Chapter 1

My little sister came to my hospital for a checkup and was diagnosed with leukemia.

When the matching results came out, the one whose bone marrow matched hers was me.

For reasons I couldn't explain, I lied and told my family I was the one who was sick.

Mom was the first to speak.

"Bone marrow donation comes with risks. We can't let your sister take that chance."

Dad picked up right after her.

"You're sick, not her. Don't drag your sister down with you."

"While you can still get around, hurry and transfer the car and house in your name to your sister. It'll make things easier to deal with once you're gone."

My sister was the most direct of all. Her expression didn't even change.

"Treatment might not even work. You'd lose both your money and your life. You might as well accept your fate."

I stood there, listening as they each chimed in, speaking as if they were completely in the right.

In the end, Dad threw out one last line.

"If you insist on getting treated, then don't call us family anymore."

After a long moment, I smiled.

I set the lab report on the cabinet and turned to walk out.

For all these years, I'd told myself over and over that they still loved me.

Turns out they didn't.

I'd just been lying to myself all along, covering for them and keeping that last ugly truth hidden.

I had just found out I was pregnant when I learned I was a donor match. On my phone screen, the lab director's report was clear: HLA compatibility 10/10. A perfect match.

The early-spring sun was soft and warm, yet it left me chilled to the bone. Emily Carter had acute myeloid leukemia.

She'd come to the hospital where I worked for a pre-employment physical, and that's when they found it. Her white blood cell count was through the roof, and blast cells made up eighty-five percent. A textbook M2 case.

But the first thing that flashed through my mind wasn't worry. It was fear. Fear that the match would succeed.

The moment that thought crossed my mind, I hated myself for it. I was a doctor. Saving lives was my duty. I was also an older sister; she and I were bound by blood.

But more than that, I was a woman. A woman who had just gotten pregnant.

After the consultation ended, the head of hematology called me into his office, his face grim.

"Bone marrow donation requires mobilization shots. If you're trying for a baby, you'll need to put those plans on hold."

My hand instinctively pressed against my lower belly. I couldn't feel anything there yet.

"I understand."

My phone buzzed several times. They were messages from my husband, Michael Stone.

[Honey, how are you feeling today? Any discomfort?]

[Mom's making chicken soup tonight. Come home early after work.]

[Oh, and I told Dad. He's thrilled. He said he's going to get the baby a little gold keepsake.]

Every message felt like a knife.

I'd been married for three years and still hadn't gotten pregnant. Not because I was infertile.

I'd been sickly since childhood, plagued by irregular periods and what Chinese medicine calls a cold uterus. I'd taken more herbal remedies than I could count.

Acupuncture, heat therapy, every folk remedy under the sun. I'd tried them all.

Last year, I started fertility shots, ovulation induction, follicle monitoring.

Every month, I hoped. Every month, I ended up disappointed.

Last month, the doctor said we'd try one final time, and if it still didn't work, we'd move on to IVF.

I prayed every day, and then it finally happened. Two pink lines. Real, unmistakable pink lines.

When Michael found out, his eyes turned red. He held me tight and said, "Honey, we're having a baby."

My in-laws were over the moon too.

My mother-in-law held my hand. "Helen, you've been through so much. This baby didn't come easy. You have to take good care of yourself."

My in-laws even went to church to pray for the baby's safety. The whole family treated me like I was made of glass, scared I'd so much as bump into something.

But now, the lab director's words kept echoing in my ears.

"Bone marrow donation requires mobilization shots. It could affect the baby's development. The pregnancy would have to be terminated."

The pregnancy would have to be terminated. Six words. They hit like a death sentence.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. My mind was a total mess.

On one side was the baby I'd waited three years for. On the other was my little sister, hanging on by a thread.

On one side were the hopes of the entire Stone family; on the other were my ties to the Carter family.

How was I supposed to choose? Did I even have a choice?

My sister was family, and Mom and Dad adored her most. If she really died, they wouldn't survive the blow, especially Mom.

To Mom, Emily had always been her whole world, for as long as I could remember.

If Mom lost Emily, she'd fall apart. I couldn't bear to watch them suffer.

It didn't matter that they'd never truly cared about me, or that, in their eyes, I could never compare to Emily. Family was family—you couldn't just cut those ties.

So after wrestling with it all afternoon, I still decided to go back to the Carter family home after work that night.