Alpha’s Last Gift : A Daughter’s Devotion

After a house fire took my mother and brother, my father—once a powerful Alpha—lost everything. We fled to a city of strangers, where he drank away his sorrows and left me in his shadow. Life was hell, especially when I was diagnosed with lung cancer and he was slowly dying from kidney failure.

In my last months, I found unexpected closure and happiness. I made the heart-wrenching choice to give him my kidney, hoping my sacrifice would mend our fractured bond.

***

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got stage four lung cancer.” The doctor’s words hung in the air as I laid on the hospital bed, trying to process what he had just said.

He had wanted to talk to a family member about it first, maybe go over the treatment plan, but when I told him I didn’t have anyone, he hesitated before giving me the news.

I was too stunned to react, not sure if I should feel devastated or relieved. Devastated because I didn’t have much time left, and relieved because maybe, just maybe, I’d finally leave all this pain behind. No one really loved me anyway. The only family I had, my biological dad, wished I was dead and never wanted to speak to me again.

I sighed, saying nothing. The doctor cleared his throat and added, “You’ll need to stay in the hospital a bit longer until we get your condition stable. We can discuss further treatment later.”

I just nodded, and he left the room.

Three days ago, I was at work when it happened. My head started spinning, and my chest felt like it was being squeezed by a vise. I couldn’t catch my breath, and then I blacked out. I had been dealing with chest pain and shortness of breath since I was a teenager, but I always brushed it off. I didn’t have the money for doctor visits, so I just pushed through. But lately, it had gotten worse. I was coughing up blood and feeling weaker by the day.

Someone called an ambulance, and I ended up here, going through test after test. On my first morning in the hospital, Mia, a colleague from work, showed up to visit.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised to see her.

“Silly, I came to check up on you. I saw you faint yesterday and called the ambulance. I was worried,” she replied, her voice filled with genuine concern. We both worked as cleaners at a casino, and I had only known her for a few months, but it touched me how much she cared.

She handed me my belongings—the bag I took to work, my uniform, everything. “I’ll just put these here, okay?” she said, opening the stand next to the bed.

“Thanks, Mia. You didn’t have to come. Don’t you have a shift today?” I noticed she was still in her work uniform, probably coming straight from the night shift.

“I’ll stay until lunch,” she said with a smile, and for the first time in a while, I felt a small flicker of warmth in my chest.

After that, a nurse brought in my lunch. I’ve always hated hospital food—too soft, too bland. This time, they gave me steamed veggies, mashed potatoes, and some kind of soup. I couldn’t help but make a face.

Mia noticed and laughed. “Come on, eat up. I’m not leaving until that plate’s empty.”

I rolled my eyes but started eating, though not happily. Mia kept chatting, making jokes, and generally keeping the mood light. I realized we were talking more today than we had in all the months we had worked together. I’ve always been the quiet type, especially at work—I just like to stay out of everyone’s business. But Mia was different, genuinely nice.

She actually cheered when I finished eating, like I had done something impressive. Then she helped me get to the bathroom. I felt gross and needed to clean up, and of course, Mia had thought of everything, bringing me soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a towel.

After she left, I pulled out my phone from my bag to check for any messages. Not much, just one from Rosetta, a girl I kind of consider a relative. She had texted me earlier, that morning [Phoebe, will you come home for New Year?]

I stared at the screen for a few seconds before replying, [I’m not sure, I’m still sick.]

She responded almost immediately. [Please make time, it’d be great if the three of us could spend it together.]

I sighed and typed back, [Okay, I’ll try.]

New Year’s was just two days away. Most people would be making plans with family or friends, but with my messy family situation and lack of close friends, I usually just spent it alone, sleeping through it all in my apartment.

I sat there, still in a daze, trying to wrap my head around how I could end up with something like this. I had never smoked a day in my life, but I worked two jobs—a waitress in a bar and a cleaner at a casino—so I guessed I had been around more than my fair share of secondhand smoke.

My dad was also a chain smoker and an alcoholic. I hadn’t lived with him for years, but for the last eight years of my life, that was all I knew. Now, Rosetta was the one staying with him, taking care of him because he couldn’t do much on his own anymore.

I didn’t know how to process it all. It was a shock, for sure. I had heard about people losing their lives to cancer, seen it happen to others, but it was different when it was me. I wasn’t even sure if I should tell my family about it.

Two days later, the doctor came to check on me again and asked what I wanted to do. He laid out my options—chemo, surgery—but he didn’t sugarcoat it. The chances of it working were low.

I told him I wanted to go home first, and he nodded like he understood. He said I should be with my loved ones and try not to stress too much in my condition. I gave him a bitter smile. If only it were that easy.

After handling all the paperwork on my own, I walked out of the hospital, feeling weak. The cold hit me as soon as I stepped outside, but the streets were still bustling with people wearing funny hats and blowing trumpets.

That was when it hit me—tonight was New Year’s Eve. Everyone was out, either heading to parties or cozying up with their families by the fireplace. But here I was, all alone.

I found a bench at the bus stop and sat down, the shelter overhead keeping the falling snow off me. I just watched people as they passed by, their faces telling different stories. Some looked like they were in a hurry, others were tired, but most were smiling, laughing, and enjoying the night with friends or loved ones.

Then I saw a family of four walking together. The dad carried the littlest one, while the older kid—maybe five years old—held onto the mom’s hand. They looked like they had just come back from grocery shopping, probably lived in the neighborhood. Watching them reminded me of my own childhood, back when life felt perfect and I was happy.