Cursed Draws: I Stopped Obeying My Husband

My younger sister, Mindy Sampson, has a rare blood condition. She needs regular blood transfusions and a bone marrow transplant.

My husband, Ian Huffman, and I are matches.

My mother says we should draw lots. Whoever draws the short stick will become Mindy's blood donor.

In the next five years, I am always the one who draws the short stick.

Because of constant blood draws and bone marrow extractions, my body breaks down.

Before I die, I stumble upon Ian holding Mindy and saying, "Cindy is so stupid. There are only short sticks in the container. Every time, we let her draw first. How could she ever get a long one?

"She is going to die without ever knowing you are not sick at all. Once she dies and we get the insurance money, we can travel the world."

When I open my eyes again, I am back in the fifth year after Mindy is diagnosed.

I look at the container of sticks on the table and smile.

Then, I look at Ian and say, "This time, you draw first."

Ian Huffman froze at once, a crack appearing in his otherwise flawless appearance.

"C-Cindy? What's the point of determining who goes first at a time like this? We're family—"

"Since we're family, does it really matter who goes first anyway?" I asked, interrupting him while leaning forward and staring intently into his eyes.

"Or, could it be that you're afraid of something? Or maybe you messed with the matchbox somehow, and you're worried that you'll get exposed when you draw the lot?"

Ian shuddered hard.

When Mom saw that I was being reluctant about it, she glared at me and said in a displeased tone, "Cindy Sampson! Mindy is still waiting to be saved! How could you act up like this now?

"I was the one who put this matchbox together. How could I have possibly messed with it? Just say it if you don't want to save your sister. Stop making sarcastic accusations about Ian!

"Don't you know how much Ian had been running around for Mindy's sake over the past few years? What if he gets the short lot if we made him draw first? How else is he supposed to go to work and support the family?

"You're not working anyway and just idling away at home. You should feel honored to go first and even more so if you're chosen to give your blood to her!"

Ever since I was young, Mom often lectured me about being grateful and feeling honored to be chosen to contribute to the family. However, she had always thought of me as the family's number-one enemy ever since Dad's death.

"You jinx! You got your dad killed, so you'd better atone for your sins by contributing to the family even more! You should give your blood to your sister for the rest of your life!"

I had always been weighed down heavily by her words, and it always filled me with