That day, Mom brought up the idea of me donating bone marrow to Blake again.

I lowered my gaze, feeling dejected.

Mom had been living with me for nearly a month, but my condition was worsening, and she didn’t seem to notice.

I had tried to be honest with her, but she didn’t believe me.

I vaguely remembered the first weekend after she returned.

She and Blake were getting ready to go out, and she told me to stay home while they handled some errands.

I nodded, not really wanting to go out anyway, as I felt increasingly weak.

It wasn’t until I saw Blake’s post on social media that I realized “errands” meant a spring outing, a picnic.

In the video, they were all enjoying drinks and an array of delicious foods, having a great time.

They spent the whole day out, returning home late at night.

When they got back, Blake sprawled on the couch, complaining, “Mom, I’m so tired. I really feel weaker every day.”

Mom sat beside him, soothingly saying, “Blake, feeling tired is normal. We’ll follow the doctor’s advice and after your bone marrow transplant, you’ll be fine.”

Blake turned to glance at me.

“But can my brother agree to it?”

Mom looked at me too.

“Mom, I’m sick too,” I said. I have leukemia as well.

But Mom had never had much patience with me, and she cut me off before I could finish.

“Sick? Are you talking about that little injury on your hand?”

I glanced at the back of my hand, which was still red, like a birthmark.

It was a burn from a few days ago when I was cooking.

I had been applying ointment, and it had improved a lot.

I wasn’t sure if she had just noticed it now or had seen it back then and simply didn’t care to ask.

“No, that’s not it. I have leukemia too.”

I even pulled out the hospital’s diagnosis report to convince her.

Her eyes widened with surprise, but quickly returned to calm.

She barely glanced at the report before tossing it aside.

With a scoff, she said coldly, “If you didn’t want to help, you could’ve just said so. Why bother making up such an excuse?

“I can’t speak for other things, but you’ve certainly inherited your father’s lying, selfish ways. You’ve got that down to a tee.

“Especially faking being sick – something you were always good at as a kid.

“And now you’ve really outdone yourself, going as far as to fake a hospital report.”

Yes, I had pretended to be sick once before to keep her from leaving when she planned to take Blake away.

She saw right through me then, roughly shoving my hands away as I clung to her legs, sending me tumbling to the ground.

Mom wouldn’t believe me, and I felt powerless to explain.

My birthday arrived in the blink of an eye.

Since Mom came back, I had been looking forward to this day.

The meal Mom cooked for my birthday was supposed to be the best thing in the world.

But in the end, I never got to taste it.

Blake woke up that morning complaining about a stomachache.

Seeing how much pain he was in, I went to the kitchen to make some ginger tea with honey, just like Grandma used to make for me whenever I had a stomachache – it always worked.

But when I brought the tea to Mom, her expression changed instantly.

“Gavin, what are you doing? Don’t you know your brother can’t drink this? Why are you trying to hurt him?”

I honestly didn’t know, but even if I tried to explain, I knew she wouldn’t believe me.

She grabbed the cup and threw it to the floor, and the hot liquid splashed all over my hand.

The skin turned red instantly, and bubbles formed.

The pain brought tears to my eyes, but she didn’t see.

All her focus was on Blake, pale and whining on the bed.

How could she notice me?

“Why is it not you who is sick? Why is it not you who is dying? Why does my Blake have to suffer so much?”

I managed a weak smile.

Mom, your wish is about to come true.

The doctor had strongly suggested I be hospitalized, but I knew without a suitable bone marrow match, my condition was hopeless.

Being hospitalized would only prolong my struggle.

I closed my eyes, feeling despair as I looked at her.

“Mom, do you really want me to die? I’m your child too. Why do you only care about Blake?”

I didn’t know which of my words hit her, but she grabbed a cup of water and threw it in front of me.

“Gavin, with Blake like this, how dare you threaten me! If you want to die, just go ahead!”

After a pause, she continued, “If I’d had a choice back then, and known you’d turn out to be this selfish, I would rather have died than given birth to you.”

Each word was like a knife, stabbing my heart deeply.

I smiled weakly. “Mom, besides wanting my bone marrow, what else do you want? I’d give you anything. Even my life, I’d give you that.”

She looked at me in surprise for a moment.

Perhaps my willingness took her aback, and her tone softened. “What would I want your life for? Donating a bit of marrow doesn’t cost you your life.

“If you’d agreed earlier, this wouldn’t have been necessary. Don’t blame me for it.”

I managed a weak smile.

If there were a mirror nearby, it would reflect a face paler than the wall.

Twenty years ago, on this day, Mom gave me life.

On today’s birthday, she wished for my death.

And I truly felt like I was dying.

How ironic it was.