I was shoved to the ground. Fists and feet rained down.
I curled tight, arms locked around my head, absorbing every blow.
Minutes later, security finally arrived.
I dragged myself upright through the pain—and heard the middle-aged man's triumphant shout.
"I destroyed the kidney!"
"You wanted to steal my daughter's kidney source?"
"Go ahead and try now!"
"It's gone! No surgery for you!"
My mind went blank. I stared at his sneering, laughing mouth.
That's when Dr. Chavez rushed over.
"Penelope, I'm so sorry..."
"The kidney really was destroyed."
"You'll have to... get back on the waiting list..."
His words passed through me like wind through a hollow room.
I pushed through the crowd and walked out, a body moving without a soul inside it.
Back in my cramped, damp basement room, I curled into myself.
I didn't understand.
I just wanted to live. To be healthy. To survive.
Why was that so impossible?
I stayed locked in that room for two days. No food. No water.
On the third day, my phone rang.
"Penelope, turn on the news! Now!"
"Director Swanson just performed a kidney transplant himself!"
The voice of a fellow dialysis patient hit me like a hammer to the skull.