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I had severe anemia from birth. My brother missed his SAT exam just to donate blood for me, two times. Then came his third attempt. The night before the SAT, I had an acute complication from the anemia: violent vomiting, piercing tinnitus. My parents made the hard call and sent me to Grandma's place. Before they left, my mom held me, her eyes red. "Ms. Carter said if your brother skip this SAT, she won't take him back for a retake. Your brother has his own future." My dad sighed, worn out. "We'll come get you in three days, okay?" They asked me, but they didn't wait for my answer. I watched the car pull away—and coughed up blood again. My body was growing cold. Then my brother texted: [Did you make it to Grandma's? You feeling okay?] My vision was already blurring, but I gritted my teeth and typed back: [I'm fine. Good luck on your exam. I'll see you when you come get me.] They were right. My brother had his own life to live. This time, I wouldn't hold him back.