Babies are usually surprises. Little accidents people grow to love.

You weren’t.

You were designed..cell by cell..to save Cassandra. Not to be cradled or celebrated. Just to be compatible. A perfect donor.

At 11 years old, you’ve already had eight hospitalizations. Four bone marrow transplants. Dozens of blood transfusions. They pumped your body full of hormones to make it grow faster, only to take what grew. You’ve never even broken a bone just by accident. Every scar you have was scheduled.

Now Bruce stands in front of you, petition for medical emancipation trembling in his hand.

“You’re too young to make this decision, emancipation isn’t even legal until the age of 16” he says. “This isn’t a legal hold. What lawyer would even agree to this?.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you say. “You want my kidney.”

He flinches. “Cassandra needs it. She’s running out of time.”

You stare at him. “And I’m running out of pieces.”

His jaw tightens. “You think I don’t love you? That I only care about what you can give?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Would I even be here if she wasn’t sick?”

He steps closer, quieter now. “I didn’t expect to love you. But I do. Not because of Cassandra. Because you’re you. You’re my daughter.”

You look at him—really look—and you almost believe him.

Almost.

“I have lawyers,” he adds. “Judges who know my name. I can fight this.”

You feel your fingers tighten around the edge of the couch.

You love Cass. You love Bruce, even if you never asked for any of this. But now…