Chapter 1
My name is Rachel Doyle, and I learned exactly how little I mattered to my family standing three feet from a framed photo of all of us smiling at Disney World, taken back when I was still cheap enough to love.
I was twenty-nine. Eleven weeks into treatment. Forty pounds lighter than I used to be, with a port still healing under my collarbone, and somehow, still too expensive for my own family.
The envelope sat between us on the kitchen table, cream-colored, unremarkable, holding proof of the only sixty-five thousand dollars standing between me and a surgery my oncologist had just moved up two weeks. My mother kept tapping it with one manicured nail, like ownership could be transferred through repetition alone.
"Your brother made a mistake," she said.
Across the table, Evan stared at the floor, hungover, eyes swollen, wearing a watch that cost more than my last round of chemo. Gambling had eaten him alive again, and this time the people he owed weren't the kind who sent polite reminders.
I wrapped both hands around my mug so no one would see them shake.
"My surgery got moved up," I said. "I need that money."
My father laughed once, short and cold. "You always need something."
"I have a life-threatening illness."
"And Evan has people coming after him," my mother snapped. "You think you're the only one in danger?"
Evan finally lifted his head. "I'll pay you back."
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"You said that when you stole my credit card."
His jaw tightened. "Don't be dramatic."
