Chapter 6 – The First Refusal
1398 Words
“You're finally here."
Melissa's voice hit Martha the moment she stepped into the room.
“Do you know how long we've been waiting?" her mother snapped. “Your sister is in critical condition and you stroll in like this? If you cared at all, you'd have run."
The words were so familiar that for a second the room blurred.
Martha thought of her previous life. After the kidney transplant she had lain on a hospital bed of her own, biting back the pain and so thirsty she could barely swallow, wanting nothing more than a glass of water while her mother and Patrick hovered around Anna's bed and never once came to check on her. All that after she had rushed here in the rain, apologising over and over and signing every form they pushed at her.
“Always an excuse with you," Melissa had said then. “Your sister might die and you still put yourself first."
The memory still had the power to make Martha's stomach clench. She could feel how she had shrunk under that gaze, how quickly she had decided it was all her fault. She had stood where she was standing now, nodding at every accusation, grateful for the chance to sacrifice herself.
She had died trying to be the daughter they wanted.
Now the same accusation hit a different Martha.
“I came," Martha said. Her voice was steady. “What did the doctors say?"
Melissa sniffed. “They said her kidneys are failing. They're talking about a transplant. They said family has to step up. But how can they do anything if you don't bother to show up on time?"
In the corner, Patrick pushed off the wall, tie loose, sleeves rolled.
“At least you're here now," he said. “The doctor's coming back any minute. Just… don't fight with your mother, okay? We really don't need drama on top of this."
Drama. In her old life, the word would have sliced through her and sent her scrambling to apologise.
In this life, it only told her how little they had changed.
“Where is Anna?" she asked.
“In the ICU," Melissa said. “We can't see her until after the doctor talks to us." Her eyes swept over Martha. “You could at least look worried. That's your sister in there."
Half‑sister, Martha thought. And not once, in either life, had Melissa ever looked at her like that when she was the one in a hospital bed.
The door opened. A man in a white coat stepped in with a clipboard.
“Ms. Lewis? Family of Anna Lewis?"
Melissa moved first. “That's us. I'm her mother. This is her sister, Martha, and this is Patrick, her sister's fiancé. Doctor, how is she?"
“Anna's kidneys are in very bad shape," he said. “We can support her for a short time, but she'll need a transplant soon. We've already tested close family. Her blood type is rare. So far we've found one suitable match."
His gaze settled on Martha.
Patrick followed it and gave a small, satisfied nod. Melissa's shoulders dropped in relief.
“I knew it," she said. “Of course she's the match. She's her sister."
The doctor turned fully to Martha. “Your results suggest you're an excellent candidate," he said. “We'd need a few more tests, but medically speaking you're Anna's best chance. The operation to remove one of your kidneys is major, yet most donors go on to live normal lives."
In her old life, she had rushed to say yes before he finished.
“What about other donors?" she asked now.
All three of them stared at her.
“We'll place Anna on the national transplant list," the doctor said. “But with her blood type, a compatible organ could take months. She doesn't have that long. A living related donor is safest. That donor is you. Still, donation is voluntary. My job is to explain the risks so you can decide."
“In other words," Melissa cut in, “if she refuses, Anna could die."
The doctor hesitated, then nodded once.
“Yes," he said quietly. “That is a real possibility."
He looked back at Martha. “Why don't I give you a few minutes to talk? If you have questions, I'll be just outside."
When the door closed, the room seemed smaller.
Melissa turned on her at once.
“Did you hear him?" she demanded. “Rare blood type. Only match. Days, not months. You want me to watch my child die because you're afraid of a little surgery?"
“I'm not afraid of a scar," Martha said. “I'm afraid of never being the same again. Of waking up weaker and finding out nothing has changed for you."
Melissa's eyes widened, as if Martha had slapped her. “Of course things will change. Anna will get better. We'll all move on. Your little TV job will still be there. You can't compare work to a life."
“I'm comparing my life to my life," Martha replied.
Patrick stepped closer. “Martha, be reasonable," he said. “You're strong. You heard the doctor: most donors are fine. You've risked yourself in war zones for strangers. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. If you walk away from your own sister now, what does that say?"
In her first life, those words had gone straight through her armour. She had heard only the accusation: if you don't do this, you're not the person you thought you were.
Now she heard the assumption underneath: that her body existed for everyone but her.
“Last time," she said slowly, “I risked everything for you."
Patrick frowned. “What are you talking about?"
She didn't bother trying to explain rebirth, second chances, ceilings she had stared at while her blood pressure dropped. The details didn't matter. The truth did.
“I lay in a hospital bed cut open and barely able to move," Martha said. “I dragged myself down a corridor just to get water because no one came when I pressed the button. On the way back I heard you laughing in Anna's room. None of you asked where I was. None of you asked if I was in pain. You joked that it would be good for me to be stuck in bed for once."
Melissa snorted. “You're exaggerating again. Always making yourself the victim."
“Maybe," Martha said. “But I'm the one who has to live in this body when it's over."
Patrick's jaw tightened. “You're overthinking," he said. “Right now we need you to be practical. There isn't anyone else. If you refuse, how will you live with yourself?"
In her old life she had stood exactly here, crushed by those words. She had told herself that if she gave enough, if she bled enough, they would finally see her as more than a spare part.
She had died still waiting.
A strange calm slid over her like cool water.
“I can live with protecting my own life," she said. “I can't live with dying for people who only remember I exist when they need an organ."
Melissa's face went white. “Listen to yourself," she hissed. “Selfish. Cold‑blooded. How dare you say that when your sister is fighting for her life?"
“How dare you," Martha replied, “treat my body like a debt you get to collect whenever you feel like it."
Patrick's voice dropped. “If you walk away now, you'll regret it," he said. “When you're standing at her funeral, when you see your mother—"
“I already regret one lifetime," Martha said. “I won't spend this one repeating it."
She straightened. Her heart thudded hard, but her voice stayed level.
“So here is my answer," she said, meeting Melissa's eyes. “No. I'm not donating my kidney to Anna."
The words fell into the room like a stone.
Melissa stared at her, stunned.
Patrick went very still.
In another life, Martha would have rushed to fill the silence with explanations and apologies.
This time, she let it stand.
Fear churned in her chest, but under it was something fierce and quiet.
For the first time, she was choosing herself.
- Writer
