เหมันต์ไม่ช่วยอะไร วันนี้จะกินอะไรดีเพคะฝ่าบาท

The room fell silent.

My brother, Dante Stone, was the first to react. He frowned and looked at me, wondering if I was joking or not. "Are you serious?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

The moment I finished talking, Mom, who had been standing at the end of the corridor, strode over. She had probably been eavesdropping on our earlier conversation, her eyes still red. But now, there was a noticeable look of relief on her face.

Mom sat down beside my bed and reached for my hand. "Lia, I knew you were sensible."

I instinctively avoided her, and her hand froze in midair, her expression turning awkward.

Dad cleared his throat and spoke up, "Since you've made that decision, don't go back on it. The doctor said Michelle's body is getting weaker by the day and that we should sign the transplant consent form today."

They had already gotten the document ready, pulling out a stack of papers and placing them in front of me. A declaration of voluntary withdrawal from the heart transplant candidate list was at the top.

My eyes lingered on the word "voluntary", and I suddenly found the whole situation absurd.

They had taken turns advising me to give up the spot in the past three months. Mom said that my adopted sister, Michelle Langley, was still young and that I should be understanding, while Dad said fighting over the spot would ruin the family's reputation.

As for Dante, he had stopped paying my medical expenses, fired my caregiver, and even allowed the online narrative that I had snatched away the life-saving opportunity meant for Michelle to spread unchecked.

Now that they had finally gotten me to yield, they didn't hesitate to seal my fate once and for all.

I took the pen and signed my name on each page.

Dante stood beside me, watching. It wasn't until I finished signing every page that he finally relaxed.

He put away the papers, his voice softening. "That's more like it. Once Michelle's surgery is over, I'll contact the overseas hospital for you."

I looked at the critical condition form at my bedside. "What if I don't make it?"

Dante froze.

Before he could react, sounds of Michelle's sobbing came through the phone. "Dante, my chest hurts…"

Dante's expression instantly changed. He turned and left, with my parents in tow. Nobody spared me a second glance, and no one heard the sudden, rapid beeping of the monitor connected to me.

By the time the doctor rushed in, I was already curled into a ball from the pain.

After the emergency treatment, the doctor stood by my bedside, his face grim. "Ms. Stone, your heart function is worse than Michelle's. The transplant opportunity was allocated to you based on the severity of your condition.

"If you give it up, no one can guarantee that you'll ever get another chance at finding a suitable donor."

I stared at the ceiling. "How much longer do I have?"

The doctor was momentarily silent before saying, "About a month."

Suddenly, cheers broke out in the hallway. The sound of Mom weeping with joy drifted into the room.

"Michelle, the spot is yours! You're going to survive!"

I turned onto my side, burying my face in the pillow. Today was my 24th birthday. No one remembered. Not my parents, not Dante.

Yet on this day, they received the gift they wanted most.

My phone vibrated.

Michelle sent me a photo. In it, she was surrounded by my parents and Dante, wearing a triumphant smile on her pale face.

She wrote, "Thank you, Lia, for giving me the chance to live."