The Bone Marrow Lie

In my first life, when my nephew, Brandon, was diagnosed with leukemia, my daughter, Sophia, was the only match.

But Sophia had been sickly since birth. The doctors explicitly advised against the donation.

To protect the family's golden boy, they all insisted.

They drugged me, knocked me unconscious, and dragged my little girl to the operating room.

When I came to, the whole family was celebrating. Brandon's transplant was a success.

And my Sophia my Sophia was lying in the room next door, her small body still and cold.

My father- and mother-in-law looked at me with faces full of false sympathy.

Don't blame us, Grace, my mother-in-law had said, her voice cloying. If it had been Sophia with leukemia, we would have made Brandon donate for her, of course.

She just wasn't strong enough to survive, my father-in-law added with a sigh. It was her fate. She was just unlucky.

I was drowning in a sea of rage and despair, screaming for justice for my daughter. But they all pointed their fingers at me, calling me hysterical, irrational. Even my husband, Daniel, stood by silently, his face a mask of indifference.

Utterly broken, I carried Sophia's body to the highest floor and leaped.

I never expected to open my eyes again. But here I am, three days before it all began.

Mommy? Why are you crying?

A small voice pulled me back to reality.

Was it because I kicked off the blankets last night? Are you mad at me?

I turned, my vision blurred with tears.

My daughter, Sophia, fresh from her nap, was looking up at me with wide, worried eyes.

She was only seven, but her gaze held a wisdom that broke my heart.

A fresh wave of grief and love washed over me. I pulled her into a fierce embrace, burying my face in her soft hair.

This time, Mommy won't let anyone hurt you. I swear it.

I packed a bag, and the first thing I did was drive Sophia to my mother's house. Later that afternoon, when I knew Daniel would be off work, I called him.

Daniel, I began, my voice thick with feigned anguish. I took Sophia for a check-up today The doctor said he said she has leukemia.

I let a sob escape my lips.

Last time, you all said you'd make Brandon donate if Sophia were the sick one, didn't you?

Let's see how you react to the news now.

After hanging up, I drove home alone. When I walked in, my in-laws were fawning over Brandon, the picture of domestic bliss. My arrival shattered the cozy atmosphere. The smiles vanished from their faces, replaced by annoyance.

Before I could even step fully inside, my mother-in-law rushed forward.

Daniel already told us about Sophia, she said, her tone sharp and devoid of any sympathy.

We heard that even if you treat this disease, she'll be on medication for life. So, we've discussed it, and we've decided it's better not to treat it.

Besides, my father-in-law chimed in, not even looking at me, you know our financial situation. We just enrolled Brandon in that expensive advanced STEM camp. There's simply no extra money for Sophia's medical bills.

If you insist on treating her, my mother-in-law finished, you'll have to get the money from your own family.

One by one, they all nodded in agreement, sighing about Sophia's terrible luck, her unfortunate fate.

Their callousness didn't surprise me. I kept up my act, my voice trembling with a desperate plea.

Mom, Dad my family will cover the costs. But the doctor said she needs a bone marrow transplant. The success rate is highest with a close relative. I came back to ask if Brandon if he could just get tested to see if he's a match.

The air in the living room went still.

Are you trying to ruin your nephew? my father-in-law slammed his hand on the table, his voice a low growl. Brandon is our precious grandson! I will not allow anyone or anything to harm him!

That's right! my mother-in-law shrieked, as if I'd suggested feeding her grandson to snakes.

She threw a dish on the floor, where it shattered.

Brandon is your nephew! How can you be so heartless?

The hypocrisy was so thick I could taste it.

When their grandson gets sick, they're willing to sacrifice their granddaughter. But when their granddaughter is the one dying, they won't even spare a dime.

I let my shoulders slump in pretend defeat.

But Mom, Dad Sophia is your granddaughter too. Can you really just stand by and watch her die?

Seeing my agitation, Daniel pulled me aside.

They're right, Grace, he whispered, refusing to meet my eyes.

It's not our fault she's sick. If if she doesn't make it, we can always have another kid. Maybe a boy next time.

Even though I thought I was prepared for anything, hearing those words from her own father felt like a physical blow.

Fine, I said, my voice flat and cold. I understand.

You won't save her. So I will.

I turned and walked out, leaving them all standing there in stunned silence.

What they didn't know was that my phone had been in my pocket the entire time, its microphone recording every last, venomous word.

The next morning, I was woken by a flood of notifications on my phone.

My father-in-law had pinned a message in every single family group chat.

Effective immediately, Grace and Sophia are no longer part of this family. Their lives, and their deaths, have nothing to do with us. This notice is final.

Every group had 99+ new messages. I opened one and saw the conversation.

He'd written: Sophia has leukemia. It's bad enough she's going to die, but now her mother is trying to guilt-trip her cousin into donating his bone marrow.

Immediately, a few relatives jumped in to my defense.

Donating marrow isn't that big a deal, is it? You can't just let Sophia die.

I don't think Grace is trying to guilt-trip anyone. She's just a mother trying to save her child.

Poor Sophia. To get such a terrible disease at her age what awful luck.

Seeing the conversation shift toward sympathy for Sophia, my father-in-law quickly typed again.

I'm just warning everyone. Donating marrow is risky. It can permanently damage your health.

He followed up with: If she comes asking any of you for a donation, it's on you. We have nothing to do with it.

The relatives who had just been expressing their sympathy went silent. No one wanted that kind of risk falling on their own family.

I looked at the chat log and smiled.

It was like they were handing me the ammunition themselves.

I was just wondering how to expose their ugliness to the world, and here they were, doing the work for me. I typed a quick reply into the group.

But Sophia is part of this family, isn't she? Dad, Mom I can understand if you don't want to help, but why are you stopping others from helping? It's like you want her to die.

A moment later, my sister-in-law, Brandon's mother, replied.

It's human nature to avoid risk. Everyone has their own family and career to think about. An injury could be a disaster for a household.

If it were my Brandon who had leukemia, I would rather give up on treatment than burden the rest of the family.

True family doesn't burden each other.

The chat was flooded with praise for her, calling her noble and selfless. I had to laugh at her grandstanding.

I wondered if she'd feel so selfless tomorrow, when she received her own son's diagnosis.

Ignoring the barrage of insults that followed, I closed the app and saved the entire chat history.

Back in the Harrisons' living room, my father-in-law decided that simply kicking me out wasn't enough.

Daniel, you should divorce her, he said, his face grim. A disease like that is a money pit. We can't let one girl drag the entire family down into poverty.

My mother-in-law quickly agreed. A divorce would be for the best. All these years, and she couldn't even give you a son. Just one sickly, worthless girl who's now dying of a terminal illness.

You'll be dragged down if you stay with a woman like that! she insisted. Once you're free, Mom will find you a much better wife!

Daniel just nodded.

You're right. We can't let one girl ruin our whole family. We have to get a divorce.

A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text from him.

If you insist on trying to save Sophia, then we're done. Let's get a divorce. Meet me at the courthouse tomorrow at 10 a.m. I'll give up my parental rights. From now on, Sophia is your problem, not mine.

A wave of relief washed over me. I hadn't expected them to move so quickly.

Sophia, my love, I whispered to the empty room. No one can ever hurt you again.

I calmed my racing heart and replied with a single word.

Okay.

The next day, at ten in the morning, I was standing in front of the courthouse.

The entire Harrison clan was already there, waiting. They stood in a tight, defensive cluster, as if they were afraid I'd change my mind and cling to them.

My father-in-law shoved a divorce agreement into my hands.

Don't think we're being cruel, he said, his face a mask of solemn duty.

No one in their right mind would choose to save her. It's leukemia. If you won't give up, then you can't be part of this family.

His righteous act was so absurd I almost laughed out loud.

Always so fake. But it didn't matter anymore.

The terms of the agreement were harsh.

Not only was Daniel giving up all custody of Sophia, but they were also demanding she be stripped of the Harrison name.

They wanted us cut off, erased from their lives, forever.

As I read, Daniel leaned in close, his voice a low hiss.

If you give up on Sophia now, if you promise to give us a son, I'm willing to give you one last chance to change your mind.

I resisted the urge to slap him again.

Without a moment's hesitation, I uncapped the pen and signed my name.

A few minutes later, Daniel and I walked out of the courthouse with our divorce certificate.

The Harrisons huddled together, their faces beaming with relief, celebrating as if they'd just won the lottery.

We're finally free of that jinx!

Yes! And that sickly Sophia is gone, too. I was afraid to even let Brandon get near her. What if he caught it?

A sick kid, and a girl at that. What was the point of treating her anyway?

They were all breathing a collective sigh of relief, savoring their freedom.

But in the next second, a text message alert chimed on my former in-laws' phones.

I knew what it was.

Brandon's diagnosis had arrived.