Chapter 1

The dull ache in my belly was coming more often. At first, I thought it was just the cold weather. Until one night, the pain curled me up on the bed, cold sweat soaking through my pajamas. That's when I remembered adding a kidney check to my prenatal visit. The day I got the report, the sky was spitting fine snow. I stood by the window in the hospital corridor, watching the snowflakes melt into watery trails. My fingers trembled clutching the thin paper, shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm. "Miss Baxter," the doctor's voice echoed in my ears, laced with professional detachment, "your kidney function is severely compromised. Carrying this pregnancy will place an enormous burden on them. The only way now is to terminate the pregnancy. That might buy you some time for treatment." "No." The word was out of my mouth almost before he finished, my throat tight. "The baby is innocent." I don't remember how I left the hospital. The snow fell heavier, the world outside a blinding expanse of white. I walked slowly, each step feeling like I was treading on cotton. The doctor's words kept replaying in my head – "won't last long," "extremely high risk." When I pushed open the front door, warmth mixed with sharp curses rushed over me. "Delia, you finally decided to come back?!" Father stood up abruptly, jostling the teacup beside him. "Look at that belly! What are you, a child yourself, doing getting knocked up? You've shamed us!" Mother sat on the sofa, dabbing at her tears. Beside her, Liza was gently patting her back. Hearing the commotion, Liza looked up. Her almond-shaped eyes, identical to Mother's, curved into a smile. Her voice was soft: "You’re back? Mom and Dad are just worried, don't take it to heart." She was wearing a new cashmere sweater, one Mother had just bought her last week. The padded jacket I wore was last year's discount model. "Worried? I think she did it on purpose!" Mother's voice suddenly spiked, and she glared at me venomously. "If you hadn't let go of Liza's hand at the amusement park back then, how could those traffickers have taken her? All those years we were separated... I never blamed you for that, and now you dare do something so disgraceful!" Again. Ever since Liza was found and brought home, "letting go at the amusement park" had become a sword hanging over my head, constantly pulled out to stab me. At first, I tried to explain – that the crowd was huge, that Liza had wrenched her hand free and run towards the cotton candy stall. But no one believed me. They only believed their own flesh and blood, the poor little victim who'd suffered at the traffickers' hands and needed extra pampering now that she was back. No one remembered that I had chased after her that day, that both of us had been gagged and shoved into a van. No one remembered that when the kidnappers called demanding ransom, Mother had cried into the phone, "We only have 200,000. Save Liza first, she's our real child..." I was adopted. That fact became painfully clear after Liza was born. When I was little, they had doted on me too, taken me boating in the park, bought me strawberry ice pops. It was only after Mother's belly started to swell that the look in their eyes began to change. The day Liza was born, Father held the swaddled infant, smiling at Mother: "Now we have our own child." In that moment, clutching a freshly drawn picture of our family, I stood in the hospital doorway, feeling like an unwanted shadow. "Delia, you look terrible. Are you sick?" Liza's voice pulled me back to the present. She stood up as if to come help me, but Mother yanked her back. "Don't touch her! Who knows what filth she's picked up out there!" Mother's voice was shrill. "I'm telling you, Delia, that child has to go! Otherwise, don't you dare set foot in this house again!" I looked at them and suddenly felt exhausted. Too tired to explain, to argue, even to breathe. Leaning against the doorframe, I took a slow step back. Melted snow from my shoes left a small, dark patch on the floor. "This baby," my voice was soft but unyielding, "I won't get rid of it. And this house... I don't plan to stay." The pain in my body flared again, like a hand slowly tightening inside me. I turned and pulled open the door. Cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in, stinging my face like tiny knives. Behind me, Liza's panicked cry followed: "Delia, it's snowing out!"