Chapter 1

My mom burst into my room, her face radiating joy.

She beamed, "Emily, stop pretending to be asleep. Olivia's wedding is done, and it was absolutely perfect."

She strode over and tried to yank me up to share happiness together.

But the instant her hand touched my arm, she jerked it back as if she'd been shocked by electricity.

She quivered. "Your body... Why's it so icy cold?"

I didn't respond. Nor could I.

Because I was truly dead.

*****

"Emily, are you daydreaming again? Didn't you hear me calling you?" my mom snapped.

Her sharp voice pierced through the roar in my ears, dragging me out of waves of darkness and dizziness.

I held onto the couch armrest, barely managing to steady myself.

In the living room, my dad, my mom, and my sister, Olivia Hart, were gathered around a pile of wedding invitations, beaming with a kind of excitement and pride I'd never seen before.

"Mom, I'm not feeling well." My voice was so soft that it was almost swallowed up by their excited chatter.

"Not feeling well? When have you ever felt well?" my mom snapped without even looking up.

She handed a stack of gold-embossed invitations to Olivia. "Olivia, double-check. Is there anyone else you want to invite?

"Your fiancé's family is inviting all the big names in the city. We can't let them outshine us."

Olivia took the invitations, her fingers tracing the delicate lace patterns, a smile tugging at her lips.

Olivia had always been my parents' pride. She was beautiful, smart, and about to marry into a rich family.

And I was just a minor detail in her flawless story, sometimes even an embarrassment.

Because of my congenital heart condition, I couldn't run or play like other kids. My skin was always paler than theirs.

To them, my weakness wasn't something tragic. It was just me being "overly sensitive" and a "burden."

The familiar pain in my chest started up again, like an invisible hand was crushing my heart.

I gritted my teeth, took a few deep breaths, and walked over to my mom. "Mom, I want to go to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow."

I had thought that if I said I needed a check-up, maybe they wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

My mom was comparing two different styles of wedding dresses. When she heard me, her brows instantly furrowed.

"Going to the hospital again? Didn't you just go last month? Do you even realize how much Olivia's wedding is costing us? We don't have spare money for you to keep running off to the hospital."

She slammed the pictures on the table. "Can you try to be a little less selfish? Olivia's only getting married once. It's a huge deal. Are you trying to ruin things for us right now?"

My dad tried to play peacemaker. "Alright, let's not fight. Emily, maybe you just haven't been sleeping well. Have some rest. It will help."

Like before, my dad would always tell me to rest but did nothing else. My vision started to blur once more.

I looked at them. They were all staring at me, but there was no concern in their eyes, only impatience and blame, like I was crashing their party every time I felt sick.

Olivia finally, and with obvious reluctance, looked up from her invitations and gave me a chilly glance.

She scoffed, "Emily, I know you've always been sick, but can you stop using that as an excuse? The whole family is busy with my wedding. If you can't help, fine, but could you stop trying to get attention all the time?"

Turned out, every time I struggled, in their eyes, it was just a pathetic bid for attention.

The pain in my chest kept getting worse. I was about to collapse. I clutched at my chest, my lips trembling, but I couldn't say a word.

"Enough." My mom suddenly stood up, pointing right at my face. "Emily, I'm warning you. Stop faking it. If you mess up Olivia's wedding, you'll regret it."

Her look of disgust cut right through me, hitting me where it hurt most. I looked at her, at Dad, at Olivia.

They were a happy, perfect family. And I was like I didn't even belong.

Quietly, I turned away and dragged myself step by step back to my room.

The moment I closed the door behind me, I couldn't stay on my feet any longer. I slid down against the door and collapsed onto the floor.

I pulled out the crumpled medical report from my pocket.

I didn't want to read a single word of the diagnosis. My eyes were locked on the doctor's signature—James Luther.

He was the only one who ever looked at me with gentle, worried eyes and told me, "You need to be admitted for surgery. Right now."

*****

The next day, I ended up sneaking out to the hospital.

No one at home cared where I was. They probably assumed I was being moody and sulking in my room.

That was fine by me.

The sharp scent of disinfectant in the hospital gave me a strange sense of comfort.

There was a long line outside James's clinic. I sat on a chair, quietly waiting for my turn.

When it was finally my turn, James looked up and saw me. A hint of surprise flashed in his gentle eyes, and then his expression turned serious. "Emily, why did you come alone? Where's your family?"

I dropped my gaze, fidgeting with my fingers. "They're... busy."

James's brows knit together. He took my medical file and carefully reviewed yesterday's report once more.

"I told you yesterday. Your situation is dangerous. You've got severe mitral stenosis, and your heart is right on the brink. You need to be hospitalized immediately and get surgery scheduled," he said.

His voice was serious, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. "We can't put this off any longer. You're at risk every second we wait."