Too Late to Save Me
I was the real son, finally found and brought back by my billionaire parents, only to be diagnosed with leukemia right after.
The only person who matched my bone marrow was the adopted son, Doug Daniel.
So my parents rushed to bring him back into the family, making him my donor.
To make it up to him, they did everything they could for him. My parents handed over the inheritance. My fiancée, Moira Stevens, hovered around him every day.
When the pain got so bad that I could barely stand it, my parents pointed at me and snapped,
"Jay! You keep bringing up your illness. Are you really that eager to take away Doug's health?"
Moira, a medical school professor, didn't hold back either.
"I'm a doctor. You think I don't understand your condition? You act like you're dying every single day. You just can't stand that we're being nice to Doug."
On the day of the transplant, I lay on the operating table and waited. But Moira, the one in charge of harvesting Doug's marrow, never came in.
I closed my eyes and waited for death.
None of them knew I had already signed up to donate my body.