The diary lay open on the small table, the ink still slightly wet. I stared at the words, my own words, feeling a strange sense of detachment. It was like reading about someone else's life, someone else's pain. But it was mine. All mine.
I closed the diary, the sound echoing in the silent room. What now? What do I do with this… knowledge? This impending doom?
A wave of self-pity washed over me. Why me? Why did this have to happen to me? I had so many dreams, so many plans. I wanted to travel the world, to write a book, to fall in love. Now, all of that was going to be taken away from me.
I stood up and walked to the mirror, staring at my reflection. Was this what a sacrifice looked like? Was this what a hero looked like? I saw nothing but a scared, lost girl, her eyes filled with a haunting sadness.
"You can do this," I whispered to myself, trying to sound confident, trying to believe it. "You're strong. You're brave. You can get through this."
But the words felt hollow, empty. I knew I wasn't strong. I knew I wasn't brave. I was just… resigned.
I spent the next few days in a daze, going through the motions, preparing for the inevitable. I packed a small bag, filled with my favorite books and a few cherished mementos. I wrote letters to my friends, telling them how much they meant to me, apologizing for not being able to say goodbye in person.
I avoided my parents as much as possible. I couldn't bear to look at them, to see the guilt in their eyes, the desperation in their hearts.
One week later, I was in a corner of my dark room. Today was supposed to be my graduation day. I should be celebrating with my friends, wearing my cap and gown, feeling proud of my achievements.
But instead, I was here, hiding in the shadows, waiting for my life to end.
My phone rang. It was my homeroom teacher. I ignored it. Then it rang again. And again. Finally, I turned it off.
A few minutes later, my parents called. I hesitated, then answered.
"Hello?"
"Darling, where are you?" my mother asked, her voice strained. "We've been trying to reach you all morning."
"I'm here," I said, my voice flat.
"We're busy at the hospital," my father said. "We can't talk right now. We'll see you later."
And then they hung up.
I stared at the phone, my heart sinking. They didn't even mention my graduation. They didn't even ask how I was doing. They were too consumed with Lily, too focused on the transplant.
I threw my phone across the room, watching it shatter against the wall.
What was the point? What was the point of anything?
The day before the surgery, I decided to spend some time with Lily. I found her sitting in her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, watching cartoons.
"Hi," I said softly, sitting down beside her.
She smiled, her eyes lighting up. "Hi! Are you going to read me a story?"
"Of course," I said, picking up her favorite book.
As I read, I watched her, studying her face, memorizing every detail. Her bright eyes, her button nose, her soft, rosy cheeks. She was so beautiful, so innocent.
A wave of love washed over me, a fierce, protective love. She was my sister. And I loved her. More than anything.
When I finished the story, she snuggled closer to me, her head resting on my shoulder.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know," I said, stroking her hair.
"But everything will be okay. You're going to be fine."
"Will you be there when I wake up?" she asked.
I hesitated. "I'll try," I said.
"Promise?"
"I promise," I said, even though I knew I couldn't keep that promise.
We spent the rest of the day together, playing games, watching movies, laughing and talking. It was the happiest I'd been in weeks.
As the day drew to a close, I tucked her into bed, kissing her forehead.
"Goodnight," I said softly. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said, her eyes already drooping.
"Fight hard, okay?" I said. "Fight for me."
She nodded, then closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.
I watched her for a few minutes, my heart aching with love and sadness.
Then, I quietly left the room, heading to my own.
I changed into a clean hospital gown, the cold fabric sending a shiver down my spine. I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes filled with tears.
"Goodbye," I whispered. "Goodbye, me."
A knock on the door startled me. It was my parents.
"Can we talk?" my mother asked, her voice gentle.
I nodded, stepping aside to let them in.
They sat down on the edge of the bed, their faces etched with worry.
"We just wanted to say… we're sorry," my father said, his voice thick with emotion. "We know this isn't fair. We know we're asking too much of you."
"We love you," my mother added, her eyes filled with tears. "We'll never forget what you're doing for us."
I listened to them, my face expressionless, my heart numb. I didn't say anything. What was there to say?
When they were finished, I stood up.
"I'm ready," I said, turning to the nurse who was waiting in the hallway.
The nurse nodded, then led me away, down the long, sterile corridor, towards the operating room. Towards my death.
Lily woke up, her throat dry, her body aching. She looked around the room, her eyes searching for a familiar face.
"Mom?" she called out, her voice weak.
Her mother rushed to her side, her face lighting up with relief.
"Lily! You're awake! How are you feeling?"
"Tired," Lily said. "Where's my sister?"
Her mother hesitated, her eyes clouding over with sadness. "She… she had to go away," she said softly.
"She went abroad to study. She wanted to tell you, but we thought it would be too hard for you. You might miss her too much."
"Abroad?" Lily repeated, confused.
"But… when is she coming back?"
"Soon," her mother said, forcing a smile. "Soon, darling. Now, you need to rest. You've been through a lot."
Lily nodded, her eyes drooping. She closed her eyes, drifting back to sleep, a nagging feeling of unease settling in her heart.