Back then, the system points I'd been accumulating were nearly enough to send me home, back to my original world.

But the night Oliver landed his first round of funding, he held me in our tiny rental apartment and cried.

He said,

“Shirley, I swear I'll give you a good life someday.”

My heart softened. I traded my points for the data models and clinical databases he needed most.

On the hospital's opening day, Oliver took my hand in front of everyone.

“Without Shirley, I wouldn't be standing here today.”

I thought I'd finally found a home.

So even when the doctors urged me more than once to terminate the pregnancy,

“You have Rh-negative blood and a clotting disorder. The risk of delivery is far too high.”

Even when the system warned me,

“Host has accumulated sufficient points. Departure from this world is available.”

I pressed my hand to my belly and couldn't bring myself to leave. Not the baby. Not the man I loved. I chose to stay.

Then the day came. The pain blackened my vision. Oliver was supposed to be right outside the delivery room, but Nanette had just flown back into the country.

She was crying on the phone, saying someone had followed her at the airport and she was so scared she could barely breathe.

Oliver left without hesitation. Before he went, he squeezed my hand.

“Shirley, I'll be right back.”

"Right back" turned into the entire night.

I hemorrhaged on the delivery table. The nurses' voices pitched into panic：

“Where's the backup Rh-negative blood?”

“It was just transferred out!”

“Who authorized the transfer?”

No one answered.

I was in too much pain to speak. All I could hear was the system alerting me, over and over, that my life signs were dropping.

In the end, I spent every last point I had to buy Phoebe her first cry.

When I woke, Oliver was kneeling at my bedside with the baby in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he apologized.

“Shirley, I owe you my life.”

A hushed argument outside the hospital room door pulled me back from the memory.

The doctor held a report in his hands, his voice tight.

“Mr. Gilbert, your wife cannot withstand any more stress. Her clotting levels are already in the danger zone, and her body has no room left to recover.”

Oliver was silent for a moment.

“She'll be fine. She's pulled through worse than this before.”

The doctor lost his composure.

“Before was before! Ever since she gave birth, her health has been in steady decline. If she keeps being pushed like this, it won't matter who you bring in. No one on earth will be able to save her!”

The words had barely settled when Oliver's phone rang.

Conflict played across his face for a long time, but in the end, he answered.

A soft, fragile sob came through the line.

“Oliver, I dreamed about the car accident again. There was so much blood. I'm so scared.”

Oliver turned and walked out without a second of hesitation.

“I'm on my way.”

The doctor stood rooted in place. His mouth opened, then closed. He didn't try to stop him again.

The hospital room went quiet.

Some time later, Oliver came back. He set a photograph on the pillow beside me.

In it, my sister Antonia Winfield stood outside her school gate, wearing a jacket that had been washed so many times it was nearly white. She smiled at the camera, careful, tentative.

My fingers curled tight. Oliver watched me, and his tone softened just slightly.

“Antonia's been wanting to see you. Shirley, stop doing this to yourself.”

“Once Nanette's feeling more stable, I'll have someone bring Antonia here so you two can be together again.”

When Antonia arrived, she was clutching two plane tickets in her hand.

She was thinner than she'd looked in the photograph. Her face was so pale it was almost translucent, and every few steps she had to brace herself against the wall.

But the moment she saw me, she smiled.

“Shirley, I already bought the tickets. Let's go.”

“I'm done with school. I'm done with treatments. I'm taking you home.”

Something lodged in my throat and wouldn't come loose.

For the first time in all those days, I wanted to sit up.

My hands had barely braced against the edge of the bed when the door swung open. Nanette sat in a wheelchair, pushed in by Phoebe.

A blanket draped over her lap, her face drained of color, but her gaze landed squarely on Antonia.

“So this is your sister? You two really do look alike.”

I pulled Antonia behind me on instinct, every nerve on edge.

Nanette touched her own face lightly, then murmured,

“Oliver, I've been feeling dizzy lately. Do you think I never recovered the blood I lost from the accident?”

Oliver bent down to her immediately.

“Where does it hurt?”

Nanette lifted her eyes toward Antonia, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.

“Antonia has Rh-negative blood too, doesn't she? Why not have her give me a little transfusion? Maybe then I won't feel so awful anymore.”

My whole body went rigid. I refused instantly.

“No.”

Oliver frowned.

“Shirley, it's just drawing a small amount of Antonia's blood for a test. Nothing will happen.”

I gripped Antonia's hand so tight my knuckles ached.

“She has a congenital heart condition. You can't draw her blood.”

Nanette's eyes reddened at once.

“Forget it. Don't make things hard for her. My life was never worth much anyway.”

Phoebe stood behind her, glaring at me with the same hostility.

“Mommy, Aunt Nanette isn't asking for a lot. Stop being mean to her!”

I looked at my own daughter. She was still holding the plane tickets Antonia had just handed me, completely unaware that those tickets were my last way out.

The doctor was summoned quickly. He reviewed Antonia's chart, and his expression changed.

“Mr. Gilbert, Miss Winfield has a heart condition. She's not a suitable candidate for blood draws.”

Oliver's voice dropped low：

“It's just a little blood. Nanette is the priority. Take her now.”

The bodyguards moved to drag Antonia from behind me. No matter how hard I fought, it was useless. Finally, I dropped to my knees.

They hit the floor so hard my vision went black.

“I'm begging you, Oliver. Take mine. As much as you want. Just don't touch my sister. She won't survive it.”

Nanette looked down at me from her wheelchair, the corner of her lips curling faintly.

“Shirley, how could you use your own health to guilt Oliver? You know he cares about you more than anyone.”

As she spoke, she clutched her chest and leaned into Oliver's arms.

“Oliver, I feel terrible.”

Something shifted behind his eyes. The flicker of hesitation my pleading had caused froze over completely. He waved his hand, and the bodyguards pinned Antonia into the blood-draw chair.

Her fingertips trembled with fear, but she still shook her head at me.

“It's okay, sis. It's just a little bit.”

The first vial filled. I threw myself forward, clawing past the bodyguards, but they held me back. By the second vial, Antonia's lips had turned purple. When the third needle went in, the cardiac monitor began to shriek.

The doctor shouted,

“Stop! She's going to die!”

But Nanette reached out and caught Oliver's sleeve.

“Oliver, I'm still dizzy. Is it not enough blood?”

I broke free of the bodyguards, half-crawling, half-dragging myself to the foot of her wheelchair, slamming my forehead against the freezing tile over and over.

“Nanette, I'm begging you. If you want revenge, take it out on me.”

“My sister's heart can't take this. She will die.”

Nanette leaned down and spoke in a voice only I could hear.

“Begging won't help. I'm going to make everything you care about disappear.”

The words had barely left her mouth when the monitor behind me flatlined into one long, piercing scream. Antonia's hand slipped off the edge of the chair and hung limp.

The two plane tickets drifted to the floor. Someone stepped on them, leaving a dirty smudge across the paper.

My eyes split with anguish.

“No!”

Half an hour later, the light above the emergency room went dark.

The doctor pulled down his mask. He couldn't look at me.

“I'm sorry.”

I stood there. I couldn't hear anything anymore.

Oliver came back after getting Nanette settled. I was still sitting outside the emergency room.

He was quiet for a moment, then said in a low voice,

“Antonia was already in poor health. Nanette didn't expect this to happen either. I'll make it up to you.”

I slowly lifted my head to look at him.

“Oliver, what are we to you? Me and my sister. What are we?”

His brow creased, like he'd finally lost his patience.

“Shirley, don't start spiraling again.”

I looked down at the plane ticket on the floor, dirty from being stepped on. I laughed, though there was nothing left behind it.

“I understand now.