I got a call from a coworker in the middle of the night. Her mom was in critical condition and needed O-negative blood. I have O-negative blood. I went. I donated a pint. Her family didn't say thank you. They didn't even offer me a glass of water. Six months later, the phone rang again. "The blood from last time wasn't enough. We need to trouble you again." I spoke into the receiver, enunciating every word of my quote: "Venous blood draw, one pint. Nutrition fee, lost wages fee, emotional distress fee. Total: twenty thousand dollars." "Transfer the money directly. Once it clears, I'll go." 1 The line went dead silent on the other end, as if the signal had been cut. Three seconds later, Sarah’s voice exploded like a volcano. "Are you insane, Jake?! This is extortion! My mom is lying in a hospital bed, and you're asking me for money?" I pulled the phone away from my ear to dodge the screeching, looking out at the pitch-black night. The darkness tonight was thick and suffocating, just like that night six months ago. My voice remained calm. "That's my quote. Accept it and transfer the money, or find someone else." "Do you have a conscience?! It's a human life! How can you just stand by and do nothing?" Sarah screamed, every word a moral spike trying to pin me to a cross of shame. Conscience? My mind flashed back to six months ago. 2:00 AM at the City Hospital blood donation center. The needle slid out of my vein. A pint of dark red blood had flowed into the bag. The nurse told me to hold the cotton ball and rest. Dizzy and pale as a sheet, I sat alone on the cold plastic chairs in the hallway. Not far away, Sarah and her father, Mr. Miller, were surrounding the doctor who had just come out of the ER, gushing with gratitude. "Thank you, Doctor! You saved our family!" "Doctor, you've worked so hard, please have some water!" From start to finish, not one of them looked in my direction. I was like an extra chair in the hallway—used and then ignored. The heat lost from my body was nothing compared to the chill in my heart. I sat there alone until the dizziness passed, then leaned against the wall and slowly walked out of the hospital. The cold morning wind bit through my thin shirt. I wrapped my jacket tighter and called a cab. When the car passed Sarah’s apartment, I could smell rich chicken soup wafting from her kitchen window. Likely made to nourish Mr. Miller after his "exhausting" night. And I, the person who had just given a pint of life-saving blood, didn't even get a sip of hot water. The memory was a needle in my heart, waking up the humiliation and coldness I had suppressed. I chuckled into the phone. "I'll say it again. Twenty thousand. Money first, then blood." I hung up. Without hesitation, I blocked Sarah’s number. Then I blocked her on social media. My world was instantly quiet. But soon, my screen lit up again. Unknown number. I didn't answer. I let it ring. Then the texts flooded in. "Jake, you bastard! Karma will get you!" "If anything happens to my mom, I'll haunt you from the grave!" "Please, Jake, I'm begging you. Consider it a loan? Just save her first!" "You heartless monster, go to hell!" The content shifted rapidly from begging to cursing, perfectly displaying Sarah’s selfish nature. Expressionless, I screenshotted every message and saved them in a folder named "Evidence." Then I turned on airplane mode. The buzzing world finally fell silent. I knew this was just the beginning. They were used to my "kindness," my "agreeability." When kindness comes with a price tag, they only see betrayal. If they won't talk feelings, I'll talk prices. 2 The next day, I walked into the office and felt the drop in atmospheric pressure. Colleagues huddled in groups, whispering, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and disdain. I knew Sarah’s smear campaign had begun. Sure enough, as soon as I sat down, my desk phone rang. It was the receptionist transferring a call. I picked up, and Mr. Miller’s piercing voice exploded in my ear. "You heartless little animal! You still have the nerve to show up for work?!" His voice was high and shrill. I frowned and held the receiver away. My neighbor in the next cubicle pricked up her ears, pretending to organize files while watching me from the corner of her eye. "Our Sarah is so honest, she treated you like a best friend, and this is how you repay her? Extortion! What is wrong with your heart?!" Mr. Miller started wailing, his voice thick with nasal congestion, acting the victim perfectly. "My wife is still in the hospital, the doctor says she's in danger anytime, and you refuse to save her over twenty thousand dollars! Can you sleep at night? Is your blood made of gold?" His words cut like a dull knife. especially that line, "Is your blood made of gold?" It was identical to Sarah’s accusation last night. No, my blood isn't gold. It's part of my body. It keeps me alive. Why should I give it freely just because you demand it? I turned sideways, blocking the prying eyes, and pressed the record button on my cell phone. "Sir, state your business. Insults won't solve anything." My tone was as calm as discussing the weather. My calmness seemed to enrage him further. "Solve? Twenty thousand! Why don't you just rob a bank? You're trying to kill us!" "Asking you to donate blood was an honor! An opportunity to do good! You ungrateful brat!" That sentence ignited the anger I had suppressed all night. An honor? So in their eyes, my sacrifice was a favor they granted me? I cut him off coldly. "Donating blood before was a favor, not an obligation. You didn't even say thank you. What face do you have to ask me now?" Mr. Miller paused, then switched to tantrum mode. "I don't care! You have to go to the hospital today! If you don't, I'll come to your office and make a scene! I'll let everyone see what kind of person you are! A cold-blooded monster who cares more about money than life!" "Just wait! I'm coming right now! I'll make sure you can't work there anymore! I'll ruin your reputation!" He screamed threats, his voice getting shriller. I gripped the phone and replied word by word. "Welcome. Let everyone judge who is truly cold-blooded: the person who ignored me for six months and only remembered me when they needed blood, or me." "Also, every word you just said, including the insults and threats, has been recorded." "If necessary, I will hand this recording to my lawyer as evidence." The line went dead silent, save for Mr. Miller’s heavy, angry breathing. I didn't give him a chance to speak again. I hung up. I renamed the recording "Miller's Threat" and uploaded it to the cloud. I knew a bigger storm was brewing. They wouldn't let this go. And I was ready to fight to the end. 3 The office was quiet. Everyone pretended to work, but countless invisible threads of judgment wrapped around me, suffocating. Sarah wore a faded T-shirt today, hair messy, eyes red with dark circles. She wasn't at her desk but in the breakroom, "venting" to different colleagues. I went to get water and clearly heard her suppressed sobs. "...Mom is still in the ICU, the doctor says it's bad, she needs blood urgently... I really have no choice..." "I treated Jake like my best friend. Last time he helped without hesitation, I thought this time would be the same..." She paused perfectly, sighing heavily, sounding helpless and disappointed. "Who knew... he asked for twenty thousand. Said not a penny less. My mom's life is worth twenty thousand to him..." A male colleague patted her shoulder indignantly. "That's inhumane! Taking advantage of a crisis!" A female colleague added, "Yeah, Jake looks so quiet usually, didn't know he was so cruel. That's a human life!" Sarah looked at them with bloodshot eyes, grateful, then shot a venomous, aggrieved glare at me from afar. She successfully painted herself as a desperate, betrayed daughter. And I was the villain—greedy, cold-blooded. I returned to my seat with my water, feeling the stares sticking to my back. A female colleague I used to get along with walked by carrying a stack of files. She huffed loudly. Then, as if she stumbled, half the files slid onto my desk, knocking over my water cup. Warm water soaked my keyboard and mousepad. "Oops, sorry," she said without a hint of apology, slowly picking up the papers without looking at me. I silently wiped the water with tissues, saying nothing. I was completely isolated. Just then, the department manager, Mr. Wang, called my extension and asked me to his office. I walked in. Mr. Wang gestured for me to sit, wearing a look of deep concern. "Jake, I heard about Sarah's family." He interlaced his fingers on the desk, leaning forward as if to "help" me. "We're all colleagues. She's in a tough spot, we should help if we can. It's not just helping Sarah, it's maintaining the unity of our department." I tried to explain. "Mr. Wang, it's not like that. I donated blood six months ago, and they..." He waved his hand, cutting me off. He looked impatient. He didn't care about the truth. "Regardless, a life is at stake. Asking for money like that reflects badly on the company. What will people think of us? That we're heartless?" His words were soft knives. He didn't care about facts or my feelings, only "company image" and "unity." "Jake, I hope you can look at the big picture and handle this well. Don't let personal emotions affect your work or your future." The threat was clear. If I didn't handle this "well," my year-end review and promotion were gone. This was workplace coercion. Walking out of his office, I felt walls closing in from all sides. Rumors, judgmental stares, pressure from above. I sat at my desk, drained. Frustration, anger, helplessness... they swirled inside me. But I didn't cry. Tears are the cheapest thing in the world. They don't buy sympathy; they only invite more contempt. I opened my browser, ignoring the blinking work chats. I typed into the search bar: "Rh-null blood," "paid donation," "laws," "legal precedents." They thought isolating and pressuring me would make me fold. They were wrong. The more they pushed, the harder I became. Since no one stood by me, I would be my own armor and weapon. 4 The weekend came. I just wanted to lock myself away from the noise. But the tree wants peace, while the wind won't stop blowing. Around 2 PM, my doorbell rang violently. Then came Mr. Miller's frantic screaming. "Jake! Open the door! You murderer! Get out here!" I looked through the peephole. He was pounding on my door like a madman, hair wild, face twisted. Neighbors were peeking out. I didn't open the door. My silence only fueled his madness. He started rolling on the floor, pounding the ground and wailing. "Everyone come look! This young man has a heart blacker than ink!" "My daughter treated him like a friend, and he's extorting us for twenty thousand dollars while my wife is dying!" "Leaving someone to die! It's a crime against heaven! If my wife dies, I'll haunt him!" His voice was piercing. More neighbors gathered. Whispers leaked through the door. "He looks so polite, how can he be so cruel?" "Yeah, asking for twenty thousand? That's basically murder." Each word was an invisible knife. I couldn't stand the public trial anymore. I yanked the door open. I just wanted him to shut up. Seeing the door open, his eyes lit up with malicious glee. He lunged at me like a starving wolf. He grabbed my arm, digging his nails in, trying to drag me out. "Come to the hospital! You're donating today whether you like it or not!" He was surprisingly strong. I struggled, but he held on tight. In the chaos, Mr. Miller raised his hand and slapped me across the face with all his might. Slap! The sound echoed in the hallway. My left cheek burned with pain. My ears rang. I was stunned. Stunned, but also awake. In that moment, all the grievance and anger turned into cold fire. I used all my strength to shove him away. He stumbled back and fell on his butt. I retreated inside, locked the door, and leaned against it, heart pounding. Without hesitation, I dialed 911. The police arrived quickly. Seeing the uniforms, Mr. Miller sat on the floor and wailed louder, accusing me of assault. Then, rushing footsteps. Sarah arrived. She ran to the officers, face full of grief and indignation. She pointed at me and screamed: "Officer, that's him! That's Jake!" "My mom is waiting for blood, and he blackmailed us for twenty thousand dollars!" She pulled out her phone, playing a recording with a triumphant sneer. "I have proof! He admitted it! Officer, this isn't extortion, it's attempted murder!"
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