1. The day I turned eighteen, I climbed to the roof of my apartment building. But someone else was already there, perched on the edge, and a stream of comments floated in the air above her head. [What’s this? Another jumper? Did the supporting character call for backup?] [She’s so dramatic. The heroine’s family gave her a home for ten years, and now she’s acting like this just because they asked for a little heart donation.] [Hey, the new jumper is walking over. What’s she gonna do?] I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around the girl’s waist and pulling her back from the ledge. We tumbled to the rooftop floor in a heap. "Mind if I go first?" I asked. "I’m in a bigger rush." 2. "Let go of me! Just let me die!" The wind whipped strands of her hair across her face, and fat, hot tears splattered onto my cheek. "I just found out today," she sobbed, her voice cracking. "To my family, I’m nothing more than a living organ bank for my sister." Her name was Sophia, and her face was a mess of tears and despair. "The only reason I exist is to be sacrificed for her. Don't try to talk me out of it. I'll destroy this body before I let them get what they want!" "I'm not going to talk you out of it," I said flatly. She stared at me, stunned into silence. "I just saw you taking up the best spot," I continued, "and you weren't jumping. So I pulled you down." I shrugged. "If you need more time to work yourself up to it, let me go first. I’m on a deadline." Sophia’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The comments above her head, however, were scrolling frantically. [Seriously? Now there’s a line for jumping off a roof?] [This new girl seems a little unhinged. Hope she doesn’t mess with Sophia’s head. We need her to stay healthy for our heroine.] [Knew it. Sophia is all talk. Who is she trying to scare with all this crying?] Sophia’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Why are you so desperate to die?" I sat on the edge of the roof, dangling my legs over the side with a carelessness I didn’t feel. "Because my parents told me to." 3. I was born a monster. I don’t feel emotions. I only know how to mimic them, copying the anger, greed, and sadness I see in others. Because of this, everyone in my life has always despised me. Even my own parents. More than once, they’ve said it to my face. "I regret the day you were born. Why don't you just die?" They were right. I was a monster who deserved to die. But I still wanted to try. I practiced smiling and crying in the mirror for hours, trying to learn how to blend in, how to be normal. It never worked. Like the time I went to a comedy. I was the only one in the theater roaring with laughter. Everyone else was dabbing their eyes with tissues, staring at me like I was insane. I didn't get it. It was a comedy. Weren't you supposed to laugh? Or at a wedding, when the bride's father gave her away. The guests were all cheering and whistling, but I was standing there with a long face, on the verge of tears. My mother saw me, dragged me outside by the arm, and hissed that I was a walking funeral. I didn't understand that either. A daughter was leaving the home she grew up in. Wasn't that sad? Why was everyone celebrating? After that, I became more careful. I learned the rules. When a relative dies, look down, turn the corners of your mouth down thirty degrees. When you receive a gift, widen your eyes, turn your mouth up forty-five degrees. When you see someone crying, furrow your brow and let out a few dry sobs. "Today's my eighteenth birthday," I said, my legs still swinging in the open air. "As of today, my parents are no longer legally responsible for me. They gave me some cash and told me not to come home. They’re going to try for another kid." The wind blew my hair across my face. "See? I tried. But I don't think I'm cut out for this world." The comments above Sophia's head went quiet for a few seconds, then one popped up: [Wait, her symptoms… sounds like some kind of affective agnosia?] [Who cares what she has? If she’s gonna jump, jump! Don’t hold up the life-saving surgery for our heroine!] [Jesus, this girl really isn't normal. She's a freak.] Suddenly, Sophia grabbed my hand and yanked me back from the edge with surprising strength. "No… you're not a monster." Her voice was still shaky, but her grip was firm. "My adoptive mother always called me an ungrateful snake. She said I didn't know my place. But I know that's not who I am." She looked me straight in the eye. "And neither are you. I can see you’re not a monster. You’re just sick." I froze. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. They either yelled at me, feared me, or stared at me like some bizarre creature in a zoo. Deep in my chest, the heart they always called "empty" gave a tiny, unfamiliar flutter. Like a stone hitting a frozen lake, cracking the surface. I tried to twist my lips into a sneer. "What good does that do? You can't save me, and you can't save yourself." "At least we won't have to wait in line to jump," Sophia said. She sniffled, tears still streaming down her face, but a small, clumsy smile touched her lips. "I’ve been thinking. I’m not going to jump either. They want my heart? They can’t have it. I'm going to live. I'll live so long they'll be old and gray, and they'll have to watch me thriving, and it will drive them insane!" The comments above her went wild. [Is she crazy?! She’s refusing to donate her heart?] [Where is the heroine's family? Get over here and drag her back!] [Who is this jumper girl? She’s infected Sophia with her insanity!] Sophia didn't see the words. She was just looking at me. "Please don't jump, okay? I don't know how to cure your illness, but… living one more day has to be better, right? What if something good happens tomorrow?" I looked into her bright, tear-filled eyes. I remembered seeing a mother teaching her toddler about fruits at the supermarket yesterday. The kid pointed at a durian and said, "It stinks!" The mother just smiled and said, "You'll see once you taste it. It just has a tough shell." Maybe that was me. A tough shell, a strange scent, still waiting for someone willing to crack me open and take a bite. 4. The rooftop door slammed open. A woman in expensive clothes stormed in, flanked by several men in sharp suits. Her gaze fixed on Sophia's scraped, bleeding knee, and her voice was devoid of emotion. "Sophia, haven't I told you? Your body isn't your own. You are not to get hurt when you are out." A man with sharp, severe features strode toward us. "Sophia, be a good girl and come back with your brother. Chloe is waiting for your heart." The comments erupted. [Oh, here we go! The male lead is here! She’s not getting away this time!] [So, he’s Sophia’s biological brother, and the Ashworths only adopted him because of her. But his heart belongs to the heroine, Chloe. His real sister doesn’t stand a chance.] [Spoiler alert: After Sophia dies donating her heart, he'll suddenly remember how great she was, go dark, and torment the heroine. But don't worry, it's just their twisted foreplay. They get married and live happily ever after.] "Let's go." Ethan Ashworth reached for Sophia's arm, his movement firm and demanding. Sophia instinctively ducked behind me. "My heart… why should I have to give it to Chloe Ashworth?" "Why?" Ethan’s voice turned to ice. "Because she is the only true heir to the Ashworth family. If they hadn't taken us in, who knows where we'd be right now. Your life belongs to them. What's a heart compared to that?" I grabbed Ethan's wrist. The wind whipped my sleeve around my arm. For the first time, I wasn't mimicking an expression. I just looked at him. "Don't force her." Ethan scowled. "Who the hell are you? Get out of the way." "Who I am doesn't matter." I let go of his wrist and pointed to my own chest. "A live heart donation is a one-for-one trade. You're asking for her life. Have you asked her if she's willing to give it?" "I'm not willing!" Sophia screamed. She clutched the back of my shirt, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. Ethan's face darkened like a thundercloud. "Sophia, stop making a scene. Chloe is waiting in the operating room. Do you want her to die?" "And what about me?" Sophia suddenly lifted her head, her eyes flashing with tears and defiance. "Brother, do you want me to die?" 5. [The supporting character is just a plot device. How dare she talk back now? She's out of control!] [What is the male lead waiting for? Just grab her and go! The heroine is waiting for you at the hospital!] [This jumper girl is such a busybody. She should just jump off her damn roof instead of playing hero.] "She said no. Are you all deaf?" I took half a step forward, shielding Sophia. "Medically speaking, live heart donation is illegal except in the most extreme circumstances. What you're doing is called premeditated murder." My words stunned even the impeccably dressed woman. Ethan was clearly enraged. He shoved me hard. "What gives you the right to meddle in the Ashworths' business?" I didn’t move, letting his hand slam into my shoulder. "I'm nobody." I met his furious gaze and slowly raised my phone. A sound wave was actively recording on the screen. "But I know that no one has the right to take another person's life, not even in the name of gratitude. I started recording the moment you came through that door. If you try to take her today, I'm calling the police." "Then let them arrest me," he snarled. "Chloe is the most important person in this family. I'll do anything to save her." "But I'm the most important person to me," Sophia said. She stood up straight. The pain in her knee made her tremble, but she didn't take another step back. "Ethan, you're my brother, but you've never once treated me like a sister. From this day on, we're even." A storm of emotions crossed Ethan’s face—shock, anger, and a flicker of something that looked like panic. He took a deep breath, making his final offer. "One day. I'll give you one more day." His voice was low and dangerous. "If you still refuse the surgery, don't blame me for what happens next." Sophia grabbed my hand, and we walked toward the stairs. I glanced back; the Ashworths weren't following. "So where to now?" I asked. "Are we fugitives on the run? Or should we just find another roof?" The comments had told me everything I needed to know. In this world, the hero and heroine were law. The police wouldn't help. My recording was a bluff. I thought Sophia would have a plan. I never expected what she said next. "First, we find a place to buy a birthday cake." I stopped in my tracks. My heart, which I thought was just an empty chamber, gave a powerful thud, then another, like a frantic drumbeat. The feeling was completely alien. I looked down at my chest, amazed that this heart of mine could feel so alive. It wasn't beating to mimic an emotion. It was beating because this girl, who I'd just pulled back from the brink of death, wanted to buy me a birthday cake. "What are you waiting for? Let's g—" Sophia’s voice caught in her throat. She pointed a trembling finger at my face. "You… you’re smiling." 6. Before I left, my parents had given me five hundred dollars. I don't know if they were overconfident in my ability to survive or if they were hoping I'd just die on the street. After buying a cake and getting something to eat, the five hundred had dwindled to fifty. Sophia was completely broke. Ethan had given us a day, but that was generous. We didn't even have a place to sleep for the night. But I had a backup plan. I decided to make one last trip home. When my grandmother died, she left me a card with a hundred thousand dollars in it. It would be enough for Sophia to get far away. My fingertips trembled as I felt for the house key in my pocket. I had left this morning fully intending to die. I never imagined I'd be coming back. The house was silent when I unlocked the door. Thank God, they weren't home. I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled Sophia toward my room. The bank card was tucked inside a book in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Just as my fingers closed around it, I heard a key turning in the front door lock. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, I could see my parents taking off their shoes. Their voices cut through the silence like shards of ice. "So it's all settled with my sister?" That was my father's voice, hesitant. "Settled," my mother's voice was sharp, cold. "She just had a son, and she's happy to get rid of the girl. Ten thousand dollars, and her daughter is ours." My fingers tightened around the card, its sharp edge digging into my palm. Sophia frowned and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "But that hundred thousand… Mom left that for our girl," my father's voice dropped to a whisper. "Before she passed, she held my hand and told me that money was for her granddaughter's future, for an emergency." "An emergency?" My mother scoffed, the sound of her heels clicking harshly on the floor. "Her? Does she deserve it? At Nana's funeral, everyone was crying their eyes out, and she just stood there like a wooden doll. Not a single tear! Nana wasted all that love on her. This money is better off with a child who knows how to be grateful!" Agitated, my mother threw her purse onto the sofa and spat out a curse. I felt a crushing weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I remembered the day my Nana died. She was lying in the hospital bed, whispering my name, "My sweet girl," as she held my hand. "Nana can't take care of you anymore," she'd said. "From now on, you have to remember to smile and to cry. Don't always wear such a serious little face; it's not pretty." She forced a smile and pulled the card from under her pillow, pressing it into my hand. "Don't let anyone touch this money. It's for my sweet girl. If anyone dares to bully you, I'll come back as a ghost and protect you." At the funeral, I stood before her black-and-white portrait, her smiling face a blur, my mind completely blank. People nudged me, asking why I wasn't crying. They sighed and whispered that Nana had raised an ungrateful snake. My parents had sent me to live with Nana when I was little. Other kids would poke me with sticks, throw rotten eggs at me, and call me a monster. Nana was the one who chased them away with a broom, then marched to their houses to demand an apology. The parents would just sneer. "Our kid's not wrong. Your granddaughter can't cry, can't laugh. The way she stares gives you the creeps. What is she, if not a monster?" So Nana got a megaphone and stood in the hallway of our building, blasting her message on a loop. "MY GRANDDAUGHTER IS NOT A MONSTER! SHE'S THE KINDEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL CHILD IN THE WORLD! DID YOU HEAR ME? I'LL SAY IT AGAIN! MY GRANDDAUGHTER IS THE KINDEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL CHILD IN THE WORLD!" The memories were a lump in my throat, but they wouldn't turn into tears. "She's a heartless monster!" My mother's voice screeched from the living room. "Eighteen years of raising her, and for what? I'd rather have a child who knows how to love. I've met my sister's daughter. She's sweet as can be. A hundred times better than her!" A soft hand rested on mine. I turned to Sophia. In the dim light filtering through the doorway, I could see her eyes were red and shining. She mouthed two silent words: You're not. In that instant, my heart began to beat, not with the frantic drumming of before, but with a deep, warm thrum. My father sighed. "Let's find another way to get the money." "Find what?" my mother snapped. "I know where she keeps the card. I'll get it right now! It's not like she's coming back anyway. For all we know, she's already..." She trailed off, but her unspoken malice hung in the air, sharp and piercing. Clutching the bank card, I stood up. Sophia tried to pull me back, but I shook my head and pushed the door open. My parents whipped around, their faces masks of shock. I walked toward them, the card held tight in my hand. "You can't touch this money," I said. My voice was level, but it carried the warmth of my newly awakened heart. "Nana said it was for an emergency. Well, this is an emergency."
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