“A month. Maybe less. Your body’s getting weaker every day. If the transplant happens soon, there’s a chance. If not—”
“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “It’s fine.”
I looked away.
“I won’t have it.”
I knew my twin too well. She wasn’t going to save me. She was dragging it out on purpose. Every delay meant more time with him. And I was done begging. Done waiting. Done fighting alone.
That evening, I went back to the house.
The sky was gold and orange, quiet and soft, like the world was being kind to me for once. I almost thought maybe this was mercy. Like God giving me one last calm moment before everything ended.
Then I opened the door.
And whatever was left of me broke.
Fredrinn was on the couch when I walked in.
My twin was curled up against him, way too close, feeding him fruit like she owned him. She was smiling, calm, satisfied. Like she’d already won and was just waiting for the prize to stop breathing.