The cake bristling with eighteen candles looked like a torture device.
I closed my eyes for a long time, but couldn't think of a single wish.
Maybe someone about to die shouldn't have hopes anymore.
I took tiny bites of the sweet cream, scraped the plate clean, and still wanted more.
My first cake ever. It was delicious.
Back in my room, the doctor told me they'd found matches. Surgery tonight.
I asked awkwardly, "How much will they pay?"
"I explained your family's situation to both recipients," he said. "They're willing to give you twenty-four thousand dollars total, including follow-up costs."
The number loosened something in my chest.
Soon, the recipients' families delivered a heavy bag of cash.
Surgery was imminent. I had almost no time left.
I tore a page from the visitor log, scrawled my last words with a ballpoint pen, and stuffed it into the bag.
As they wheeled me toward the operating room, I pressed the bag into the doctor's hands.
I fought back tears. "Please—give this to my mom and dad."
He nodded solemnly. "I'll hold onto it. When your parents visit, I'll make sure they get it."
The anesthesia hit. My mind went fuzzy.