The day after the surgery, his father's at home getting his first daughter's things to be brought in the attic, then someone knock on the door. It's he's first daughter's homeroom teacher,
Ms. Reyes, came to visit. She found the father sitting in the waiting room, looking exhausted.
"How is she?" Ms. Reyes asked, her voice filled with concern.
"She's doing well," the father said, forcing a smile. "The surgery was a success. She's still weak, but she's getting stronger every day."
"That's wonderful news," Ms. Reyes said. "I came to ask about Mera. I haven't seen her in school for a while. Is she alright?"
Mera's father hesitated. "She's… she's abroad," he said. "She left yesterday."
"Abroad?" Ms. Reyes repeated, surprised. "But… her graduation is today. She was so excited about it. Why didn't she tell me?"
"It was a last-minute decision," he said, avoiding her gaze. "She didn't want to make a fuss."
Ms. Reyes frowned, her eyes filled with disappointment. "I see," she said softly. "Well, please give her this," she said, handing him a large envelope.
"It's her diploma, her medals, her awards. She earned them all. She was the summa cum laude, you know. The pride of our school."
Mera's father took the envelope, his hand trembling. "Yes, I know," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Ms. Reyes sighed. "She was such a bright, talented girl," she said. "She excelled in everything she did. Academics, sports, arts… she was a true Renaissance woman. And so kind, so compassionate. She always went out of her way to help others."
She paused, her eyes filling with tears.
"I'm going to miss her terribly," she said.
Mera's father stared at the envelope, his heart aching with guilt and remorse. He hadn't known. He hadn't known anything about his daughter's achievements, her talents, her dreams. He'd been too focused on Lily, too consumed with her illness, to notice anything else.
"She was also the president of the student council," Ms. Reyes continued.
"She organized countless charity events, raised thousands of pesos for the orphanage, volunteered at the local soup kitchen… she was a true inspiration to us all."
"And she was a brilliant writer," Ms. Reyes added. "Her essays were always insightful, thought-provoking, beautifully written. She had a way with words that was truly remarkable."
He listened in silence, his heart breaking with every word. He had failed her. He had failed his daughter.
After Ms. Reyes left, he called his wife, his voice trembling.
"You need to come home," he said urgently. "Now."
Mera's mother was confused, but she could hear the desperation in his voice. She reluctantly agreed, leaving Lily in the care of the nurses.
When she arrived, he told her everything. About Ms. Reyes' visit, about Mira's achievements, about her talents, about the kind, compassionate person she was.
She listened in silence, her face pale, her eyes filled with horror. She hadn't known either. She had been so focused on Lily, so consumed with her illness, that she had completely neglected mera.
"What have we done?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What have we done to our daughter?"
Five years later, Lily was ten years old. She was a bright, intelligent girl, full of life and energy. She loved to read, to draw, to play with her friends. She was also kind and compassionate, always willing to help others.
She knew she was lucky to be alive. She knew that she had been given a second chance. And she was determined to make the most of it.
She also knew that something was missing. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a void in her life, a sense of incompleteness.
She missed her older sister. She missed her stories, her laughter, her hugs. She missed her presence.
Her parents told her that her sister was abroad, studying, pursuing her dreams. But Lily couldn't shake the feeling that they were hiding something from her.
One day, while cleaning out the attic, Lily stumbled upon a dusty old box. Curious, she opened it.
Inside, she found a stack of old diaries, bound in leather. She picked one up, flipping through the pages.
The handwriting was familiar. It was her sister's.
Lily started reading, her eyes widening with every word. She read about her sister's childhood, her dreams, her hopes, her fears. She read about her love for her family, her passion for learning, her dedication to helping others.
And then, she read about the transplant. About her sister's sacrifice. About the impossible choice she had been forced to make.
Lily's heart shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she read about her sister's pain, her fear, her resignation.
She closed the diary, her hands trembling. She couldn't believe it. Her sister wasn't abroad. She was… gone. She had given her life to save Lily's.
Lily ran downstairs, her face pale, her eyes filled with anger and betrayal.
"Mom! Dad!" she cried. "I need to talk to you."
Her parents rushed into the room, their faces etched with worry.
"What's wrong, darling?" her mother asked.
Lily held up the diary, her hand shaking. "What is this?" she demanded. "You said my sister was abroad, that she wanted to further her studies. But what is this I just read? My sister's diary… about my heart transplant… this is not my heart."
Her parents exchanged a guilty look.
"Where is she?" Lily cried. "Where is my sister buried?"
Her parents hesitated, then reluctantly led her to the local columbarium. They stopped in front of a small niche, tucked away in a corner.
Lily stared at the nameplate, her heart sinking.
[Older Sister's Name]
[Birthdate] - [Date of Death]
There was no last name. No picture. Just a name and two dates.
"Why?" Lily whispered, her voice breaking. "Why isn't her last name on here? Why isn't there a picture?"
Her mother stepped forward, her eyes filled with tears. "We… we didn't want people to know," she said softly. "We were ashamed. We were afraid of what they would say."
"Ashamed?" Lily repeated, her voice laced with anger. "Ashamed of my sister? She was a hero! She gave her life to save mine!"
"We know," her father said, his voice thick with emotion. "We're so sorry. We made a terrible mistake."
Lily stared at the nameplate, her heart aching with grief and remorse. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph. It was a picture of her sister, smiling brightly, her eyes filled with life.
She carefully taped the picture to the nameplate, then turned to her parents, her eyes filled with tears.
"I want her last name on here," she said firmly. "I want everyone to know who she was. I want everyone to know what she did."
Her parents nodded, their faces etched with shame and regret.
Lily spent the rest of the day at the columbarium, sitting beside her sister's niche, talking to her, telling her how much she loved her, how much she missed her, how much she regretted not knowing the truth sooner.
She felt a deep sense of self-blame, a crushing weight of guilt. She had been given a second chance at life, but it had come at a terrible cost. Her sister had sacrificed everything for her. And Lily didn't know if she could ever forgive herself.
From that day forward, Lily dedicated her life to honoring her sister's memory. She excelled in school, volunteered in her community, and always went out of her way to help others. She lived her life to the fullest, knowing that she was living it for both of them.
And every year, on the anniversary of her sister's death, she would visit the columbarium, bringing flowers and a photograph, and spend the day talking to her, telling her about her life, her dreams, her hopes.
She knew that her sister was always with her, watching over her, guiding her. And she knew that she would never forget her sacrifice.
The echo of her sister's heart would beat within her forever.