Bought as a bride by a man I hated

The first time I realized my life could be sold, it was written in red ink.

FINAL NOTICE.

The letters screamed at me from the envelope like they were alive, like they had been waiting patiently for the exact moment my hands would start shaking too badly to pretend anymore.

I stood in the narrow hallway of our apartment, the peeling cream paint flaking under my fingertips as I leaned against the wall for support. The power was out again. Of course it was. The ceiling fan hung uselessly above me, frozen mid-spin like it had given up on trying.

"Liana?"

My sister's voice drifted out from the bedroom. Weak. Too weak for someone who was only nineteen.

I folded the letter quickly, like hiding it could make it disappear, and forced my voice to steady. "I'm here."

I walked into the bedroom and found Mia propped up against a pile of pillows, her skin pale against the dark sheets, her lips slightly blue at the edges. The oxygen machine beside her bed hummed softly, a sound that had become the background noise of my life.

"You look tired," she said, trying to smile.

I returned it automatically. "Did you eat?"

She hesitated. That was answer enough.

"I'll make soup," I said, already turning toward the door.

"Liana," she called softly.

I stopped.

"You didn't answer the phone earlier. Did something happen at work?"

Work.

The word felt almost funny. I had lost my job two weeks ago when the company downsized. They called it restructuring. I called it being disposable.

"I was busy," I lied.

Mia studied me, her eyes far too sharp for someone who spent most of her days in bed. "You're lying."

I sighed and sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair back gently. "You're not supposed to worry about things like that."

"I'm not a child," she whispered.

I wanted to scream at that. I wanted to tell her she didn't get to be brave, that it was unfair, that she should be thinking about college and stupid crushes and late-night snacks-not hospital bills and transplant waiting lists.

Instead, I nodded. "I know."

The truth sat heavy between us.

Her surgery deposit was due in ten days.

Ten.

If we didn't pay it, she would be removed from the list.

I had tried everything. Loans. Friends. Relatives who suddenly remembered old grudges. Even a man I hated myself for meeting, who smiled too much and asked too many questions about what I was willing to offer in return.

I stood abruptly. "Rest. I'll be back."

The kitchen smelled like old oil and desperation. I turned on the stove, lit a match, and stared at the flickering flame like it might give me answers.

That was when my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Almost.

"Hello?" My voice sounded hoarse, unfamiliar even to me.

"Ms. Moore," a man said calmly. Too calmly. "This is Mr. Hale, legal representative for Vale Holdings."