Chapter 1

1

When the national training camp roster was announced, my father took me straight to the nephrology ward. Skylar sat in a wheelchair, pale. Brenda, the woman I'd called Mom for over a decade, slid a medical report across the desk. "You and Skylar are an initial match. You're an athlete, you're strong. You can live fine with one kidney. Save your sister first."

Tyler stood by the door, holding my driver's license. "There will be other competitions, Brooke. She can't wait." I stared at them and laughed bitterly. My ten years of training meant nothing to them but a box of spare parts for Skylar.

Down the hall, my father sent voice notes to relatives: "Skylar has a chance! Brooke's a match." Tyler coaxed Skylar: "Don't be scared. Brooke won't leave you hanging." My phone buzzed. The family group chat shared a GoFundMe: Please Help Save Our Beloved Daughter, Skylar.

I quietly deleted the ethics committee appointment they'd scheduled for me, then replied to Coach Dawson. Since they wanted me to part with a piece of my body, I'd start by cutting myself out of this family.

…

Coach Dawson's reply popped up almost instantly.

Brooke, are you confirming your registration?

If you don't report within forty-eight hours, your spot goes to the alternate.

I stared at the screen, my fingertips numb with cold.

The official roster for the Women's 400-Meter Hurdles National Training Camp.

My name sat at number three.

I had spent ten grueling years running for this exact spot.

Ten years ago, when I won my very first regional championship, Tyler stood outside the finish line, holding up his jacket to block the cold wind for me.

"Brooke, when you make the national team, I'll carry your flag."

I believed him.

So even when my knees throbbed so painfully in the middle of the night that I couldn't sleep, even when my ankles were wrapped in layers of compression tape, I never once thought about stopping.

Yet right now, he stood in a hospital corridor, holding my ID, refusing to give it back to me.

The physician placed the chart back on the desk. "It's only an initial match. We still need detailed secondary evaluations. A living organ donation must be entirely voluntary on the donor's part, especially since she's a professional athlete. The risks and recovery timeline require extreme caution."

Brenda nodded frantically. "She's voluntary! Brooke has always been a good girl. She's just overwhelmed right now."

I lifted my head. "I am not voluntary."

The hallway went dead silent.

Tears welled in Skylar's eyes first. "Brooke... I'm so sorry. If I weren't dragging everyone down, you wouldn't be put in such a hard spot."

The moment she spoke, Brenda dropped to her knees to pull her into a tight hug. "Skylar, baby, don't think like that. Your sister is an athlete, she recovers fast."

My father's face darkened instantly. "Brooke, we're family. Don't be so calculating."

I turned my eyes to Tyler.

He knew better than anyone that I hadn't even gone home for Christmas just to prepare for this camp. He knew that after donating a kidney, I might never be able to return to elite athletic performance.

Yet he simply avoided my gaze. "Brooke, just give Skylar some hope for now. I'll stay by your side through your entire rehabilitation."

He wasn't ignorant of the consequences. He had simply made the decision to sacrifice me.

Brenda reached over, trying to snatch my phone. "Stop looking at all those messages. The hospital scheduled your ethics evaluation for tomorrow morning. Just cooperate with the doctors."

I took a step backward. "I'm not going."

My father slammed his palm onto the back of a plastic chair. "Don't you dare!"

Skylar flinched dramatically, and Tyler immediately bent down to support her. "Don't worry, I'm here."

When he looked up at me, his voice was heavy with reprimand. "Brooke, stop terrifying her."

I was the one being pushed onto an operating table. Yet he was scolding me for terrifying her.

The physician reminded them once more, "Family members cannot make medical decisions on behalf of an adult donor."

Brenda offered a strained smile. "We know, Doctor. She's just stubborn. We'll talk some sense into her once we get home."

I lowered my eyes, flipping my phone screen downward.

The red recording indicator on the screen was quietly blinking.

I was seven years old when my father brought Brenda and Skylar into our house.

That was the day I learned Skylar wasn't just a stepsister. She was my father's biological daughter, too, born to Brenda.

My father had patted my head back then, saying, "Brooke, you're a family now. You're the older sister, and Skylar is frail. You need to look out for her."

For over ten years, I called Brenda "Mom."

And for over ten years, I yielded everything to Skylar.

I gave up the bigger bedroom, gave up my birthdays, gave up my father's affection.

And now, they wanted my body, too.

As we walked out of the clinic, my father was already tapping away in the family chat.

Brooke's initial match came back positive! Skylar is saved!

A flood of praise instantly erupted in the group.

Brooke is so mature!

That's how an older sister should act.

She's an athlete, losing one kidney won't hurt her.

Not a single person asked whether I consented.

I reached out to take my ID back from Tyler.

He slipped it into his coat pocket. "After you calm down."

Before major competitions, he used to hold onto my race bib and kinesiology tape just like this. I used to think it was thoughtfulness.

Only now did I realize that the same hands could be used to lock me down.

When we arrived home, the dining table was covered with dishes.

Low-sodium meals, blanched vegetables, half a bowl of clear broth. Everything was tailored specifically for Skylar's delicate condition.

Brenda sat beside her, carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down. "Skylar, drink more. The doctor said you can't be malnourished right now."

Only when caring for Skylar did she resemble a true mother.

Meanwhile, after calling her Mom for more than a decade, the only lesson I had learned was how to surrender.

Tyler sat on Skylar's other side, slicing an apple into tiny, uniform cubes for her.

I stood in the entryway, my heavy gym bag still slung over my shoulder.

I had been fasting since morning for blood draws, then dragged around all afternoon to discuss organ donation procedures. My stomach twitched with sharp, empty pangs.

No one asked if I had eaten.

I turned and walked into the kitchen.

Inside the pot was only half a bowl of cold rice porridge. The moment my fingers touched the rim of the bowl, Brenda stepped into the kitchen behind me.

"That's for Skylar's midnight snack," she said coldly. "You're an athlete, missing one meal won't kill you."

I looked at her.

In that singular moment, it became crystal clear to me: she wasn't incapable of being a mother. She was simply only a mother to Skylar.

My father pushed an old debit card across the kitchen counter toward me.

"Transfer last month's state team stipend to your mother."

I stared down at the card. It was my training allowance card, which had been linked to Brenda's phone account for years.

"That's my emergency reserve for training camp," I said softly.

My father scowled. "Don't you see what this family is going through right now? Skylar needs a private room, she needs dialysis, she needs to wait for surgery!"

Brenda's eyes reddened. "You'll have plenty of prize money once you're on the national team! Skylar can't afford to wait right now!"

I spoke up in a low voice. "Didn't you already start a fundraiser?"

The living room fell instantly quiet.

Skylar immediately dropped her head. "Brooke, I'm sorry for making a scene and embarrassment out of our family. Maybe... maybe I shouldn't seek treatment."

Brenda rushed out of the kitchen to wrap her arms around Skylar. "Don't speak such nonsense!"

Tyler handed a piece of apple to Skylar's lips. "Eat this first. Don't worry about any of this."

My phone chimed with a notification. It was a link sent privately by a relative.

Brooke, you're such a good girl. I shared the fundraising link for you!

I clicked the link.

At the very top of the GoFundMe page was a photo of Skylar lying frail in a hospital bed.

The second photo was a back view of me crossing a finish line in my state team uniform.

The caption read:

Older sister Brooke is a state athlete and has agreed to selflessly donate her kidney to save her sister. A bond of true sisterhood. Please help this family in need.

I stared at that photo, my fingers tightening around the edge of my phone.

That was a photo from last year's National Youth Championships.

After crossing the finish line, I had collapsed onto the track, my knees raw and bleeding onto the asphalt. My parents hadn't come. Only Tyler had shown up.

He had said that moment of glory deserved to be preserved.

I raised the screen right in front of Tyler's face. "Did you give them this photo?"

Tyler's posture stiffened. "Your aunt said the fundraising platform required proof of the family's situation. Brooke, it's an emergency. We can delete the photo later."

Skylar chimed in with a soft, trembling voice. "Brooke, are you mad at me for using your picture? I was just afraid people wouldn't help me..."

Every sentence she spoke sounded like an apology, yet every sentence dragged me into the spotlight to be judged by everyone.

I pulled the debit card back and shoved it into my bag. "I'm not transferring a single cent."

My father's face turned livid. "Brooke, are you trying to force my hand?!"

I didn't bother arguing further.

As I turned to head upstairs, a banking alert popped up on my phone.

The remaining balance in that old stipend account had just been forcibly transferred out.

Tyler pursued me to the foot of the stairs, lowering his voice to a gentle plea. "Brooke, I know you feel wronged. But Skylar really has no other way out."

I stopped on the steps. "Did the doctor say that to you directly?"

He fell silent for a moment. "Your parents wouldn't lie to you."

A faint, bitter smile touched my lips.

He hadn't even bothered to ask the doctor himself. He simply assumed that my sacrifice was the default option.

The next day, the state team hosted a farewell ceremony for the athletes selected for the national squad.

Coach Dawson had reserved three seats in the very front row for my family.

Three chairs. My father, Brenda, and Tyler.

She handed me the event program, smiling as she patted my shoulder. "Don't look so tense today. This is a massive milestone."

I nodded silently.

Yet when the ceremony began, those three seats remained completely empty.

My teammates walked up to the stage one by one. Some received bouquets from their mothers; others had fathers holding up cameras to capture the moment.

When my name was called, Coach Dawson was the only person standing in the audience, clapping warmly for me.

She tucked a bright bouquet of sunflowers into my arms. "Brooke, keep running forward. No one can run your lane for you."

A sudden wave of heat prickled my nose, and tears nearly spilled over.

After the group photos, my phone buzzed several times.

Brenda had posted a photo in the family group chat.

Skylar was sitting on a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in my official USA National Team jacket.

Tyler was kneeling partially beside the bed, zipping the jacket up to her chin. My father stood on the side, holding a mug of warm water.

Brenda's caption read: Skylar wanted to wear her sister's jacket for good luck. We will all get through this together.

She and I shared half the same blood. Yet that tiny shared lineage wasn't a bond of affection in their eyes, it was a license to strip me bare.

Relatives flooded the chat with replies.

Skylar looks so pretty in it!

The sisters have such a deep bond. Skylar will definitely recover!

I looked down at the standard team track jacket I was wearing.

That official national team windbreaker had been issued just last night. It had my name printed clearly across the back: BROOKE.

I had carefully ironed it and placed it at the very top of my suitcase. Now, it was draped over Skylar.

A text from Tyler popped up.

Skylar just wanted to try it on for encouragement. It's just a jacket, don't be so petty.

I stared at the words don't be so petty for a very long time.

When I was younger, I owned a pair of track spikes that I wore during my very first state victory. Skylar had begged to try them on.

She wore them while running through the gravel paths in the neighborhood garden, snapping the spikes and clogging the soles with mud.

My father had brushed it off, saying children were naturally curious. Tyler had advised me that shoes could easily be replaced.

Later, my first championship medal was taken by my father and placed under Skylar's pillow in the hospital. He claimed looking at it gave Skylar courage.

Every single time, it was met with don't be so petty.

It was as if the moment I stood up for myself, I became the villain.

Coach Dawson walked over, saw the photo on my screen, and her expression darkened instantly. "Did your family take that without asking?"

I locked the screen. "It's fine."

She didn't push further, simply handing me an envelope containing my reporting documents. "The team bus will take you to the airport tomorrow morning at six-thirty. Don't forget your ID and medical clearance files."

My chest tightened sharply.

My driver's license was still in Tyler's possession. And my registration letter... had been in my suitcase last night.

I caught a cab straight back to the house.

The living room lights were blazing. My father, Brenda, Tyler, and Skylar were all gathered there.

My national team windbreaker was draped across Skylar's lap, while the removable name tag from the back sat casually on the coffee table.

I walked over and picked the jacket up.

Skylar's eyes filled with tears immediately. "Brooke, I didn't mean to... I just wanted to feel a little bit of confidence."

Brenda pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Brooke, it's just a piece of clothing. Skylar is going through so much, must you fight her over everything?"

I pinned the name tag securely back onto the jacket. "This belongs to me."

Tyler frowned deeply. "Can't you even grant her a tiny piece of hope right now?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "Since when did my personal belongings become her source of hope?"

He choked on his words, unable to answer.

My father threw a printed document onto the glass table. "You're not going to the airport tomorrow."

"The hospital scheduled your ethics committee review."

I turned my head toward Tyler. "Did you know about this, too?"

He averted his eyes from mine. "It's just an interview."

Brenda interjected, "It doesn't mean surgery right away. We just need to give Skylar a ray of hope first."

I turned around, walked upstairs, and unzipped my suitcase.

The clear document pouch was completely empty. My ID, my backup bank card, and my national team registration letter were all gone.

Behind me, Brenda's voice was soft and sickeningly gentle. "Mom is keeping those safe for you. I'll give them back once the interview is finished."

I gripped the hard shell of the suitcase, my knuckles turning stark white.

They didn't just want me to yield. They were actively locking the door on my future.

At four in the morning, muffled noises echoed from downstairs.

My father was on the phone. "Yes, we are definitely bringing her over today. She's just throwing a minor temper tantrum, it won't affect the donor evaluation."

Brenda stood outside my bedroom door holding a glass of warm milk. "Brooke, drink this and get a little more sleep. We'll head to the hospital when you wake up."

I stared at her hand gripping the glass tightly, making no move to take it. "Sleep until I miss my flight registration?"

Her eyes instantly turned red. "I have no choice! Skylar suffers so much pain during dialysis every day, can't you just feel a little sympathy for her once?"

I asked in a low voice, "When my knees hurt so badly in the middle of the night that I couldn't sleep, did you ever feel a single drop of sympathy for me?"

She froze. It was as if the thought had never once crossed her mind.

A moment later, my father stormed up the stairs. "Brooke, you are going to that hospital today whether you like it or not! Skylar is my daughter, she is your flesh and blood!"

"You share the exact same blood, how can you be so heartless?!"

I looked at him calmly. "She's your daughter, but so am I. Yet from beginning to end, you've only ever treated me as the spare part built to save her."

Tyler stood right behind him, holding the ethics interview confirmation form. The edges of the paper were crumpled under his tight grip.

"Brooke, just sign this first," he urged, his voice desperate. "It's not a surgery consent form, it's just an evaluation agreement."

I stared at him. "Are you going to force my hand to sign it, too?"

Bloodshot lines streaked the whites of his eyes. "I don't want to force you! But I can't just stand by and watch Skylar die!"

I stepped closer to him. "What if I can never run again after donating?"

His voice went hoarse. "I'll handle your rehabilitation. If you can't run anymore... I'll support you for the rest of your life."

I looked at him, and suddenly, a quiet laugh escaped me.

"Tyler, I want the track. I don't want a bed provided by you to lay in for the rest of my life."

His face drained of color in an instant.

My father lunged forward to grab my gym bag. "You still think you're leaving?"

"If you walk out that door today, I'll pretend I never had a daughter like you!"

I clamped my hands onto the straps of my bag. "From the moment you put my picture on that fundraising page, you stopped treating me like a daughter."

My father raised his hand to strike me.

Tyler immediately stepped in, grabbing his wrist. "Sir, don't hit her!"

I stared at Tyler's hand.

He knew how to block a slap. But he wouldn't block the blade aimed at my life.

I turned back into my room and pulled a dusty metal box out from beneath the floorboards.

Inside lay my very first regional championship gold medal.

Beneath the medal was a printed copy of my temporary digital flight permit, a secondary bank card, a duplicate copy of my registration letter issued directly by Coach Dawson, and a medical risk assessment form handed to me by the team doctor.

I had long stopped trusting them with my final way out.

Brenda's face turned ghastly white. "When did you prepare all of this?"

I shoved my windbreaker firmly into my duffel bag. "The moment you all agreed to donate my organ without my consent."

Tyler took a step toward me. "Brooke, don't go."

I unclasped the red braided string from my wrist.

On my eighteenth birthday, he had tied it around my wrist outside the training facility, telling me he hoped I would stay safe and sound in every single race.

I placed the red string into his open palm.

"Tyler, you protect her. I'll protect myself."

His fingers clenched violently around the string.

I picked up my bag and walked downstairs. Brenda ran out behind me, weeping, while my father roared my name from the porch.

Skylar stood at the top of the stairs wrapped in her robe, calling out "Brooke" in a frail, soft voice.

I didn't stop for a single second.

The cold morning wind whipped against my face, cutting like a blade.

Outside the residential gates, Coach Dawson was sitting in the passenger seat of the team van. Seeing me approach, she asked no questions and simply pushed the door open for me.

When we reached the airport, the boarding call was already echoing through the terminal speakers.

As I handed my digital boarding pass to the agent, my phone vibrated intensely.

It was Coach Dawson calling from the terminal entrance. Her voice was unusually grave.

"Brooke, don't panic."

"The national team administration just received a signed document submitted directly by your family."

"They claimed you are currently undergoing organ donor evaluations, and the team medical board is requesting a temporary hold on your registration."

"It's not a cancellation of your spot, but you must clear the medical audit and provide a formal statement within twenty-four hours."

Immediately after, a voice note from Tyler popped up on my screen.

Brooke, I just wanted you to come back and talk to them once.

Please come back first. We can figure out a way to resolve the registration issue later.

The boarding gate scanner let out a sharp, crisp green beep.

I gripped my phone, turned off the screen, and stepped straight into the jet bridge.

I needed to reach the base, secure my spot, and only then would I have the strength to settle these debts one by one.