My son had already left for school. I forced myself up, washed my face, and rushed to the Cultural Troupe.
Today they'd announce the new lead dancer.
When the results were posted, silence fell.
The lead went to Brooklyn Simmons—a woman who hadn't attended a single rehearsal.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a modest, sickeningly sweet smile.
"I'm so sorry, Ava. I was just so bored at home. Justin wanted me to get out more, so he donated fifty pounds of rice, flour, and oil to the troupe..."
"So what if you have connections?" Daisy Abbott stepped forward, face flushed. "Ava dances circles around you! You're not even in the same league!"
Daisy wanted to scream for justice, but I grabbed her arm.
I was calm. Far calmer than anyone expected.
"Is that so?" My voice was steady. "Congratulations, sister-in-law."
I didn't care about the lead role. As long as my son lived, nothing else mattered.
The phone in my pocket rang.
The hospital. The doctor's voice was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard—the bone marrow match was successful.
Relief hit so hard my knees nearly buckled.
As I passed Brooklyn on my way out, I leaned in close.
"He's just a man, Brooklyn. If you enjoy picking up my leftovers, be my guest."
I didn't wait for her reaction. I rushed out, desperate to reach the hospital.
In my haste, I missed the murderous glint in her eyes.
When I arrived, breathless and hopeful, I asked when we could schedule surgery.
The doctor wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Mrs. Farley... the donor... the bone marrow has been allocated to someone else."
The room spun. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Doctor, who took it? We waited so long—we finally got the match!"
"It was... Director Farley."
I froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice.
A small, cold hand slipped into mine. My son looked up at me, eyes wide with fear.
"Mom... am I going to die again?"
The words shattered me. I forced a smile, squeezing his hand. "No. I won't let that happen."
Panic drove me toward Justin's number—but I didn't need to call. He was right there, in the adjacent VIP ward, hovering over Tommy's bed.
"Uncle Justin prepared the best room for you," Justin said, his voice softer than I'd heard in years. "Tommy, you have to be strong."
Brooklyn leaned into his embrace, eyes red-rimmed—a perfect picture of fragile beauty.