A Forgotten Daughter’s Dilemma: Torn Between Betrayal and Love

Her parents had gone to the city to work, and they could only afford to raise one child. They chose to take her older sister with them, leaving her—the younger daughter—behind to live with their grandmother in the countryside. Not once did they send money or even ask how she was. She and her grandmother lived hand to mouth, surviving on vegetables and rice porridge day after day.

Then, one day, her parents suddenly came back and brought her to the city. She was overwhelmed with joy, thinking her parents must finally be doing well and had come to care for her. But when she arrived, she was shocked to discover that her parents had already built a new life. They had a new child—a baby boy—and the four of them seemed to be a happy, complete family. She was nothing more than an afterthought.

Her older sister and little brother looked at her with strange, judging eyes, treating her like a stranger in her own family. Still, she told herself to be strong. Her mother, at least, seemed kind and attentive—always making sure she ate well, showing small gestures of care that warmed her heart.

But one night, everything crumbled.

She overheard a hushed conversation between her parents. Her mother whispered, “She’s eating better now. Getting stronger. Good. When the tests are done, we’ll proceed with the kidney transplant. Her sister’s running out of time.”

The girl froze.

She realized then that they had only brought her to the city not out of love—but to save the daughter they truly cared about. Her world collapsed. Her heart was filled with rage and betrayal.

But then… she hesitated.

Her sister would die without her help.

Now she was torn—between hatred for the parents who had used her… and compassion for the sister who needed her.

What would she choose?

Part 2: The Letter and the Final Return

After overhearing her parents’ conversation that night, the girl couldn’t sleep.
She sat curled up in the corner of her bed, arms hugging her knees, heart feeling like it was being crushed.
“I’m just a living body being raised to donate…” she thought.

The next morning, her mother still gently placed a hot bowl of porridge on the table like always, eyes full of fake love.
The girl looked at her, lips pressed tightly, swallowing back her tears.

That night, she quietly opened her old phone—the one her grandmother had sold a chicken to buy her when she left the countryside—and typed into the search bar:
“Can someone under 18 refuse to donate an organ?”
The results chilled her to the bone. No one could force her, but did she have the strength to resist her own parents?

In the days that followed, she started noticing the glances from everyone in the house more clearly.
Her older sister was becoming weaker and paler by the day. Despite never treating her well, the fear in her sister’s eyes when illness was mentioned made the girl’s heart soften.
But then, that fear shifted into a silent resentment—like she was the life-saving ticket that was refusing to be handed over.

The girl found herself trapped between hatred and compassion, between the right to live for herself and the crushing pressure to save someone else.

Then one rainy afternoon, she returned to the countryside.
She sought out her grandmother—the only person who had ever truly loved her.
Her grandmother wrapped her arms around her frail body, strong despite the years.
The girl broke down sobbing.

“Grandma… if I don’t help, they’ll hate me. But if I do… who will save me when I fall?”

Her grandmother gently stroked her hair:
“Loving others should never mean forgetting to love yourself, my child.”

That night, the girl wrote a letter to leave behind for her parents.
In it, she told everything—not with anger or bitterness, but with the voice of a child who simply wanted to live for herself, just once.

“Dear Mom and Dad,”

“I don’t hate you anymore. But I can’t keep living in a house where my heart is torn apart every day.”
“I’m going back to Grandma—the only person who ever held me when I was sick, who gave up her own meal to feed me.”

“If one day, my sister truly needs me… and if I’m still in time, I will come back. But not for you.”
“I do this to repay the debt of being born—not because I was loved.”

The next morning, the family discovered she was gone.
The letter hit the parents like a slap across the face.

The mother went hysterical—screaming, running through every alley, calling her name like someone who had lost her mind.
The father drove all night searching, but it was all in vain.

At that moment, in the hospital, the older sister’s condition worsened rapidly.
The doctor shook his head:
“There’s not much time. Without a donor, she won’t survive.”

No one said it aloud, but everyone was thinking of the one who had left.

A few days later…

As the clock of life ticked toward zero, a small figure appeared in the hospital hallway.
Her eyes were calm, without hatred.
Only fatigue, and the weariness of a soul that had endured too much.

“I agree to donate part of my liver,” she told the doctor.
“I don’t want anything from this family. Just don’t make me go back there.”

The surgery was successful. Her sister lived.

When the sister woke up, she saw the younger girl sitting beside her—thin and pale.
She burst into tears:
“Why… why did you come back?”

The girl didn’t answer.
She simply placed her hand on her sister’s chest—where a piece of her own liver now beat quietly inside.

“Don’t make me regret it.”
Then she stood up and left.

Outside the operating room, her parents dropped to their knees when they saw her.

“My child… we’re sorry. Please forgive us.”
“You can come home. Everything will be different. I swear… I will love you the way I should’ve from the start…”

She looked at them, a smile faint and cold as ash.
She said nothing.
She simply walked past them like they were strangers.

One month later.

In a small wooden house deep in the poor countryside, the girl sat with her grandmother, picking vegetables.

Her grandmother held her close:
“You’ve suffered enough, my child. We may have nothing here… but you have me.”

She nodded and smiled.

From the city, her family kept visiting—bringing gifts, money, tears, and pleas for forgiveness.
But she only stood from afar, watching them with a peace that was almost chilling.

“I’ve repaid my debt. Now, I live for me. Not for anyone else anymore.”