Chapter 3

Sarah lay in the narrow hospital bed, the thin blanket doing little to ward off the chill.

"It's my condition, Mark," she said, her voice flat. "The doctors here don't know about it. The Phoenix Foundation protocol... it's failing. I'm dying."

Mark scoffed, a harsh, disbelieving sound.

"Dying? Don't be melodramatic, Sarah. You're trying to get out of helping Jessica, aren't you? Jealousy doesn't suit you."

His anger was a familiar shield against any truth he didn't want to face.

"You've always been resilient," Mark continued, pacing the small room. "Remember that software you developed in college? The one that crunched market data? Everyone said it was impossible. You did it in a week."

He was talking about the software Jessica later claimed helped her "intuition."

"You're not dying, Sarah. You're just stressed. You'll be fine. Jessica needs that app fixed. The funding round is in a few days."

He prioritized Jessica, as always. Her pain, her impending death, were inconveniences to him.

Sarah closed her eyes.

She had never truly belonged. Not with her parents, who saw her as a lesser version of Jessica. Not with Mark, who saw her as a tool.

The Foundation' s tablet, which Mark had brought with her things, pulsed on the bedside table.

"Six days, four hours remaining," the voice intoned.

Her origin, her diagnosis – it all felt like a long, slow slide into this moment.

The Foundation had found her after a series of unexplained collapses, her local doctors baffled. They offered a chance, a slim one, tied to this bizarre "positive emotional resonance."

A chance she had failed to grasp.

A commotion outside her hospital room door drew her attention.

She could hear Jessica' s bright, theatrical voice.

"...and so, I' m dedicating this new charitable initiative, funded by my app' s success, to underprivileged young women in tech. It' s always been my dream to give back."

Reporters. Jessica had called reporters to the hospital.

David and Linda were there, beaming proudly.

Mark joined them, putting a supportive arm around Jessica.

"My sister has such a big heart," Jessica was saying to a journalist. "All her success, and she just wants to help others. She says her financial insights, the ones that helped our family and her app's initial funding, were a gift she wants to share."

Those were Sarah' s insights. Her work.

Sarah listened, a bitter, cynical smile touching her lips.

One day, the app would crash without her to fix it.

David' s investments, based on Jessica' s "intuition," would fail.

Mark' s career, built on her strategies, would stall.

The repercussions of their deception were inevitable. It was just a matter of time.

Her time was almost up.

Later, they wheeled her out. Mark insisted she was well enough to go home, despite the hospital doctor's concerns.

Jessica wanted to make a public appearance at some tech gala that evening.

"It's important for the brand, Sarah," Linda had said. "And Jessica wants you there, for support."

They took her to a lavish hall, lights flashing, music pounding.

Jessica, radiant in a designer gown, stood on a stage, Mark beside her.

"And I want to make a wish," Jessica announced to the crowd, her voice ringing with false sincerity. "A wish for an eternal partnership with the man who has supported me through everything, my rock, Mark Dawson!"

Mark beamed, pulling Jessica into a kiss for the cameras. He praised her brilliance, her vision.

Sarah remembered standing at a similar public event years ago, a small university competition.

She had presented her financial analysis software. Mark had been there.

Afterwards, he' d told her it was "too niche," "not glamorous enough."

He' d started dating Jessica, the "socially adept" twin, a week later.

Now, Linda was nudging her. "Smile, Sarah. People are watching."

They needed her to look supportive.

Back at the apartment, Jessica handed her a laptop. "The gala' s server crashed. They need a list of attendees for follow-up PR. You' re good at this data stuff."

Another arduous task, for Jessica' s benefit.

She worked through the night, the pain a burning fire in her body.

As dawn approached, she finally finished, her vision blurring.

Mark burst into the room, his face a mask of fury.

"Jessica... she... there was an accident," he stammered. "She hit someone with her car. A cyclist. They' re saying it was reckless driving. She could be charged!"

He grabbed Sarah' s shoulders.

"You have to take the blame, Sarah. You were out last night, you could have borrowed her car. Jessica' s career, her reputation... it will be ruined!"

His demand was instant, unthinking. Sacrifice Sarah to save Jessica.

Mark dragged her to the police station.

He spun a story: Sarah, distraught over her "illness," had taken Jessica' s car without permission, confused and disoriented.

Jessica, tearful and "traumatized," corroborated his lie.

David and Linda begged Sarah to "do this one thing" for the family.

The police, influenced by Mark' s legal standing and Jessica' s celebrity, were quick to accept the narrative.

The Chairman of the Board at Mark' s firm, Mr. Harrison, had connections. He made a call, "facilitating" the process.

Sarah, too weak to fight, too numb to care, was charged.

A swift judgment followed, given her "pre-existing condition" and "confused state."

Not jail, but a court-ordered committal to a private care facility, effectively a death sentence given her real illness and the Foundation' s deadline.

The Foundation' s tablet in her bag pulsed. "One day, three hours remaining."