head, crying, my chest tightening with sheer terror.

"I-I'm so hungry… I want to save Bruce. I'll give him my heart… Just let me eat a little…" I stammered.

Esther suddenly sneered and dragged me toward the front door.

"Then we're going to the hospital right now to get the surgery done early! That'll save you from being an eyesore at home and trying to hurt Bruce all day!"

The morning wind felt freezing. She shoved me into the car in my thin pajamas.

Philip drove us to the hospital.

I was taken into a brightly lit room. Dressed in his white coat, a surgeon looked at my body, covered in injuries.

He frowned deeply and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Easton, this boy looks ten at most, and his body is severely weak. Are you sure you want to do the donor match test now? Is he willing? Have you asked for his consent?"

Esther's face was contorted with rage. "He's willing."

I don't know where I found the strength, but I dropped to my knees before her, tears streaming down my face.

"Mom, Dad, I want to eat cornbread. I want you to call me 'sweetheart'. I want you to love me. I want to survive this year, too."