Born As Kidney Donor For My Sister

I asked him, “I’ve been away for so long, and you only reach out to me when you need something. No one else has ever cared about me.”

“Why should I go back?”

“Alison, let me tell you, you will never escape from me for the rest of your life.”

Those days, Baltimore was drenched in heavy rain as I rushed home, clutching a stack of papers. The streets were nearly deserted, with most people hurrying to get home.

Only he stood beneath a streetlamp, wearing a raincoat. I couldn’t see his expression clearly, and there was no time to ponder why he seemed so strange. I hurried forward, tears streaming down my face, preoccupied with how I would tell Nash about the child I was carrying, and whether I should use this child as leverage to force Nash out of my life.

Perhaps it was the argument with Nash that led the killer to decide I was the next target.

He came up from behind, covering my mouth. His strength was overpowering, and the faint smell of tobacco on him filled my nostrils, instantly transporting me back to that night when I was eight years old.

Bit by bit, he pulled me back into the abyss of darkness.

I cried and begged him to let me go, but he tightened his grip on my neck, kneeling on top of me, while savagely slapping my face. My pleas only fueled his brutality, until the salty taste of blood filled my mouth and I gave up resisting.C0pyright © 2024 Nôv)(elDrama.Org.

I desperately hoped that this time, like that night, I would still be alive.

Through the glass, they saw the killer.

An ordinary appearance, unremarkable height. No one would guess that someone who looked so harmless could be such a vicious murderer.

He seemed to know he was facing his end, and was determined to drag others into his suffering.

“Your daughter looks just like you. It’s a shame she started seducing people at such a young age, isn’t it?”

He grinned at my mother, then glanced at my stepfather and Nash, adding, “You’re quite the devoted wife and mother, aren’t you?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder what your daughter was going through all those days and nights?”

He cast a disdainful look at Bronx: “You’re the only fool here, and she even put you at the top of her list.”

“I noticed a health check–up slip in her bag. I was going to let her gamble with her life.”

“Then I saw her phone lying on the ground. Her sister seemed to hate her, sending her messages calling her disgusting.”

“I saw photos on her phone, and she really looks like that nasty woman.”

“Since you all hate her so much, I decided to be a ‘good guy‘ and not make you do it yourselves.”

“I figured the reason you hate her is because of her face, so I cut it off. But she just fainted. How disappointing.”

The police intervened to stop him from further provoking the family, and he nonchalantly paused, smiling happily.

I understood his message. Since he was dying anyway, he wanted to make their lives miserable.

I sat at the table, watching their expressions, hoping to find a trace of sorrow.

My mother stared at the killer, standing rigidly, without tears or cries, as if she were just listening to a story. A tragic story, yet one disconnected from her.

Lydia, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back her tears. I knew why she hated me. Even though she led the bullying against me at school, I never hated her.

I moved closer to my mother, staring into her eyes. She couldn’t see me or hear me.

“Mom, the police won’t let him say anything. I need to tell you what I’ve been through.”