My brother, Dylan Skinner, was diagnosed with kidney failure and needed a transplant.

My mother shoved a voluntary donation form in front of me and tried to force me to sign it, but I refused. I told her that my immune system was weak, and I wouldn't survive with only one kidney.

She answered with two hard slaps across my face and started yelling.

"Dylan is dying, and you're still thinking about yourself? How could you be so selfish?"

To force me into it, she stormed into my advisor's office, grabbed my research samples, and said she wouldn't give them back unless I agreed.

As I met her hate-filled gaze, something inside me went completely numb.

The office was packed with faculty.

My advisor stared at the sample clenched in my mother's hand, panic written all over his face.

"Mrs. Skinner, I understand you love your son, but the submission deadline is this afternoon. This is four years of work from our entire team. You can't just let all these students lose their future."

My lab mates crowded the doorway, staring at her, anxious and helpless.

A few of the more timid girls had already started crying.

We had poured four straight years into this project, day and night without rest.

Now, it was in her hands. One mistake, one bit of contamination, and everything would be ruined.

No matter how my advisor tried to reason with her, she didn't budge. She held my brother, Dylan Skinner, who leaned weakly against the wall, her eyes red.

"You've all worked hard, sure, but hasn't Curtis's brother suffered, too? He's only 17! This should be the best time of his life, but because of kidney failure, he's stuck in a hospital bed every day!"

As she spoke, she lifted Dylan's arm, the IV line still in place. The bruised skin around it was dark and swollen.

The same woman who always barked orders at home suddenly broke down in front of everyone.

"These past few months, his condition has gotten worse. He needs dialysis almost every other day. The doctor said it's critical. If he doesn't get a transplant right away, he only has a month left."

Dylan pulled out a tissue and wiped her tears, his voice shaking. "Mom, forget it. Curtis just wants to live a normal life. That's not wrong."

One of the professors looked at him with sympathy.

The moment he said that, my mother's face darkened. She lifted her head and looked straight at me, her eyes full of disgust.

"As his brother, Curtis should be helping him. That's his responsibility, but he's selfish. He knows Dylan is about to die, and he still refuses to sign the donation form! That makes him no different from a killer. And your school praises someone like that? If he doesn't sign today, I don't mind dragging all of you down with my son!"

My chest tightened sharply.

I never imagined that for Dylan's sake, she would throw away even the last trace of family between us.

I was her son, too.

Tears slid down my face.

I pulled out my medical report, my hands shaking as I tried to defend myself.

"I've had an immune disorder since I was a kid. I can't handle a surgery like this. If I get infected, I will die. This is the doctor's diagnosis. Mom, please just look at it again."

Instead, my words only made her angrier.

She snatched the report and tore it to pieces.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing! You just want Dylan dead so you can have everything for yourself. How did I end up with a cold-blooded, ungrateful son like you? Let me make this clear. If you don't agree to donate today, then don't ever call me 'Mom' again!"

My heart dropped.

This was the 99th time she had said that.

Every time, it was to force me to give in.

When I still didn't respond, her patience snapped.

Right then, Dylan started coughing violently. Streaks of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. He slumped, unable to stay upright.

"Mom, I feel dizzy. If this keeps going… I'm going to die…"

Her anger exploded.

She suddenly raised the sample and rushed at me, smashing it against my head.

"You ungrateful brat! Are you trying to stall until your brother dies? If anything happens to him, I'll kill you first!"

The edge of the container cut my forehead. Blood ran down the side of my face as I clutched my head, begging her to stop.

And yet, the same woman who would panic if Dylan so much as choked on water didn't even glance at my injury. She stared at the blood-stained sample and let out a twisted smile.

"I'll count to five. If you still refuse, I'll open it and mix your blood with everything inside. Let's see how you explain that!"

She knew exactly how much this research meant to me, and she chose the one thing I couldn't let go of to force my hand.

At that moment, something inside me went completely still.

The countdown began.

As she reached the final numbers and made it clear she meant it, the students around us broke. A few of them glared at me.

"Curtis, this is everything we've worked for. Are you really going to let it all be destroyed?"

Others started crying.

"My parents said if I don't get into grad school, I have to go back home and work in the fields. I just want a different life…"

Voices piled up from every direction, each one pressing down on me.

When she reached one, I shut my eyes, completely drained, and spoke.

"Wait. I'll sign."

The room went quiet for a beat.

The second my mother heard me agree, a smug smile spread across her face. She pulled the paperwork out of her bag and shoved it at me, ordering me to sign right away.

My advisor, who had always looked out for me, hesitated. He grabbed my arm, clearly wanting to stall for time and try talking her down again.

Before he could say anything, the other students cut in, their voices sharp with frustration.

"Professor, we get that you feel bad for Curtis, but the rest of us matter, too. We can't let one person ruin all of our futures!"

"This is his family's problem. As Dylan's brother, it's only right that he helps him. As a professor, you should be thinking about the majority."

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Of course. The moment their own interests were on the line, everyone chose themselves.

I shook my head at my advisor and signed the consent form.

The second my mother got what she wanted, she tossed the sample back onto the desk, then grabbed my arm and dragged me and Dylan to a private hospital.

The hospital rushed us through admission.

The night before the surgery, I got confirmation that my graduate recommendation had been approved, and I needed to go back to campus to finalize it.

I stopped outside Dylan's hospital room, planning to ask my mother for permission to leave for a bit.

Before I could knock, I heard my father inside. He had been overseas on business, but somehow he was back, and he was speaking gently to Dylan.

"Dylan, don't worry. Your surgery will go fine. Your mom and I will do whatever it takes to make sure you live a long life."

Dylan curled up in my mother's arms, head lowered, his voice small and shaky. "Curtis hasn't come to see me. Is he mad that I'm taking his kidney?"

Her expression darkened immediately.

"Don't think like that. That ungrateful kid only cares about his own future. Why would he care about family? Earlier today, his professor even called me, saying he had to go back and confirm some application. He's clearly trying to run. You're this sick, and he still wants to go to school like nothing's wrong! Why doesn't he just drop dead?"

Dylan watched them fly into a rage, his eyes filling with tears as he hurried over and hugged them.

"Mom, Dad, don't say that about him. Even when he told me a few days ago to give up treatment and leave all the money to him, he just wanted a better life for himself."

That set them off completely.

My father slammed his fist against the wall. "What?! He actually said that to you?"

My mother's face twisted with rage. "That heartless piece of trash! I'll tear him apart!"

They started for the door, ready to come after me.

A flicker of panic crossed Dylan's face. He rushed to hold them back.

"He already knows he was wrong. He's willing to donate now, so that means he still sees me as family. Please don't be mad at him."

My parents would never refuse anything Dylan said.

They softened instantly, patting his shoulder.

"You're too kind. That's why he can push you around."

"Sweetheart, don't feel guilty. Curtis caused you to be born prematurely, and that's why you've always been so weak. He owes you."

When I heard that, something twisted in my chest.

They had favored Dylan since we were kids, always making me give in to him.

It all started the day he was born. A dog chased me, and in my panic, I ran to my mother for protection and crashed into her.

She went into premature labor because of it. When they saw how frail Dylan was, they blamed me for everything.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you? You were trying to kill him before he was even born! What's wrong with you?"

They pinned me into a corner and beat me until my face was covered in blood. Several of my front teeth even got knocked out.

After that, every time Dylan got sick, it somehow became my fault. They would drag me to his bedside and force me to kneel there. I wasn't allowed to get up until he recovered.

As Dylan grew older, he learned to use their favoritism against me.

He made me hand over all my allowance. If I hesitated even a little, he would scrape his skin and blame it on me.

My parents never listened to a single word I said. As long as Dylan teared up, they would grab a belt and beat me until I couldn't get out of bed.

Even when I had proof, they called it fake and accused me of trying to frame him, and the beatings only got worse.

Eventually, merely existing felt like a crime to me.

Back then, I used to think that if I worked hard enough and proved myself, if I showed them I could succeed on my own, they would finally see me and maybe even care.

And yet, every time I brought home awards, they only pointed at me and shouted, "The only reason Dylan struggles in school is because of you! You stole his life, and now you're showing off in front of us!"

So when a chance to "fix" all of this came, my mother didn't hesitate to sacrifice me.

My hand, raised to knock, slowly dropped.

I turned and walked away.

I sat on the hospital bed all night, staring at nothing, until I finally picked up my phone and tapped the button to give up my graduate recommendation.

Immediately, Janice Delgado's name popped up as the next candidate.

She was in my class. We both worked part-time to get by, and I had always felt for her. We spent long nights studying together, buried in textbooks and research.

She once told me that if she didn't get into grad school, her family would make her go back home and get married.

Being able to do something that actually mattered for her at the very end made me feel at peace.

Right before the surgery, my parents finally stepped out of Dylan's room and came to mine.

They glanced at me, and I could see the anger burning in their eyes.

Maybe because they were afraid it would affect Dylan's surgery, they held it in.

Nurses moved quickly around me, checking equipment, adjusting lines, speaking in low, urgent voices, and a wave of fear crept in.

This was the last time I would ever be with them.

Even with the disgust they didn't bother hiding, I still reached out and grabbed my mother's hand.

"If I die, would you feel anything?"

She shook me off instantly. Her face twisted; whatever calm she had been faking snapped in an instant, and she slapped me hard.

"Someone like you is nothing but a burden! If you die, my son might even get a few more years."

My father turned his head away, not even willing to speak.

Pain tightened in my chest until it was hard to breathe.

I was their son, too.

And yet, they were sending me to my death with their own hands.

Everything inside me went cold.

The anesthesiologist pressed me down and injected the anesthesia. As my vision dimmed, a surge of unwillingness rose, sharp and desperate.

My mother held Dylan's hand and spoke to me without even looking my way.

"When Dylan recovers, you can do whatever you want. We won't stop you this time."

The surgical lights flared on.

An hour later, the doctor removed one of my kidneys. They left my body open, blood everywhere, and rushed the organ to Dylan's operating room.

As they walked out, the monitor let out a sharp, continuous alarm. Several younger doctors left behind looked at each other, confused.

"What's going on? This was just a routine nephrectomy. How did something go wrong?"

Another doctor grabbed my chart and glanced at it. His face drained of color as he ran for the door. "This patient has a severe immune disorder. He never should have been a donor! I'm getting the chief back right now."

Alas, it was already too late.

I felt myself lift free, my consciousness separating from my body as I looked down at what was left of it on the table.

No one came back, not for a long time.

The surgery was a success. A few hours later, Dylan slowly woke up.

Only then did my parents remember me.

Even then, it wasn't because they were worried about how I was doing. They just wanted to settle scores for Dylan.

My father pulled out his phone and called me. When no one answered after several tries, he grew irritated and started sending voice messages.

"Curtis, what the hell are you doing? Dylan's awake, and you're not even here to check on him. Don't think we don't know the crap you've been pulling. You've got one minute to get over here and apologize on your knees, or you'll regret it!"

I wanted to tell him I was already dead, that there was no way I could do what he was asking.

My mother lost patience and got up, ready to drag me out of my ward.

Just then, Dylan let out a weak groan.

"Mom, Dad… My incision hurts…"

Their attention snapped back to him instantly. They crowded around his bed, fussing over him. To give Dylan the best care possible, they stopped all work and stayed by his side.

Other than sending me a few messages every day filled with insults, they didn't even step out of his room.

Two weeks later, they finally went home together. As they were unlocking the door, a security guard approached them.

"You're Mr. Curtis Skinner's family, right? There's a girl named Janice who wants to come in and see him. Is that okay?"

He held up a selfie of her as he spoke.

My mother's expression darkened immediately.

"He won't come home himself, so he sends some girl instead? What's this, trying to look pitiful or cause trouble? No wonder he refused to donate before. Bet he was saving himself to do God knows what with that girl!"

My father's temper flared even more.

"Are they trying to pull something like getting pregnant before marriage and fighting Dylan for the family's assets? I'm going back to the hospital to beat him senseless!"

Right then, my mother's phone rang.

She answered impatiently.

"Yes?"

A voice came through from the other end.

"Hello, is this Mr. Curtis Skinner's mother? I'm calling from the hospital morgue. Mr. Skinner's body has been here for two weeks. When will you be coming to take care of the arrangements?"