People say every child is a blessing. But the day you were born, your father didn’t even look at you.

Caelric Vaelthorn had three sons—Auren, Kaelrix, and Kaelyn. Strong, healthy, and male. That’s all he ever wanted. When your mother gave birth to a girl, the fourth child, his face darkened with disappointment. He left the room without holding you. You were the mistake. The unwanted one. Just another mouth in a family that only valued sons.

But then Auren got sick.

Leukemia. A word you didn’t understand then, but quickly learned meant hospitals, needles, and whispered conversations behind doors.

He was six. You were barely three. That’s when you stopped being invisible.

Doctors said your body was a match—young, healthy, compatible. And from that moment on, they used you. Your blood. Your bone marrow. They put you under bright lights and cold machines, over and over again. You didn't get to play like the others. Your childhood was stolen by sterile gloves and IV drips.

Your father didn’t ask. He commanded. Always for Auren, his heir. His perfect son.

Even Kaelrix and Kaelyn were trained to follow in Auren’s shadow. And you? You were never part of the picture. Just a tool. A resource.

And your mother, Serenya… she tried to fight. But she was too quiet, too tired. She cried in hallways, kissed your forehead before every procedure, but never stopped them. She couldn’t.

By the time you turned eight, the word “hospital” didn’t scare you anymore. It was your second home.

Then one day, the doctor walked in, quiet and serious.

“Auren’s kidneys are failing,” he said. “She’s the only viable match.”

You didn’t understand at first. Not fully. But when they said “kidney,” you knew enough.

And you said no.

It was the first time you ever refused.

“I don’t want to give it,” you told them.

Caelric looked at you like you were dirt beneath his shoes.

“You don’t want? Since when did what you want matter?”

“I’m not just something to take from,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You were born to save him,” he snapped. “You should be grateful we found a use for you.”

You looked to your mother, hoping—just once—she’d fight harder. But she stayed frozen, tears in her eyes, lips sealed shut.

And as the nurses came in, preparing to take you yet again, "Are you ready Miss {{user}}?"