After Extracting My Bone Marrow, My Mother Regretted It

When I was six, she left with the man she loved, taking my twin brother with her. She shoved my hands away from her legs, sending me crashing to the ground, ignoring my desperate cries for her to stay.

She walked away without looking back, her resolve unyielding.

Now, at twenty, she was back with my brother. She said my brother was sick, and I was the only one who could save him. But what she didn’t know was that I was sick too, and I might not have much time left.

——

Mom returned with my brother.

She tiptoed to touch my head, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Oh, look at you, Gavin! You’ve grown so tall and look so strong!”

Strong?

The neighbor used to say I was too skinny and always urged me to eat more. At 6 feet tall and weighing only 117 pounds, I’d lost a lot of weight.

Her sudden touch threw me off balance.

I instinctively turned my head, and her hand brushed against my face.

I lowered my gaze awkwardly, catching a glimpse of her hand rubbing against the seam of her pants.

She knew I saw, but acted as if nothing happened. “Mom’s back. Are you happy? From now on, we’ll be a family together forever. Sound good, son?”

To me, this was the greatest temptation. Ever since that day at three years old when she left, I had wished for this moment over and over again.

I didn’t respond, but then she hit me with another emotional punch. “Gavin, your birthday is coming up in a few days. I came back just to cook you your favorite birthday meal!”

In that instant, my heart sparkled with hope. I had to admit, I longed for her love, even just a little.

She remembered my birthday. It felt too good to be true, and I needed to be sure. “We’ll really be together forever? You won’t leave me again?”

“Of course, we’ll always be together.”

With her reassurance, a smile broke across my face.

“But your brother is sick. You’re the older brother; you need to help him so we can stay together forever.”

I’d known for a week that Blake had leukemia. Four months ago, I was diagnosed with it too. Last week, while picking up my medication, I overheard the doctor talking about them. I later confirmed with the doctor that Blake’s situation was manageable and not severe.

“Gavin, are you quiet because you don’t want to help your brother?”

I opened my mouth, eager to explain. “I’m not, I–”

But I was sick too. If I weren’t, I’d be willing to donate my bone marrow to Blake if only Mom would love me a little more and not leave me again.

But those words never left my lips.

Mom lost her patience and flipped the switch in an instant.

Her tone hardened, devoid of any warmth. “Gavin, are you making excuses again? I thought you’d changed, but you’re just as selfish as your dad.

“I risked my life to bring you into this world. Shouldn’t you give something back? Your brother is sick; you can donate your bone marrow to him.

“Helping him means you’re just giving up a bit of bone marrow, but if you don’t, Blake loses his life!”

I let out a self-deprecating laugh.

The doctor said Blake’s condition was mild and treatable with medication.

The one who really needed a bone marrow transplant was me.