Born As Kidney Donor For My Sister

As the doctor rushed in and saw the situation, he felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do everything we can to save your mother.”

I finally breathed a sigh of relief and let out a small laugh before collapsing onto the floor.

I had a dream.

In the dream, I was Maria’s biological daughter.

We lived a simple and ordinary life together, without Charlotte, without the scheming and manipulation.

It was just the two of us.

But then, the nightmare descended.

A dark chasm tore apart our happiness, leaving nothing but shattered fragments.

Maria smiled and said goodbye to me.

She said she’d always protected me, but in the next moment, she was gone.

I woke up with a start, the dream feeling all too real.

Panic set in as I searched desperately for Maria.

“Maria, Maria, where are you?”

“Mom, don’t scare me!”

I cried.

Maria’s faint voice echoed weakly:

“You silly girl, what’s wrong with you?”

“It wasn’t really a big deal at first, but now you’ve managed to scare yourself into making it a big deal.”

I burst into tears, but soon my tears turned into laughter..

Stumbling, I ran to Maria’s side, my heart aching with sorrow and compassion as I gazed at her wounds.

Sarah, from now on, I’ll protect you.”

“I’ll make up for the words they owe you.”

Mindful of the numerous injuries covering her body, I gently held Maria without really touching her.

I was too afraid that even the slightest movement might cause her pain.

She laughed, brushing it off:

“What’s there to be afraid of?”Têxt belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

“If you want to hug me, then hug me. I’m not made of glass.”

I smiled, gave her a gentle hug, and then turned to leave the room.

“Wait for me.”

Ignoring Maria’s voice calling from behind, I hurried to the performance venue.

The scene was lively and bustling, with media outlets gathered to celebrate the piano prodigy’s debut.

Wearing a baseball cap and a black mask, I concealed myself completely as I made my way backstage.

There was an LED screen at the venue, and when Charlotte took the stage, the poster for the performance would be displayed.

And that was precisely what I intended to exploit.

But first, there was something crucial I needed to do.

I quietly slipped into the backstage dressing room.

The area was crowded with people coming and going, and Charlotte was in the center of it all, surrounded like a princess.

I approached her dressing table, unnoticed by anyone.

It was easy for me to grab her phone and quickly retreated to the restroom.

Charlotte’s phone password was our parents‘ birthdays. I remembered she had mentioned it once, touching our parents so deeply that they kept praising how well they had raised her.

She probably never imagined that the very act she boasted about as a sign of filial piety would now now unexpectedly benefit me.

I took out her phone and entered the lock screen password.

Once unlocked, I swiftly navigated to the photo album.

Sure enough, hidden deep within, I found the video of the time I was bullied.

Memories surged back with the video, leaving me dazed, as if I were reliving that terrible time, that cold winter day.

The scars on my arm began to itch painfully, and I instinctively scratched at them, only to find my hand covered in blood.

But that was fine–it helped snap me back to reality.

I transferred the video to my phone and, while Charlotte was still getting dressed, returned her phone to its original spot.

When she was finally ready and took the stage, I sat in the audience with a cold smile:

“Charlotte, your princess life is about to end!”