Just after reporting to the police, my stepdad's call came through.

“Chel just threw up again! Where’s Queenie Foster? You still haven't found her?”

He lost no time blaming me.

“I told you from the start not to keep her. She's ungrateful, the first to run when trouble hits home!”

“What about you?”

My mom’s tone was calm, yet her eyes showed disappointment.

“Chel is your biological daughter. Why won't you donate your marrow to her?”

My stepdad was momentarily speechless, surprised that my mom shifted the focus onto him.

When he recovered, he was agitated.

“Why use mine when there’s a match available? Queenie Foster ate our food, drank...